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millllenniawrites · 12 days ago

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Working Backward Part Two

Part One | Next One

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Notes: Not beta-read, cause when is it ever. Future chapters will have explicit content.

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only (In later chapters)

Warnings: Fake dating; implied age gap; miscommunication; likely inaccurate medical chat (I'm not a doctor I just pretend to be one when I write fic)

Summary: Maybe if the weekend goes really well, the family will just start inviting him to get-togethers instead of you. You’d almost be alright with that, though you don’t think you’d wish it on Robby.

breakfast?

You send it without expecting him to give you any kind of timely answer. It’s early-ish for a person on vacation, just past eight. You know that Robby’s an earlier riser for work, but you’re not sure if that’s by default or design. Is he a runner? You can see him being a runner, he’s got the build for it.

Actually, now that you think about it, you can totally picture that guy in a pair of shorts going on a jog when he can’t sleep…Which, given the bags under his eyes, is probably, like…A lot.

You can relate—to the inability to sleep part, anyway. These days you’ve been getting up at 5 in the morning even on your days off to keep up with your studying.

The speed with which your phone buzzes catches you off-guard, and you glance away from your laptop to eye your phone screen.

Sure. Now?

Now? You’re not even dressed, you have to brush your teeth, what are you even going to wear to breakfast—?

You’re halfway out of your chair before you force yourself to stop. You have carpeting underfoot, you’re in your jammies, hand-frozen halfway to your phone. You don’t have to answer Robby with the immediacy that you would in the ED. You’re on vacation. Sure, it’s technically a forced family vacation, but still, vacation.

Then again, he is doing you an absolutely insane favor, it’s only polite to work on his preferred timeline, right?

You huff, taking the phone up. You’re not at his beck and call right now. At his mercy, maybe, but not his beck and call. You can offer a compromise:

10 minutes?

You wait with bated breath, stomach twisting as you watch the phone, eye the little bubble that comes up, and then a single:

👍

You puff out a little breath, nodding and turning to rifle through your suitcase. This is good, actually. Knowing Emma, she got up to workout this morning. Trish probably tagged along. They’ll see the two of you at breakfast together, further build the myth of whatever the couple the two of you are pretending to be.

You’d done a pretty good job with it last night—mingled, kept the PDA respectful (hands on shoulders, backs, arms). But, you had a couple of slips conversationally, moments when your answers overlapped and were inconsistent. You’d been able to play them off for the most part, but you may not always get so lucky. Breakfast will be good—you’ll have time to cover some ground, agree on a few more details than you’d been able to before.

You’re careful leaving your room—checking the peephole for anyone lingering, looking both ways as you leave, tiptoeing down the hall and knocking on Robby’s door. You lean against the wall, smoothing over your clothes, adjusting your bag, opening it and poking through. You don’t look up the second you hear him open the door, though you tut softly when he points out, “We could’ve met downstairs.”

“It would look weird.”

“Could always say I left something upstairs.”

“Well now you don’t have to worry about coming up with another lie,” You straighten up and turn toward the elevator. “Sleep okay?”

“Fine. You?” “Sure.” You pressed the button for the elevator, doing a double-take at the sight of Robby’s raised brows. “What?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Excuse me?”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good, fine,” You insist as the two of you step onto the elevator. “Just need some coffee.”

“Something tells me you’ve already had a cup or two. How long have you been awake?”

“How long have you been like this?” You ask, waving a finger at him.

“Like what?”

“In the habit of diagnosing people for fun.”

“You think this is fun for me?”

“I think you’re having a whale of a time, Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Speaking of time, you’ve been awake two hours? Three?”

“Jesus christ,” You chuckle, pushing off of the wall of the elevator. “Take a day off, Robby.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’ve had nearly twelve hours to recover from hearing it the first time, but this hits nearly as hard as the last one. Why is the way he says it so convincing? Hell, he’s gonna have you under the same spell that he managed to put Trish under if you’re not careful.

