by Tyla Walker
I let out a deep sigh as I see him step out. I have to keep my composure. I can’t keep on thinking of Greg while working, or else I’m going to ruin this assignment. My love dilemma can wait until this mission is over. We both can’t afford to lose our jobs for blowing this up because of my perplexing, unsettled issues.
I dress up and make myself look presentable. I move out of the room, careful about what I’m projecting to others. The act must be foolproof. As soon as I reach the hallway, I see Greg and the couple.
I sneak inside the room across the hallway. I can’t discern any substantial difference in the interior compared to our room. I quickly search the same places where the listening devices in our room were placed. Then I found them. It’s the same with what we discovered in our bedroom.
I don’t see any cameras inside the room too, which gives me relief. I quietly walk towards the door as I do my best to be natural. I just wish no one is right outside the room.
I carefully turn the knob around and open the door.
Hah, I sigh. As luck would have it, no one is lurking outside. I walk to where Greg and the couple are standing.
“Hi.” I lean on to Greg and give him a quick kiss. “I’m sorry I took so long. Are you hungry?”
Fuck. What did I do? Damn, it’s so natural when I did it.
Greg clears his voice and smiles. He wraps his arm around my waist and holds me tightly.
“This is my beautiful wife, Kylie.” He gives my waist a soft squeeze as he introduces me.
My eyes do not want to leave Greg. My heart does not want to stop its rampage inside my chest. He called me his beautiful wife.
I’m aware that this is an act, but this is still so... good.
I quickly snap back to reality before they notice my absent-mindedness.
“It’s lovely meeting the two of you,” I greet the couple and flash them a pretend-genuine smile.
I engage in a small chit chat with the couple.
“Why don’t we have dinner together?” Greg insists.
The couple agrees with Greg’s invitation. As we walk through the hallway, I notice that there are cameras installed in every corner. It probably takes in every perspective possible. The preppy couple agrees to take the lead and show us a good place to eat.
There might be cameras that might have seen me earlier. I frown, thinking of an excuse. Then I shall tell them I got lost and wandered to the wrong room as I look for Greg.
Greg takes my attention when I feel Greg slowly intertwines our hands as we walk behind the couple. Calling me his beautiful wife almost made me blurt out my feelings. Now he’s holding my hands intimately?
Oh, God.
Four
Greg
It's the first day of our mission, and I'm already feeling the pressure since last night. I order a cup of coffee and tea for Kylie. She happens to arrive at the same time as the orders are here. She saunters her way to our table. I feel my knees weaken as she leans unto me and places a soft, small kiss on my cheeks.
Fuck.
"Good morning, husband. It's great that you ordered me tea," she says, then pulls the chair in front of her and sits gracefully. I hope she doesn't notice my fidgeting. I am nervous about slipping unsolicited words like 'I love you' out of my mouth.
I fix my posture and cross my legs underneath the table. "Good morning, lo-"
The couple from last night appears and cuts off my morning greeting to Kylie. They wave at us cheerfully.
"Good morning, lovelies! See you in the garden." They smile at us and walk outside. I frown, damn, how can they be so calm and look so innocent knowing that they've done atrocious deeds?
Identity theft can lead to so many complications, and cheating people of their money is one of those. Poor couples who don't know have fallen victim to their innocent, friendly gestures.
I look at my wristwatch to check the time. It's thirty minutes before nine o'clock in the morning. "I think we should hurry our breakfast and go follow them in the garden."
I almost forgot to greet her, as well.
"By the way, you look beautiful in the morning, Kylie." My heart beats fast when I see the look in her eyes.
She smiles at me. Her smile and her brown piercing eyes are wreaking havoc for my composure. Well, she does look beautiful. Kylie is gorgeous with her jet black curly hair.
"Thank you, husband." She puts emphasis on how she calls me 'husband.' I remember when she asked me about what our pet names would be. I don't mind her calling me 'husband', though.
We agree to just grab some sandwiches and drinks then be on our way to the garden. We still have to register our names for the couples' retreat event.
Kylie initiates the hand-holding and seizes my hands casually. It makes me feel a bit confused. How is she so good at this pretend marriage? Greg, it is not the time to take your focus away from the mission, I kick myself in my imagination.
When we arrive at the garden, all the other couples seem to have settled on their seats. Only a few seats, including ours, is vacant, so Kylie and I quickly find ours and sits on them. It isn't crowded at this venue, even though several couples are attending this retreat.
The facilitator for the event gives introductions. And explains the purpose of this gathering. It looks really normal and natural to me. For an average person, this will not look like a scheme.
"This is the time to rekindle the fire that once burned vigorously and passionately in your hearts for your partners. Love and trust aren't the only ones needed to be constant in a long-lasting relationship. But also excitement and passion. It has to keep burning."
The facilitator is compelling. She speaks as if she knows deeply the purpose of why these couples are here. True enough, couples around us seem to agree with her.
Does time make people grow apart even though they live together under one roof for years? Maybe. Several couples in this event can prove it. Although love and trust didn't fade, a big part of the marriage has lost the fire.
