Every Wednesday Mary Grace made the forty-five minute drive to Carlson’s office in Downtown Baltimore at one o’clock to meet her husband for lunch.  She was always greeted like a celebrity by the parking staff, security, elevator attendant, receptionist; everyone with whom she came in contact had a kind word and gleaming smile for Mrs. Carlson Hammond.
.        From there the couple made the three-block walk down to Supano’s on Water Street and sat at the same prearranged table where Mary Grace spent half her meal staring at an Ovechkin jersey hanging over a large table across the room, wishing they were the couple everyone imagined they were.  She and Carlson had been practicing this ritual for over a year now, ever since the first time they’d come, a little after returning from the trip to Hawaii where Carlson had asked her to be his wife.
.        They had been into their second night at the Moana Surfrider at Waikiki, dining on the deck of the Beachhouse at the Moana, Carlson picking around a plate of beach bim bop, Mary Grace opting for the squid ink pasta.  Never in her life did Mary Grace think she would eat anything even remotely referencing squid.  Squid was bait for other fish she refused to eat.  And black pasta?  She wouldn’t even eat whole grain or gluten free.  But with Carlson she felt open to try anything, and along with being adventurous with food, her newly found boldness had broadened to included bungee jumping, deep sea diving and ghost tours.  So far she hadn’t had an opportunity to test it out in the bedroom, but she was confident once their relationship moved on to the next level, they would commemorate it sans clothing or inhibitions.  She was so ready to be his wife she hoped she didn’t scream “Yes!” before he even uttered the question.
.        She was certain he was going to ask at dinner, the atmosphere and mood seemed so perfect, but after dessert–which revealed no diamond ring hiding beneath the sugary coating of the crème brulee–she sat still with a naked third finger.  But when they rose from the table at the end of their meal and he took her hand, entwined their fingers and suggested a walk along the beach, she sensed something life-altering was about to happen.  This was it!  She just knew it.
.        With her Jimmy Choo Lang 100 strappy patent leather sandals dangling on the fingers of one hand and his strong, firm grip in her other, Mary Grace and Carlson strolled along the sand in silence, admiring the moon over the water and the lights from the surrounding hotels.  The majesty of Diamond Head, which they’d hiked earlier that day, loomed with a spiritual solidarity in the distance.  There were several others on the beach, couples and families and singles, all enjoying the balmy night air, but Mary Grace felt as if it were only she and Carlson under the canopy of stars, the owners and rulers of paradise.
.        “If I’ve never told you before, Mary Grace, you mean a great deal to me,” he said.  “I really care for you.  Truly, I do.  What’s more important, I trust you.  That’s not something I can say about a lot of people.  Maybe not anyone.”
.        They stopped walking and she turned to face him, taking both his hands in hers, dropping her shoes with a soft thud onto the sand.  Her heart was pounding with such ferocity she thought it might just crest and spill onto the shore.
.        “I care for and trust you, too.”  She said.  She believed she even loved him, but there was no way she would say it first.
.        “I know,” he said, nodding.  His eyes had a touch of sadness in them and before she could read further into his emotions he averted his gaze.  Her heart dipped.  So he was not going to propose after all?  What then?  He spoke of caring and trust, yet his eyes said something else entirely.
.        “Carlson, before we came here, you said there was something important you needed to tell me, to ask me, something that could change both of our lives,” she prodded.  She could stand the waiting no longer.  She needed to know where she stood, where they stood, even if it was only on a Hawaiian beach.
.        He took a deep breath, and looked out over the water.  She felt his hands tightening around hers and she licked her lips, her mouth as dry as the powdery sand beneath their feet.
.        “Whatever you have to say,” she said, “it’s all right.”
.        And then it was happening, the moment she’d been waiting for since the plane touched down at Honolulu International, the question she’d been hoping he’d ask at every meal since, every quiet moment together.  Carlson was down on one knee before her, a tiny black velvet box in his hands, flipped open to reveal the clearest, shiniest, sparkliest, BIGGEST diamond ring she had ever seen.  Indeed she shouted “Yes!” before he had the entire question out of his mouth.
.        “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she reiterated after he’d finished, throwing herself into his arms.  He swept her up and spun her in a circle, several of the people who had witnessed the proposal whistling and cheering and clapping.  It was all so perfect, just like a Disney fairytale.  After all she’d gone through with Wyatt and their failed marriage, it seemed she was finally going to get her happily ever after.
.        Yet the rest of the evening, as well as their vacation, was not the celebration she envisioned.  Instead of spending the remainder of their time in Waikiki tangled in sex-saturated sheets, they moved along as they had in the beginning, sightseeing, shopping and lounging on the beach.  He was spending exorbitant amounts of money on her, which she absolutely sucked up like a pack of 1980’s yuppies snorting lines of coke, but the lack of physical intimacy was leaving her frustrated.