You only make it three steps into the hotel’s restaurant before you spot Emma and Trish. Called it.

“Oh, look at that,” Robby’s head dips closer to yours to murmur in your ear, “Should we go sit with them?”

“Ha-ha,” You drone flatly, tacking on, “Don’t even think about it,” as you hook your arm through his, leading him to a table overlooking the pool.

“What got you up, anyway?”

You give Robby another weary glance as he sits across from you. You can keep brushing it off, or lie—but you’re going to be doing so much lying over the next couple of days, you don’t need another thing to keep straight.

“Studying.”

“Boards?”

“Mhm.”

“Oof.” Robby picks his menu, fishes into his pocket before drawing out his reading glasses. “Yeah,” You mutter, watching him put them on from beneath your lashes, “Oof.”

It’s entirely unfair for a grown man to be cute like this. Has Dana’s daughter taught her what being ‘babygirl’ means?

You raise your menu to hide your devious little smile. You’ll have to pencil that one in for when you get back to the Pitt.

“Good morning! Can I get y’all anything?”

You look up at the waiter, offering him a smile.

“Could I have a redeye with two shots, please?"

“Of course. And for you?”

“Two waters, a coffee, and a defibrillator for the table.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stem your amusement as the waiter’s face washes with confusion.

“He’s kidding,” You hurry to cover. “Just the redeye, the coffee, and the waters, please. Thanks.”

“Alrighty then!”

You can see him glancing back toward the two of you in your periphery as you turn back to Robby—only to find that he’s already gone back to his menu.

“And just how many coffees have you had, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“May’ve had one when I got up.”

“May have? I’m a little concerned about the lack of surety in your statement.”

“Then you should run an assessment.”

“An assessment?”

“Mhm.” Robby lowers his menu, drawing his glasses off of his face. “C’mon, hit me, doctor.”

“I’d love to,” You mutter.

“What was that?”

“I said ‘not until I’ve had my coffee.’”

“I don’t think you did.”

The two of you fall quiet as the waiter sets your drinks down. You hardly look away from one another as you murmur your thanks. Robby tips his chin toward the coffee, urges, “Go on.”

You sigh heavily, taking your time picking the redeye up, blowing to cool it, giving it a whiff before taking a slow sip. Robby’s lips quirk in a small smile as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table.

“Where do you start.”

“Are you taking any medications that can impair memory or judgement?”

“I’m not.”

“Any recent falls or hits to your head?”

“Aside from the little whack Dana gave me in central before I left my on Thursday, shift, none. What’s next.”

“Determine whether the symptoms are amnesiatic or non-amnesiatic.”

“What’s the difference.”

“Any cognitive impairment that’s amnesiatic will more strongly affect memory. People forgetting appointments, conversations they’ve had recently. Cognitive impairment that’s non-amnesiatic can present as difficulty making sound risk assessments.”

“When’s the last time you saw me do anything risky?”

“About three days ago.”

His eyebrows pop up as he reaches for his coffee. “And what was that?”

“You ate that sandwich in the staff lounge.”

“How was that risky?”

“It was Perlah’s, first of all—”

“She said I could have it!”

“She also said that it had been sitting in her hot car for upwards of four hours. There was dairy in there, Michael. Cheese.”

"I’m Michael now? You are serious.”

“You ate hot mayonnaise and that should be illegal.”

“I was desperate."

“You’d have to be. Big attending on campus, too good for the vending machine.”

“Still within the bounds of a common risk, so—”

“Agree to disagree—”

“You can safely determine that it’s non-amnesiatic. Next steps.”

“Cognitive testing. I’m not going to make you get up and walk a straight line for me, since we were just walking together, so I know that’s alright.”

“Mhm.”

“You know your name?”

“Michael Robinavitch.”

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Who’s the president?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

You can’t help your smile and laugh this time, nodding. “Good enough. I’m going to say three words, and I want you to say them back to me.”

