It’s too bright, too cheery and Monday is already Monday-ing too hard for this. But it’s what I signed up for. Literally.
I try to smile but I think it’s more of a grimace because she frowns.
“Sorry, still getting used to the, uh, press,” I fumble. Ugh, I’m going to have to get a lot better at selling this.
“I can imagine!”
It’s been easy so far.
The photo itself has done a lot of the heavy lifting.
Because, of course, Sir Flirty was joking around.
“Now, I’m going to hug you and then dip you for the cameras, try not to say ‘ew,’ okay?…”
Dip me, he did.
The man knows how to put on a show. He bent down deep but held me close. His large hands gripped my thigh and cradled my back like my tall, curvy body weighed next to nothing. It was alarming, how aware of his touch I was, how close we were.
I was shocked and panting again, lips parted, my eyes locked on his hooded gaze.
But then, needing me to smile, he whispered, “Tell me honestly, what in God’s name do you think that poor man ate? You think he’s alright? Should we call the authorities because he cannot be well. I mean, damn, my nose is still burning.”
The more he murmured very non-sexy words in my ear in that sexy pose, the more I laughed. When I was cackling like a fool, my groom kissed my cheek. He kissed me again as I cackled, working his lips to my jaw and then my exposed neck and cheers erupted all around. The cameras ate it right up. The sun is setting on the strip behind us, my white dress glows, I look radiant and giddy and the billionaire looks smitten.Us Weeklygave us an entire spread. And I didn’t even have to kiss him.
It was genius, really.
I texted Harper the truth before the press posted the news, vowing her to secrecy. Her response to the image after it hit social media was, “Looks pretty real to me!”
Before the now-famous paparazzi shot, we took two more of our own strategic selfies. We stood outside the chapel and posed, making sure to capture the wedding certificate in case there was any doubt. We also got one with our left hands held up to show the rings. That’s the photo we sent to Skye, her family, or, I guess Benedict’s family-in-law, and his other friends.
I didn’t have family to send it to, of course. Jack is unreachable and Gran…I want to somehow explain to her in person on one of her good days, but…maybe I won’t. A sad thought, even if I’m relieved I don’t have to lie to her.
Most of the recipients of our text responded with shock, exclamation points, questions, and a lot of heart emojis. Skye only wrote back a simple, “Congrats.” I don’t think that’s a good sign.
But, as my newhusbandreminded me, we have until the end of the year to convince everyone. Namely his father. He didn’t respond to our text either.
I don’t feel like we’re off to a great start.
So, I try to lean in with Ellie.
“Yeah, it’s been pretty crazy.”
“What’s pretty crazy is that you’re married to Benedict Clark! I guess you were more than just friends, huh?”
“Ye–”
“But you knew him all this time and you’re workinghere?Gosh, I love my job but, like,why?” She looks around in disgust. “You’re one of the richest women in the world now! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on a private jet to Fiji right now?”
Uhhh?
“He’s traveling. I mean, he has to travel a lot for work so I, um, we delayed the honeymoon,” I say but she’s still frowning at me. “I didn’t want to just bail on my contract, so, here I am.”
She almost rolls her eyes at that, clearly thinking I’m insane for continuing to work, then changes gears. “Gosh, he is just so dreamy! Tell me everything. How long have you known him? How did he propose? Are you going to have a real wedding ceremony later? In London? Please say in London! Spill it! Spill it all!”
I take a deep breath and attempt to smile again.
Ellie and I are not close.
