Marrying My Neighbor

by Roxy Reid

  I glance at Sean. His dark lashes lie softly against his skin, and there’s dark stubble along his jaw. We didn’t have sex last night, partly because we were exhausted from the jet lag, and partly because our guest room shares a wall with Sean’s mom’s room.

  Now I feel hungry to touch him. I reach out and trace his cheekbone with my fingertips.

  I still can’t believe how easy last night was, and how warm. I can understand why Sean was shocked by how my parents treated me. Sean’s mom—her name is Deidre, I learned—might pick on him. She nags and scolds and is resolutely unimpressed with how rich he is. In the next breath, she’s bragging about him, planning to make all his favorite foods while he’s here, and hugging him just because she missed him.

  The way she was with me …

  She threw her arms wide open and welcomed me into her family. No questions asked. My throat gets tight just thinking about it. I didn’t know that family could feel like this.

  Sean’s eyes drift open. I start to pull my hand away from his face, but he sleepily catches it and kisses my fingertips. The sweetness of the gesture steals my breath.

  I wish I could keep this. The thought steals into my mind unbidden, but I shove it back. Bad enough, I’m lying to Sean’s family. I can’t go elbowing my way into their lives permanently. No, I need to remember this is temporary. My book sales are already climbing. Once the sales get high enough and the TV people officially decide whether or not to offer me a contract, Sean and I are over.

  I need to remember that, no matter how real this is starting to feel.

  “So, what’s on the docket for the day?” I ask, needing a distraction from my own thoughts. “Any more family I need to meet?”

  “Christ, no,” Sean says. He yawns and stretches. “I mean, there’s more family, but no need to meet them. We can do that at Christmas.”

  Christmas. We’re coming back for Christmas.

  I forgot I told my parents that. When I said it, I was using it as a weapon. Galway wasn’t a real place for me yet. Now that it is, I’m both looking forward to and terrified of Christmas with the Bronsons.

  “Does your family have a lot of traditions?” I ask.

  “We’re not like Americans,” he says. “Peter has to say midnight mass, so we go to that. Then we do gifts in the morning. It’s quiet, just Mum and Peter and me. And now you.” Sean snuggles closer to me. “We do the big family thing a few days later.”

  And now you. I’m going to be part of Sean’s family Christmas.

  No, don’t think about that right now, I tell myself sternly.

  “I think I’ll take a shower,” I say brightly. “Where are the towels again?”

  Sean points to a shelf. I grab a towel and scurry out before he can say anything else that will accidentally break my heart.

  My first day in Ireland is as easy as my first night. Sean’s mum has to work, so we spend a lazy morning around the house. Then we drive into town to wander the shops. I especially like the bookstore. We stop at Peter’s church, and he gives us a tour. Sean is bored by the old building, but I think it’s beautiful. When we pass the frilliest, girliest tea shop I’ve ever seen in my life, I make Sean go in with me, and we have tea and scones. Sean rolls his eyes the whole time, but before we leave, he buys three packages of the tea because I liked it.

  We meet up with Deidre when she finishes work, and we go to get fish and chips from dinner in a blue building that Deidre swears has the best fish and chips I’ll ever eat in my life. I’m skeptical. Boston has pretty good fish and chips. When I take a bite, though, I’m forced to admit she’s right. Deidre smiles smugly across the table at me.

  When we drive home for the night, I’m feeling sleepy, satisfied, and ready to crawl into bed, but it turns out Sean has more on the itinerary. Apparently, we’re meeting some of his friends at the local pub. Sean assures me it’s close, just a fifteen-minute walk away.

  “But the bed’s so soft,” I whine. I close my eyes dramatically and flop back against the pillows. “Deidre wouldn’t make me go.”

  “I went to the bloody tea shop,” he points out.

  I groan.

  “Come on, these are my friends. Did you bring that red sweater?” he asks.

  I open one eye suspiciously. Sean never cares about my clothes. “Yes. Why?”

  “You look good in it. I want to show you off,” he says.