“Okay.”

“Protein, surgeon, balloon.”

“Protein, surgeon, balloon—is there some kind of connection there?”

“No, are you kidding? I’m not secretly a New York Times Connections writer. Just the first things I thought of. Now��” You reach into your bag, drawing out a pen and holding it out. He eyes it, raises a brow.

“Come on,” You waggle it, nodding toward the paper cover on the tablecloth. Robby takes it, glances around as he uncaps it.

“Draw a clock,” You instruct, “And make it read 10 after 9.”

You watch Robby take one of the water glasses, drawing it closer and tracing around it. Your brows raise at the sight, nodding to yourself as you watch him fill the clock out. You lean forward, nodding again as he places the arms in the right place.

“Remind me of those three words?”

“Protein, surgeon, balloon. Labs?”

“You don’t wanna name as many four-legged animals as you can in a minute?”

“Labs,” He repeats as he holds your pen out. You take it, eyeing the ceiling as you wrack your mind.

“Blood count…TSH, glucose, serum calcium, and…serum electrolytes.”

Robby hums and nods as he takes his coffee up again. “Very good. Sounds like that studying is paying off.”

“Flipping hope so,” You grumble as you put your pen away. “It’s been my entire life for, like…A year.”

“A year? You don’t think you’re overdoing it?”

You can hear the frown in Robby’s voice. You’ve seen it before, and you’re certain you’ll see it again once you’re back at the Pitt—but you can hide from it behind a menu now. You won’t have that luxury at work.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“The pass rate’s high—and I know that you know your stuff.”

“Mm, but you know how I know that you know I know my stuff? Studying.”

“You lost me two ‘knows’ ago.”

“Well good morning, you two!”

The sound of Aunt Trish’s voice actually startles you a little, and you nearly spill some of your coffee. You manage to cover it off by leaning in and taking a quick sip as Robby answers, “Good morning.”

“You look so cozy over here, real deep in conversation. What were you talkin’ about?”

“Just how nice it was to see everyone last night,” You fib. “Where’d Em go?”

“Oh, so you did see us when you came in.” Trish fixes you with a sickly-sweet, wholly insincere smile. “You could’ve come over and joined us—or said hello, at least.”

You fight the urge to shrink down in your chair yourself.

“Well the two of you seemed so deep in conversation yourselves. Figured it was wedding—stuff,” You flub.

Trish’s eyes narrow slightly before she turns a full smile toward Robby. “So what are you up to for the rest of the day?”

Just Robby—as if he’s not with you at all. And really, he’s not, but she doesn’t know that, right? Or has she figured it out?

You lean back in your seat a touch, eyeing the table and let yourself zone. Maybe if the weekend goes really well, the family will just start inviting him to get-togethers instead of you. You’d almost be alright with that, though you don’t think you’d wish it on Robby.

The nudge of his foot against your leg forces you to look up, instinctively slapping on a smile as you see Trish turning back toward you.

“We’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner. Don’t worry, Emma was able to seat the two of you together—but you really should’ve let us know sooner. You know how she can’t stand last minute changes.”

You bite your tongue, giving a small nod. Emma couldn’t give a damn, and you both know it.

“Sorry about that, Aunt Trish. Won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Another sickly-sweet smile, a small wave, and then Trish turns, leaving the two of you behind. You groan softly once she’s out of the restaurant, tipping your head into your hands.

“I didn’t even think about bringing you to the rehearsal dinner.”

“It’s tonight, right?”

“Mhm. And then the bachelorette party right after.”

“People still do that the night before their wedding?”

“Unfortunately.” You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. “You’ve got something to wear for dinner, right? It’s like, in between last night’s reception and the wedding tomorrow. Not as casual, not as dressy.”

When you lower your hands, you expect to see Robby nodding, to hear his reassurance. But, his lips are pursed into a little frown, and he’s shaking his head.

“You don't have anything extra that you brought that could work?”