Moving to the next phase of the event, the facilitator asks us to sit facing each other. "Couples, put your hands up, not too high, and palms out."
I notice every move Kylie makes. She is facing me, and the distance between us is less than one foot. Damn, this is so close.
"Slowly and carefully, touch each other, palm to palm," the facilitator continues giving us instructions.
And yes, slowly and carefully, I move my hands towards Kylie, closing the gap between us. She's looking at me intently and daringly. The moment we touch, it feels like current strikes my hands directly. And it travels through my body.
It's electrifying, and her eyes mesmerize me.
Kylie is a wonderful woman. She raises her kid as a single mom. She's a very strong person that has gone through a lot. And she survived through it all.
The ember of fire inside me starts to burn a bit brighter. I think I see something similar in Kylie's eyes as well. I wonder if she feels the same for me as I do for her.
It is as if we're supposed to be here—side by side. Palm to palm. Skin to skin.
If only we're in a different situation, I'll never think twice of professing my love to her.
The problem is our jobs. We both don't want to work with someone else. We have been working side by side for years. She knows me as much as I do her. We're the only ones that can work perfectly like this.
It will be difficult for us to have a change of partner. We have done so much throughout the years. She's an irreplaceable associate, whether in our work or in our personal lives: a friend and an ally.
How can I risk it? This unrequited love is something that I can't act upon if I treasure what we have— years and years of friendship and compatibility.
I can't risk a single bit of it. Perhaps we are better off as friends. At least, we can talk to each other naturally. I fear the inevitability of parting ways in case my shot in romance with her won't work out. I can't imagine life without her.
Besides, how can I tell her tha
t I've loved her for so long? It will ruin our friendship.
It's obviously a dead-end.
Five
Kylie
I feel unnerved by the exercise. Feelings that I thought died with Big Geoff are slowly coming back. I know that my deceased husband will want me to fall in love again. I just am not expecting my reaction to Greg to be like this.
Who can even possibly tell me that hand touching can feel so different with each time I do it with Greg? This isn’t the first time that he holds my hand, but this is different from all of those.
Did I mention that he also looks at me differently? Yeah. Those dreamy blue eyes look to me as if Greg is this hot male lead in a Netflix original romantic comedy. And I’m Vanessa... something; you know, that girl who came from the musical hit back when― just forget it.
The point is, I don’t expect to feel anything like it. Maybe this is because I’m on the job? The product of acting as a married couple?
It doesn’t help that there is this electrical current that’s passing through my veins. I’m positive this feeling is going to stay even we don’t hold hands. The sensation brands in my brain, and it’s not going away. Call me crazy, but that’s just how it feels for me with this couple exercise; just how long has it been?
This moment feels like forever.
“Okay.” Our female instructor claps her hands once. “For the next part, I want all of you to say what you felt during this exercise. Husbands first, and then the wives.”
She goes around to the first couple and starts the next part of her exercise.
When Greg pulls his hands from mine, I somehow feel a tinge of pain in my chest. My hands that were warm seconds ago now feels cold. If there’s a proper word to describe it, my hands feel lonely without Greg’s. It’s so dumb. And I really can’t say that during this exercise.
Can I? The idea lingers in me as I subconsciously pull my hands towards my chest. I look for any remnants of that warmth that Greg Jenkins has for Kylie Jenkins. Fool. Everything Greg is doing, it’s as Greg Jenkins, your pretend husband.
“Where do I begin?” Greg’s voice pulls me back from my trance, and I wait for his answer, not really knowing what to expect. I’m not even aware it’s already our turn. I’m a mess right now! What do I say? His hand felt nice? That sounds stupid. I try to dig up something witty to get me out of this slump.
“Don’t you flatter me now.” Shit, Just shut up, Kylie. I’m so nervous the words just burst out of me. My little comment makes the other wives giggle in the room. But what about Greg?
I look to him with those questions in my eyes, and I am a little taken aback by how gentle his smile is right now. If smiles can kill, this one that Greg is making right at this moment is a nuclear weapon. I try to be cute, and the rest of the couples buys it.
“Well,” Greg continues what I interrupted earlier. “I felt deeply in love with my wife. It was like the warmth she has for me flooded right here in my chest.”
He gestures around his chest while saying this. “But it didn’t flow through our joined hands. I mean, the hand thing felt electrifying, sure...but I felt it more through my wife’s beautiful eyes.”
The others seem to like it as they start cheering for my pretend husband. I try to act composed, but my cheeks are burning, and I just shake my head at his flattery words.
“I said, don’t flatter me, Greg.” Because even if this is just an act and you probably picked that up in some cheesy movie you watched, you’re making me feel dizzy with the way your voice says those words to me. I am so close to actually say I am not feeling well, so I can just get out of this situation.
But then he suddenly holds my hand again, pulling it to his lips and presses a soft kiss on my trembling knuckles. The room is noisier now, and I can hear the other wives telling their husbands why they can’t be as sweet as Greg. If only they knew he’s just acting.