  I don’t know what I like more, that Sean wants to show me off to his friends like we’re a real couple or that he thinks I’m worth showing off. I mean, I know I’m cute. I can even pull off stunning when the situation calls for it. But whenever a guy has wanted to show me off before it’s really been about showing off my family.

  Did you know? I’m dating a Blackwood. Yes, the Philadelphia Blackwoods, although they’re based in Chicago now.

  I highly doubt Sean’s Irish friends give a crap what my last name is. He just wants to show me off because I’m … well, me. Because I’m wearing his ring and look good in a red sweater. Suddenly, I find I have a bit more energy left than I thought.

  “Give me ten minutes,” I say.

  In the end, it takes me fifteen, but when I come out of the bathroom. I look good. My makeup is perfect, and my hair falls sexily around my face. I’m wearing the sweater, as per Sean’s request, but I’m wearing it with a black mini-skirt, black tights, and flat black ankle boots.

  Sean looks up from his phone and blinks. “Wow.”

  “I know,” I say, and pull on my jacket.

  The night is cold and beautiful as we walk to the pub, hand in hand.

  “So, tell me about your friends,” I say as we approach the pub. “Anything I should know?”

  Sean shrugs. “Not really. Mary and Joe have been dating each other off and on since secondary school. Don’t ask when they’re going to get married and don’t ask if they’ve got a kid named Jesus. Trust me, they’ve heard that one before.”

  I snicker.

  “Dean’s great. Used to play professional hurling before he got a shoulder injury. He coaches the local kid’s team now. He’s a great coach, and the kids are lucky to have him, but he’s frustrated by how underfunded the kids’ team is.”

  “Are they underfunded?” I ask.

  Sean shrugs. “It’s children’s hurling. How much more funding do they need?”

  I laugh. “Okay, got it. Mary, Joe, and Dean. Are these the people in the photos in your guest room?”

  Sean nods. “It’s not the whole crew. Some of ‘em moved up to Dublin. Ellen is, ironically, vacationing in the states right now. But Mary, Joe, and Dean are the heart of our gang. If they believe our marriage is real, everyone else will, too.”

  I bite my lip, suddenly on high alert. “This is a test.”

  Sean looks down at me, but I can’t read his face in the dark.

  “They’ll want to believe we’re really in love,” he says quietly. “They’re the type of friends that root for you, no matter what. But, yeah, they’ve always known before if I lied to them about anything. If someone’s going to figure out our marriage isn’t real, it will be them.”

  I swallow. “If they can always tell when you’re lying, why are we going to see them?”

  “Because if I don’t introduce them to my new bride, they’ll know for certain something’s up,” Sean says. “Also, because they’re my best friends. I want to see them.”

  “I thought I was your best friend,” I tease, but now I’m worried about meeting them, and it comes out more of a whine than a tease.

  We’re only a few dozen feet away from the pub now. It looks warm, glowing, inviting. I’m terrified to go in there. What if our fake marriage survived my family, his family, and TV news, only to be blown wide open by Mary, Joe, and Dean in a pub in rural Ireland?

  “What would they say if they figured it out?” I ask.

  “Honestly, they’d probably think it was good craic,” he says, and that calms me down a little. “We don’t take ourselves too seriously around here.”


  I know he’s not trying to imply that I’m taking myself too seriously by insisting on a fake marriage to save my career, but it kind of feels that way.

  Suddenly, I’m not worried about whether or not they’ll be able to tell we’re lying. I’m worried about whether or not they’ll like me. These are the people Sean loves enough to put up photos of them in his house. He’s the people he makes time to see every time he’s back in Ireland. I look down at myself, second-guessing my outfit. I should have worn jeans, something more casual. I look like a person who takes herself too seriously.

  No, wait, I’m supposed to be married to Sean. He tends to date the breathtakingly beautiful. I should have dressed up more. I should have …

  Sean steps in front of me and cups my face, jolting me from my thoughts.

  “Stop worrying. They’ll love you,” Sean says.

  “I want to. But—”

  “Just act like you love me, but like you also think I might be full of shit.”