He shrugs. “I packed light.”

“Ugh. Men,” You mutter, picking up your menu. “Okay. We’ll order, eat—”

“Usually the way that happens—”

“And go find you something. And then you can have the rest of the day to do whatever you want until the reception.”

“Which is at?”

“Six.”

“Okay…You okay?”

“Hm?”

“Hey.”

“I’m fine.” You glance up when Robby makes no answer, and are caught off-guard by the look he’s fixing you with. It’s not the diagnostic curiosity that you’d been treated to on the elevator. There’s something discerning and concerned in his eye. You meet it with the same smile that you gave Trish just moments ago.

“I’m am,” You insist. “Just hungry.”

And Robby doesn’t seem to buy it—but he leans back in his seat, takes up his menu, and blessedly lets it go.

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millllenniawrites · 17 days ago

Text

Working Backward Part One

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Notes: Not beta-read, cause when is it ever. Future chapters will have explicit content.

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only

Warnings: Fake dating; implied age gap; miscommunication

Summary: You had toyed with the idea of texting Emma to explain that you and Robby weren’t a thing, that you just worked together, just happened to be attending the same wedding in a cruel twist of fate. Then you’d thought it through, realized that those messages would be screenshot, sent across family group chat upon family group chat. You just couldn’t risk it.

So now, you have to find Emma, pray that Robby and whoever he brought with him haven’t arrived at the reception yet, and won’t make this situation even more difficult than it’s already going to be.

This is going to be an adventure.

That’s what you’ve been telling yourself since your youngest cousin announced her engagement; as you booked the plane ticket to New Orleans and gotten a room in the hotel block that they reserved; as you returned your RSVP; when you shopped for the dresses that you’d need for the out of town reception, the bachelorette party, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding itself.

Sure, you’re going to the wedding alone, and yes, the fact that you are the only unmarried (and incredibly single) cousin is the butt of your family’s jokes, and no, despite your best efforts, you hadn’t been able to scrounge up someone for a plus one.

But it is going to be an adventure! You can make a little game out of it, like…Drink every time one of your family members asks if you’re still single.

Actually, maybe not that rule. You’d be dead by the time Emma’s walking down the aisle.

No, no. Be positive.

You’re in a city you’ve never been to, and you’ve got a couple of hours before the out of town reception. You glance toward the rack of brochures as the receptionist processes your credit card and gets your room key. You could sight-see…You’d been meaning to check for things to do online, but you’d been so busy between your shifts at the Pitt and studying for your boards. But, studying should probably come first in the few free hours that you have.

Nevertheless, you pluck a couple of brochures up on your way to the elevator, hurrying forward when you see the doors beginning to close.

“Can you hold the elevator?” You call out, relaxing when a hand appears, stopping the doors from shutting. “Thanks,” You sigh as you grow closer. You’ve only got one foot on when you catch sight of his face, and you freeze as you struggle to process the familiar face. It’s vindicating that he seems about as stunned as you are, his mouth forming a small o.

“Robby,” You finally manage.

“Hi.”

“Hi there—Shit,” You hurry fully onto the elevator as it lets out a long, piercing beep. You pull your suitcase in front of you as Robby nods toward the buttons.

“Do you need to…?”

“Uh…” You eye the only lit button. “Nn-nn. Same floor.”

“No kidding.”

You would kill to be kidding. You’ve been determined to make this entire experience an adventure, but this may be a bridge too far. Your sweating palms and fingers flex around the handle of the suitcase, crumpling a couple of the brochures in your hand.

“What brings you to NOLA?” He asks.

“My cousin is getting married.”

“...To Alan Schafer?”

Your head snaps to look at Robby, eyes widening.

“You’re—Really?”

“Mhm.”