.        At first she’d found it sweet that he ended their evenings with a few kisses before turning his back to her in the king-sized bed.  She’d thought it romantically old fashioned, his trying to preserve the innocence and mystery of their relationship before they’d made things official.  The night before he proposed, he’d actually slept on the couch in the living area of their suite, an action she’d assumed he’d taken because he feared he wouldn’t be able to hold out any longer if he had to sleep in forced chastity beside her one more night.
.        But after returning to their room post-proposal, when she’d disappeared into the bathroom and emerged wearing only the four carat antique round diamond rock on her finger, he’d covered her with a robe.
.        “I’m sorry, honey.  You are so tempting right now, believe me, but I think I drank a little too much and I don’t want to disappoint you.”
.        “Carlson, the only thing that would disappoint me right now would be to not have the opportunity to be disappointed.”
.        He’d chuckled, silenced her with a few kisses, asking her forgiveness, which she reluctantly surrendered.  She finished herself off with the detachable shower head and when she climbed into bed beside him, still naked, he was asleep.
.        The evening before they were set to fly back into Philadelphia International Mary Grace was as disillusioned as Tom Cruise on Oscar night.  She couldn’t understand why Carlson was avoiding intimacy.  Was it due to some sort of religious belief?  Performance anxiety?  Superstition, gallantry, what?  Because all she knew was that they were in one of the most romantic places in the world, a young, vibrant, hot couple about to embark upon the most exciting time of their lives and yet still hadn’t coupled in the most basic sense.  She had no idea how their final evening in Hawaii was going to play out, but if it didn’t end with her riding his dick she was going to seriously explode.
*        Before their final dinner in Hawaii, which they were set to have at Wolfgang’s Steakhouse at nine pm, Mary Grace stepped from the shower and went directly out to the balcony, where Carlson was engrossed in his iPad and sipping a drink he’d prepared himself using ingredients from the mini bar.  She snatched it out of his hands, tossed it back–wincing at the octane level–and deftly straddled his lap.  She slid her bare muff directly over the lump in his swimming trunks, not caring that she was clean and he was still sandy from their afternoon spent at the beach.
*        “Carlson, I need you to fuck me right now,” she said, leaning in to nibble his neck and press her chest against his.  In response, his body stiffened everywhere but the place that mattered.
*        She brought herself upright, slapping his abdomen.
*        “What the fuck’s going on here, Carlson?” she demanded, depleted of patience.  “Are you gay or something?”
.        She didn’t know what she expected him to say.  It hadn’t even been a real question.  But when he stared her directly in the eye some unspoken confession passed between them.  It took her a moment to catch it, but when she did, the impact with which it landed caused her to literally cave in.
.        “Oh my God, no,” she said, clutching her stomach.  Her hands went next to her mouth and she shook her head, refusing to accept what he clearly couldn’t come right out and tell her.
.       “Maggy,” he said, placing his hands on her thighs and gently caressing them.
.        “Ew, no!” she said, slapping them away.  “What are you doing?  What are you doing?” she repeated, shouting.  She slapped him a few more times, his tablet slipping onto the ground.
.        “Maggy, stop.”
.        He seized her by the wrists, holding them  in a loose grip from which she easily broke free.  She slapped him across the face and he took it, looking off to the side.
.        Suddenly becoming aware of her nakedness, she climbed off him and went back inside, standing in the middle of the bedroom, completely at a loss as to what she should do.  She couldn’t even pull a thought together to dress herself, or cry, or .  .  .  break things.
.        She just stood there, gazing around the room at their open suitcases, the souvenir bags scattered about, the leis, the dress she had draped over a chair in preparation for dinner this evening.
.        She heard the balcony door open and close behind her, felt the warm air rushing in, briefly whispering against her skin before being sealed off behind the tempered glass exit once again.
.        “Maggy, if you’d like to be alone tonight I understand.  I’ll make other arrangements, but I really hope you’ll decide to let me stay and explain.”
.        Explain?  What in the world could he possibly explain?  What a liar he was?  Why he’d asked her to marry him when he wasn’t interested in women?  Truly, what explanation could he come up with that would make this fiasco he’d involved her in make any sense to her? At any rate, she supposed she could be grateful for the trip to Hawaii.
.           “My family won’t allow it, Maggy,” he said, and she realized she was going to get the explanation whether she wanted it or not.
.           “I’m expected to succeed my father in not just the family business, but in all things.  That means I have to have the biggest house, the most well-adjusted children, and the most beautiful, supportive wife.  I need a true partner to go with me to the next level.  Maggy, I want that partner to be you.  I still want so very much for you to be my wife.”
.           “Why?” she demanded.  She realized she was standing there in the middle of the room completely naked, a hot female Jason Segel unable to stop her world from imploding.  All she needed was a Dracula puppet to make the scene complete.
.           “Why me?  What is it about me that makes you think I’d make a suitable beard?  That makes you think I’d live a lie?  A miserable, sexless, loveless lie in exchange for what?  A few shopping sprees?  Vacations in Hawaii?  Just because I have no interest in having children doesn’t mean I don’t plan on fucking my husband.”