  “That’s how I always act around you,” I say.

  We both freeze as we realize what I said.

  “I mean, I always think you’re full of shit,” I fumble. “Not the other part. I don’t—”

  “I get it, Grace. You don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself explaining it,” Sean says. His voice is oddly flat.

  Shoot. Did I hurt his feelings? I wish I could see his face in the dark.

  Sean cups the back of my neck and kisses me. I’m not expecting it, and my hands flutter before settling against his chest. Sean sweeps his tongue through my mouth in a fierce, claiming kiss. But also maybe like a punishment. When he raises his head to break the kiss, I’m not breathing steadily. Neither is Sean.

  “What was that for?” I ask.

  “If we can’t convince them you’re in love with me, hopefully, we can convince them we can’t keep our hands off each other,” he says.

  Sean takes my hand and leads me inside to meet his friends.

  The pub is warm and cozy and more filled than I’d expect it to be on a random weeknight. Other than a row of young guys at the bar, most of the people are older. I get the feeling most of them have been coming back to this pub off and on for the last fifteen years.

  I spot some people our own age. They’re in a booth, waving at us enthusiastically. They’re all in comfortable sweaters and pants, and I definitely feel overdressed.

  I tilt my chin up, trying to feel brave. Sean leads me over to the group.

  “Grace, this is Mary, Joe, and Dean,” Sean says.

  Mary has a delicate face with long, straight hair scooped back from her face in an improbably sloppy bun. A collared shirt peaks over the neckline of her sweater. She reminds me of one of those cute girls in high school who doesn’t try too hard. Joe’s hair is buzzed short, probably to minimize a hairline that’s already receding, but he’s got kind eyes, and there are smile lines at the corner of his eyes when he smiles. Dean’s massive—I make a note to look up what kind of sport hurling actually is—but he’s so easy and relaxed that everyone around him seems to forget about his size.

  I give a quick wave.

  “Everyone, this is Grace. My wife,” Sean says. He looks at me warmly when he says wife, and I feel myself relax some.

  Yes, it’s important that I convince these people we’re a couple, but I’m not alone. I have Sean on my side. I can’t help but smile back at him.

  We can do this.

  He squeezes my hand.

  Dean sighs and stands up. “Well, lost that one. Next round’s on me. Grace and Sean, what are you having?”

  “Heineken for me. Bulmer’s for her,” Sean orders for us. Then he and I slide into the booth.

  Sean looks at Mary. “Did you bet on us?”

  Mary grins back, completely shameless. “Dean thought you’d go the whole evening without ever mentioning the wedding. I thought you’d bring it up in the first five minutes. Joe took everything in the middle.”

  I look at Joe, who shrugged genially. “I teach statistics. Everything in the middle had better odds, numerically speaking.”

  “But we’re not talking about numbers,” Mary cuts in. “We’re talking about Sean. When have you not known him to face the thing head-on? Sure, isn’t he always offering to throw money at the problem, as if that will help?”

  “Which problem?” I ask, confused.

  “Every problem,” Sean says dryly. “Mary is not impressed with the money I send back home and thinks I should visit more often.” He turns back to Mary. “I bought computers for the whole school.”

  Joe catches my look of confusion. “Mary’s the local school principal,” he says proudly. “She’s not a bad boss, either.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “That doesn’t cause problems for your relationship?” Then I realize what I said. “Sorry, none of my business. I write about relationships. Sometimes my professional curiosity gets the best of me.”

  “No worries. I spend a lot of time asking people what exactly they mean when they say, statistically speaking,” Joe says, and I laugh. He glances over at Mary, who’s already drawn Sean into a debate about the best way to get teens interested in coding.

  “And no, there are things that cause us problems, but that’s not one of them,” Joe says to me. He winks at me. “I like a woman on top.”

  Mary elbows him, and Joe laughs. Then Dean shows up with the drinks, balancing them all on a tray he got from the cute bartender. She’s taking her time wiping down a table a few feet behind us, and from the look in her eyes, she’d like to give Dean more than a tray. Dean’s completely oblivious as he hands us our drinks and gives the tray back to the bartender. As he slides into the booth, the bartender gives one last appreciative look at Dean and wanders back to the post, disappointed.