You can’t help a soft, stunned huff of a laugh. Who knew the universe was so into sick jokes? “What are the odds, huh. When’d you get in?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

You fall quiet as the elevator comes to a stop eight floors below yours. The doors open, and your stomach plummets all the way back to the goddamn lobby—but you force a grin and an enthusiastic, “Oh my god!” As your cousin screeches at the sight of you. Emma practically prances onto the elevator, making it shake disconcertingly.

“Hiiii!” She hugs you tightly, trapping your suitcase uncomfortably between the two of you. You feel it slide and glance over to see Robby dislodging it and drawing it to your side. You cast him a grateful sidelong smile before turning back to Emma as she leans away.

“Did you just get here? Of course you did, look at your suitcase. Thanks for moving that, by the way—Damn honey, he’s so cute!” Emma looks between you and Robby. “You know my mother was just saying last night that there was absolutely zero hope for you, but just look at him!”

Your smile melts in confusion as Emma turns away, whacking the button for another floor.

“N-no, Em, he’s not—”

“You don’t need to justify a thing to me, honey, I always believed in you. I’m just glad something came out of all of those awful dates you went on—Oh, this is me!” She backed off of the elevator as the doors open again. “I’ll go tell mother—You know Julie and Dan are hitting the skids? She’s gonna be green—See you at the reception! Looking forward to getting to know you, too, cutie!”

You stand there, frozen and horrified as the doors close behind her.

“...She seems nice,” Robby offers as the elevator starts up again.

“She’s a bit of a tornado.”

“I picked up on that.”

You reach out, gingerly sliding your suitcase back from Robby. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s really not,” You insist, stepping off of the elevator as it finally reaches your floor. “My family can be a lot.”

“No kidding.”

“Ha, yeah. You’ll have a front row seat to some more of the madness for the next couple of days.” You stop in front of your door, fumbling with your key card. “Still, might be better than Myrna calling you fruitcake.”

“There are a lot of things that are better than Myrna calling me fruitcake. Hey, um,” Robby lowers his voice, taking a step closer as you get the door open, “About what Emma said—”

“Oh,” You slide your suitcase inside. “No, that—I’ll take care of that. She makes these assumptions because I’m kind of a running family joke—” Your boss, button up, you’re talking to your boss—"Anyway, I’ll make sure it’s cleared up before they meet your plus one so it’s not all awkward. Well. More awkward,” You slap another smile onto your face as you close your door with a squeak of, “See you down there!”

You plaster yourself back against the door, heart thudding in your ribcage as you raise a hand to scrub over your rapidly heating face. Well, fuck. You should’ve just let that elevator go—or taken the damn stairs, rolling suitcase and room on the twentieth floor be damned.

Is it worse that Emma assumed you were dating your boss? Would it have been better if she’d just weirded out some random stranger? Then again, a random stranger probably wouldn’t have moved your suitcase like that. Her assumption that you knew Robby was a wholly logical one, and a fucking bullseye.

You’re positive, certain (hopeful) that in the few seconds she’d been there with the two of you, there was absolutely no way that Em could’ve pinpointed the crush that you have on Robby. You’d spoken about him when you were talking to her about work, sure—but it had been the way that you’d spoken about all of your other coworkers, no better, no worse. The two of you hadn’t been standing particularly close in the elevator. Maybe she really had just picked it up from him moving his suitcase…Or she was projecting and really did just want for you to be able to shove supposed boyfriend in her mother and Julie’s faces.

Hell, you’d love it if you had someone to shove in their faces.

But holy mother of god, untangling this little web that Emma managed to weave you into in just a matter of seconds is going to be painful.

You draw in a deep breath, sigh it out, kick off your shoes, and steer your suitcase a little deeper into the room. It’s nice—has a small balcony, a lovely view of the pool…Which, when you look closely, you can already see some of your family around. You step back, tugging your curtains closed. You eye the brochures, half-crumpled from where they’d been clutched in your hand, and drop them on the desk. You don’t want to risk seeing one of your family members on the way out or on the way in…

You turn to the fridge, tugging it open, and letting out a relieved sigh as you spot everything that’s been stocked.