.           “I do have a plan.  A contract.”
.           “A contract?” she’d asked, her eyebrows and the pitch of her voice practically hitting the ceiling.
.           “This is all coming out so wrong,” he said, completely crestfallen.  “I didn’t want it to happen this way.  Things went so differently in my head.  It didn’t sound so crazy.  I had everything so meticulously planned.  I wasn’t even going to propose to you like that.  But I got caught up in the beach setting and your excitement.  I knew you wanted the perfect proposal.  You deserved that.  And I wanted to give it to you.  I’m sorry.  But please let me, well . . .”
.           He entered the room with trepidation, as if making his way to the exit door of a lion’s cage in which he’d awakened to find himself trapped.  He stepped into the bathroom and came out with a robe, which she allowed him to help her don.  She slipped her arms in, feeling like Marilyn Monroe’s Cherie when she slid into Don Murray’s leather jacket.  How much she wanted to tell him she’d go anywhere with him now, to hear him say he loved her and everything she’d done to become the woman standing before him now.  But he would never say those things to her.  He would never feel for her even a fraction of what she felt she could grow to feel for him.
.           “I don’t want you to say anything else,” she told him.  “Please.  I can’t hear any more.  Not tonight.”
.           “Does that mean you’ll be up to hearing it later?”
.           “Please, Carlson.  Just leave me alone.”
.           It turned out she wasn’t up for hearing it later.  Not during the next three months, anyway.  While she didn’t request he rent a separate room for their last night in Hawaii, she did banish him to the couch in the living area of their suite.  Conversation was nonexistent during checkout, as well as in the car on the way to the airport.  Once seated in first class, Mary Grace quickly downed three bloody Marys and fell asleep.  They took separate cabs home from Philadelphia International, Maggy’s only words spoken to him since landing being a request that he never speak to her again.
.           He didn’t heed her request, of course.  He called the next day and every other day after that for the next two weeks, leaving voice messages when she didn’t pick up.  He flooded her inbox daily with a string of emails.  While she didn’t open them, she didn’t delete them, either.  She created a folder where she dumped them, unread, the very action substantial proof that she wasn’t yet ready to let him go.
.           He sent flowers, Edible Arrangements and Shari’s Berries, Starbucks gift baskets, a Ferrer Rocher tree, lotions and body wash and fragrant sugar scrubs from Victoria’s Secret.  She had “first lunches” with her friends and family, telling them of her breakup.  She never gave details, her only offered explanation was that they wanted different things.  Which was a lie, of course.  They both wanted dick.
.           After two months of ignoring his various attempts at securing a face to face meeting, her resolve to extract him from her life began to weaken.  As the days without him began to rack up, it was getting harder and harder to keep pretending that she didn’t miss his presence.
.           Her breakup with Wyatt had left her feeling undesirable, lost, irrelevant.  Carlson had slipped right in, made her come to life again.  He listened to her, he shared with her, he valued her opinion.  They laughed together, worked out together, spent hours in each other’s kitchens experimenting with recipes.  They liked the same television shows, movies, vacation destinations.  More importantly, they hated the same sports teams.  Upon reflection, it did seem foolish to her that she hadn’t picked up on his homosexuality.  He was more of a girlfriend to her than he ever was a boyfriend.  But more than either of those, he was a friend.  Perhaps the best one she ever had.  What was that old adage about being friends before becoming lovers?  The most successful marriages being unions between partners who actually liked each other?
.           Although she wasn’t completely convinced she could enter into and maintain a sexless marriage, she had to admit it would be the only downside in becoming Carlson’s wife.   The new level of status she would achieve in being Mrs. Carlson Hammond would be nothing compared to the jet-setting life she would enjoy.  The financial security.  She would be able to continue on the path of unemployment, considering it not only her job but her duty to spend time with other rich women at spas and country clubs, chairing social and charity events and hosting gallery openings.  While it would be disappointing not sharing a bed with Carlson, as she was extremely attracted to him and had often fantasized about what his muscular chest would feel like pressed to hers, his manhood buried deep within her, she might be able to convince him to engage in a purely physical stress relieving session every now and again.
.           She believed she loved Carlson.  She wasn’t quite sure she was in love with him, but that hardly seemed necessary given the circumstances.  It worked more in her favor to not be in love with him.  She’d been in love with her first husband and look at how that had turned out.  Why had she been so hasty in rejecting Carlson’s proposal?  Shouldn’t she have at least heard him out?  Love hadn’t mattered much the first time around; why was she placing so much importance on it?  Believing it was a necessary component of a successful union?  Why not view marriage as a real investment in her future?  A brilliant business deal?
.           Exactly three months after the day they’d returned home from Hawaii, Mary Grace called Carlson at his office.  He picked up before the second ring.
.           “Maggy?”
.           “Meet me for dinner at Supano’s, eight o’clock Saturday night.  I think I may be ready to negotiate.”