“I’m not, Kylie.” the way his eyes burn with passion and heat while he looks at me FEELS like the real Greg is telling me something. “I really am stupidly in love with you.”
I’m surprised to think that he sounds somewhat sincere about it.
The instructor doesn’t seem to mind. Actually, she looks like she approves of this little exchange between Greg and I. When it’s finally my turn, I mutter something similar, but I keep thinking about what Greg said.
Later that night, there’s a dance after dinner. Greg and I are like teenagers working the dancefloor. We’re doing all those hit dance crazes in the first part, even if the music doesn’t fit. It’s fun, and I am having a great time.
I think it’s Greg doing silly dances, but he just makes me smile, just as much as he does Geoff. The guy looks stupid, and yet he’s my stupid. MY STUPID? Gosh, Kylie, get a grip! He’s not yours. And he’ll never be more than your friend. Please don’t ruin it.
He pulls me closer, and I blink a few times. My eyelashes fluttering when I realize the music turns into a slow one. Greg has his hand on my waist. Our bodies against each other, and all I can do is stare at him, bewildered, and enchanted.
I’m not sure why, or what makes me feel like my legs will give in, but it isn’t apparent. The next thing I know is that I’m already leaning against Greg. My forehead is on his broad shoulder as I take in his scent, his warmth, and his presence.
I actually enjoy being his arms around me during the slow dance. It has been a long time since I’ve felt this way. It feels nice. However, I wonder if it feels nice just because Greg’s arms are holding me the way he is doing right now. Or if any man’s arms will have the same effect.
What is it, really?
Six
Greg
I enjoy holding Kylie in my arms. Her scent, her hand on mine, her breasts against my chest, her eyes, and her luscious lips are branding me. And the way the color of her skin looks so radiant right now is making me feel like I’m on cloud nine. The lights on the dance floor compliment it perfectly.
My hands can’t resist the temptation to explore as I feel her curves with the pad of my fingers. I move to the beat of the music as we get lost in our own world.
I love you, Kylie; I fucking love you. I want to tear your clothes into pieces and make you mine. If I tell you all this, will you run from me? Avoid me? If...if I tell you that you are so special to me, I wonder if you feel the same way.
I want to voice out such questions, but I keep it in my heart.
All this passion burning deep inside me can make even William Shakespeare feel shame! GOD FUCKING DAMNIT. Why is this so hard? I know that there must be something between us, right?
I’m feeling slightly anxious now with how close we are since I feel like my heartbeat will give me away. And that my years of effort hiding these feelings will fly out the window. So I twirl Kylie away from me, and then I keep my distance and make sure our chests won’t touch each other anymore. Because apart from my erratic heartbeat, I have a feeling something else will betray me.
Something between my legs. Damn.
That’s why I busy myself with our surroundings, watching the other couples as I notice that one pair, in particular, seems to be falling asleep on their feet. I watch as they go back to their table like they won’t make it and that they’ll fall on the dance floor.
I look at Kylie, and we have this telepathic thing between us during our seven years in the force as partners. We can’t risk our cover by saying something out loud, so we let our expressive eyes tell each other what we think and see just now. I know she understands me, and that’s when we take the next step to our investigation.
Kylie and I waltz over there, literally. I talk to them, distracting them, which doesn’t take a lot of effort. Kylie slips a small vial out of her handbag and dips it into the wine. The two of us are so in-synched with everything it feels like we have the same mind already.
Later, in our room, we test it. It comes up positive for GHBs. We write everything down while talking about our parents. And our future kids that we want to have,
for whoever is listening.
Kylie writes GHB positive on the paper, then she talks about something else. It’s fucking cute. The whole thing feels like we’re playing these weird Pictionary charades thing, and I know she’s also enjoying this.
At some point, she even doodles this cute picture of a dog, mouthing a can we pretend to have a dog at least, and I almost tell her she can have whatever she wants if she continues to be that adorable.
I get it. My mind really is different from how I act on the outside. When you work in the force with the woman you love, and she’s your dead best friend’s wife? Exactly, so yeah, I’m different. And I’m not about to ruin the partnership we have now because my heart is going to explode with all my pent up unrequited love.
“Hey, love?” she calls out to me in a tender voice that I almost pull her on the bed and make babies with her. Shit, my mind’s running wild.
“Yeah?” Good thing I have this autopilot on whenever I’m at work.
“Do you want a massage?” Is she teasing again? She has to be, or else I’m not sure if I can take this anymore.
“Is that a code for sex?” What...WHAT DID I JUST SAY!?
She’s surprised as much as I am, but she ends up giggling after a while; my chest is tight from that little slip-up soon feels a little better.
“No, I really mean a literal massage. And I am not taking no for an answer, so you better lie on your front on the bed, Mr. Jenkins,” she pats the top of the bed.
I decide to just let this happen. If I suddenly say no, the conversation will feel off. So with a shrug, I lay down on the bed just the way my pretend wife requested. I’m not really sure what to expect, but I feel something warm touch my back. And I have to focus all my strength not to let out a sexual moan because I feel like my pre-cum leaks when Kylie did that thing on my shoulder blades.