It may cost you a small fortune, but raiding the mini bar to hide in your room and study for the next couple of hours and is going to be well-worth the price.

Your dress looks cute, your heels are low enough that they won’t bother your feet over the course of what will likely be a mostly seatless event, and you have a pleasant buzz from the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge. Your nails tap against your purse as you ride down in the elevator, then follow the signs to the out of town reception.

You are on a mission.

You had toyed with the idea of texting Emma to explain that you and Robby weren’t a thing, that you just worked together, just happened to be attending the same wedding in a cruel twist of fate. Then you’d thought it through, realized that those messages would be screenshot, sent across family group chat upon family group chat. You just couldn’t risk it.

Your eyes scan the crowd—a collection of family, friends from back home, faces that you have never seen before, but will likely become familiar with over the next couple of days. You fight the urge to pluck a glass of prosecco off of a passing waiter’s tray, instead making a beeline for Emma when you spot her. You nearly falter when you spot her mother standing with her. Oh—Hell. Your Aunt Trish is the nosiest busybody in the family. It’s going to be difficult to tear Emma away from her without Trish insisting on tagging along.

You steel yourself, biting on the inside of your cheek and lightly grasping Emma’s elbow.

“Hey hon. Can I talk to you real quick, alone—?”

“There you are!” Trish reaches out, grasping your free wrist before Emma can answer. “Emma was just telling me about your new ‘friend.’” She has the audacity to raise her hand and emphasize it with air quotes. “But she was rushing around, didn’t get a chance to really meet the guy. Where is he?”

You swallow thickly. “I can explain that, but uh, I really need a second alone with Em—”

“Here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It’s so stunningly new from him. You’re used to him calling you doctor. Sweetheart is new, and different, and is accompanied by Robby coming to stand at your side and passing you a glass of prosecco, forcing Trish to let go of you. You look at him, unable to help your surprise as he takes up a place beside you.

“I was just catching up with Alan,” He adds before he smiles toward Emma and Trish, holding a hand out. “Doctor Michael Robinavitch. You must be the bride, and you must be her—Sister?”

Your brows lift as you hear Trish let out a girlish giggle the likes of which you’ve never heard from her before, and you should see it for yourself, but you just can’t bring yourself to turn away from Robby. His smile is so calm, and he looks good. He always looks good, of course, but it’s one thing to see him in a hoodie and scrubs and another to see him in a button down and a very nice pair of khakis.

When his eyes dart to you and widen slightly, you realize that you’re just staring, lips parted like you’re fit to catch flies. You close your mouth so quickly that your teeth clack, plastering a smile on.

“Did you have a good chat with Alan?”

“Yeah, it was nice to catch up. I haven’t seen him since before the pandemic.”

“I didn’t realize it had been that long.”

“Oh, you’re Robby!” Emma realizes, “Alan talks about you all the time, and I…” She trails off, brow furrowing as she looks between the two of you, “I never put two and two…Together—I mean I didn’t realize his Robby was your Robby.”

Your Robby.

“We thought we’d surprise you with it,” Robby fills in, “Didn’t want to make anything difficult with the RSVPs.”

“And isn’t that sweet of you,” Trish coos. Christ, you’ve never seen her so complimentary. You’re not sure you like it, it’s a little creepy.

“Trish, Em!” Your uncle calls out, and the four of you twist to see him waving Trish and Emma in his direction.

“You two go ahead,” You hurry to insist, “Must be important if he’s, you know, in the middle of the party. Actually,” You reach out, taking hold of Robby’s hand, “I need some air, honey.”

It’s a bit much to tack on ‘honey’, and you know it—but Robby murmurs, “Of course,” and, “We’ll see you later,” as he intertwines your fingers and allows you to steer him to the patio overlooking the pool. You offer a small smile to the people stepping inside, glance and double-glance toward the door as you watch for it to close before you let go of his hand, hissing, “What are you thinking?”