  Sean shakes his head with exaggerated patience. “Breaking hearts again, Dean?”

  “What?” Dean looks around the bar, confused.

  “The bartender has a thing for you,” Mary chimes in.

  “What? No,” Dean says. He looks at Joe then me like he can’t trust the other two to tell him the truth. “Really?”

  Joe and I both nod.

  Dean blushes, delighted. “I, uh, better go buy us some chips. For the table.”

  “Sure, for the table,” Joe says judiciously as Dean stands back up, straightens his shoulders, and heads back to the bar.

  The conversation moves on, and when Dean comes back fifteen minutes later with chips and the bartender’s phone number, the whole table cheers. I’m halfway into my second cider when I realize I genuinely like Sean’s friends. More than that, I like how Sean is when he’s with them. He’s not arrogant, the way he is with his business colleagues, although God knows I find that arrogance sexier than I should. He’s not a gentle pushover the way he is with Deidre, either, although I love the sweetness he shows his mom.

  When he’s with his friends, he’s just Sean. He’s exactly the way he is with me, I realize.

  I really am his best friend in America, I think. I look at Sean, who’s cheerfully arguing with Mary again, and he’s so beautiful that I feel my heart tighten.

  I can’t lose him, I think. I feel it with sudden, blinding clarity. However this ends between us, I can’t lose him.

  I thought I knew that already, but before, I was only thinking about how much it would suck to lose that easy place with him where I can flop on his couch, relax, and unwind. Now I know it would be so much more than that. Now I know the thing I’d miss most is him. His scent, his humor, the way he thinks about a problem, the way his smile can light up a room. My heart aches just thinking about not having him in my life anymore.

  Sean catches me looking at him and smiles. He must read some of what I’m feeling in my face because his smile fades. He drops an easy arm around my shoulders and leans down to speak softly in my ear.

  “Hey. Are you okay? We can get out of here if you want.”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”
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  I nod.

  His eyes flicker down to my mouth like he can tell something’s hurting me and wants to kiss it better.

  I wish he would. I wish he’d kiss me so that I could focus on his mouth and not worry about tomorrow. But we’re out in public, with his friends, and we can’t—

  Sean leans down and kisses me. It’s a chaste, closed-mouth kiss, but he’s not rushing, either. He doesn’t care who’s watching. He just knows I need him, so he’s giving himself to me. For some reason, that makes my heart pound.

  When Sean pulls away, I realize silence has fallen at the table.

  “Well.” Mary says. “Guess I’m buying the next round.” She slides out of the booth and heads to the bar.

  “So, what bet did she just lose?” I ask lightly, trying to get my heartbeat back to normal. “How much gross couple stuff we’d subject you to?”

  Joe and Dean look sheepish.

  Sean catches the look. “Lads. What is it?”

  “Mary didn’t think you meant to get married in Las Vegas,” Dean says. “She thought you got drunk, married some random American, and now you were trying to save face.” Then he winces as Joe kicks him under the table.

  “She really does like you,” Joe hurries to reassure me. “We all do. Pretty much since you sat down. And it’s obvious you love each other.”

  Now my heart’s pounding for an entirely different reason. Sean and I exchange a glance. I can’t believe how close they came to figuring out the truth. Good thing Sean and I are such good actors.

  I finish my cider, trying to fake nonchalance. “What finally convinced you?”

  Dean snorts. “Sean kissed you. He doesn’t kiss women in public. Not unless we’ve been out all night and he’s gotten really, really pissed.”

  I glance at Sean. Actually, that tracks. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sean kiss someone, except for once or twice when I spotted a woman leaving his door in the early morning and he didn’t think anyone was watching. Our first kiss was in Las Vegas where we were, to use the Irish term, really pissed.

  Everything after that … I look at Sean, who’s suddenly avoiding my eye contact.