“I was helping you out.”

“What about your plus one?”

Robby’s head jerks back just a touch, his lips pulling with an amused smile as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

“I’m flattered that you’re so certain I brought one.”

You shift in your spot, trailing your finger along the side of your prosecco flute as you look out over the pool.

“I just thought—”

“Thought…?”

“I don’t know, you’re—I figured—Anyway,” You shake your head. “How do you suggest we can even survive that for four days?”

“We’ll improvise.”

“That is gonna be a lot to improvise.”

“Did it alright just a couple minutes ago. Besides, you and I improvise every day at work.”

“That’s different,” You insist, glancing toward him. “When we’re at the Pitt, you and I are working from a mutual pool of knowledge—and usually you have the leg up.”

“Well,” Robby shifts to face you more fully, “Now you’ve got the leg up. Fill me in.”

“On this group?” You nod inside. “It’d take a week. We don’t have time like that.”

“Alright, we’ll work backward, then. Start with the basics, base it in fact to make the details easier to remember. We met at work.”

“Sure did.”

“Three years ago.”

“Correct.”

“How long have we been together?” When he sees conflict beginning to twist your features, he corrects: “How long would they want to hear.”

“I mean…” You shake your head. “It’s weird, you’re not just here because of,” You wave your finger between the two of you, “I mean, you know Alan, too.”

“Right, but presumably, we’re here together.”

“Right, so…A year, maybe?”

“Okay,” He nods. “Do we live together?”

“No. And we’re keeping it under wraps at work because—You know. Oh!” Your eyes widen, “Why aren’t we rooming together?”

Robby’s mouth opens, closes, and his brow wrinkles as he considers it.

“How likely is your family to ask what rooms we’re in?”

“Pretty unlikely.”

“We’ll be strategic.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means we’ll be careful about being seen together and being seen apart.”

“That’s gonna be a lot, dude.”

Robby shakes his head, looking out over the pool as you had been. You let yourself look him over for a few moments—take in the light blue checkered pattern on his shirt. You hadn’t noticed that before, but then, you’d been a little weirded out by your Aunt Trish giggling like a fricking twelve year old. And he’s trimmed his beard, too. Not shaved, but trimmed…

You hurriedly dip your chin as Robby tips his head to look at you again, and you raise your prosecco, draining half of it before you lean fully against the banister. You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath as a summer breeze sweeps across your face.

“With respect,” You fight the urge to rub your hand over your eyes, wary of messing up your makeup, “What the hell were you thinking?” When he doesn’t answer right away, you tack on: “You could’ve made this whole weekend so much easier for yourself if you hadn’t done…That.”

“Emma assumed—”

“Emma assumes a lot. I was gonna fix it, you could’ve at least had faith in me to fucking fix it—”

“I have a lot of faith in you—”

“Does not feel like it.” You draw in another deep breath, push it out through your lips as you turn to look back into the party. “You could’a been mingling and now you’re stuck with me.”

“I prefer you to mingling.”

“I’m flattered,” You deadpan. You haul in another breath, shaking your head, muttering, “Okay. We’ve been together for a year, we’re avoiding photos together and don’t live with one another because we’re keeping shit under wraps at work—Are you sure you want to do this?” You twist toward Robby. “You can still back out, I can tell Em and Trish that you were kidding.”

“I’m sure.”

It’s almost jarring, the speed with which he replies, and the way Robby holds your eye as he insists. But damnit, if he’s willing to sign up for this hell, on his head be it.

You nod, turning away again. “Okay. Remember that you said that when you’re stuck in the middle of the most awkward and intrusive line of questioning in your life.”

“Are they gonna call me fruitcake?”

“...Unlikely.”

“Then it’s already better than speaking with Myrna.”

You laugh softly as Robby straightens, the sound catching in your throat as his hand rests on your lower back with a murmur of, “Let’s go.”

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