Chapter Eight
Then
“What do you think about this one?”
I force myself to pay attention to Lauren. Today, we’re picking a wedding cake, and I thought it’d be rude not to go when she asked me to accompany her. I’m doing my best to act the part of a dutiful fiancé, of a straight, conservative guy with a meteoric upward career trajectory in his dream job. A guy who’s about to marrya beautiful, intelligent, sweet woman who just landed herself a permanent lead anchor gig on USNN’s flagship early morning show.
A launch-pad position several of USNN’s and FNB’s beefiest anchors started out busting their humps in.
Two months ago, I bought myself a house in an upscale gated community just outside of Tallahassee, because I miss my home city and like to spend weekends there, awayfrom DC, away from the press, away from the politicians.
Lauren is originally from Montana and isn’t as fond of Florida as I am, but she tolerates me uprooting us every weekend to head there and just chill, mostly because she enjoys having a private pool and hot tub, and being able to go out to eat at a pizza joint without being accosted, or ending up in tabloids the next day.
I nod. “I likeit, honey. It’s good.”
She doesn’t look convinced by my reply. “But what do youthinkabout it? Is it what you want for our wedding cake?”
It’ll never taste as good as the tiramisu Christopher and I shared in Daytona.
Nothing will ever taste that good, that perfect.
I miss his gravelly voice in my ear every morning, the feel of his hand around my throat or my ankle.
I miss everything abouthim.
Lauren has hazel eyes, so at least that doesn’t tug at my heart. The network’s stylist put her in violet contacts that are striking and suit her nicely. I think she looks cuter in the red cat-eye glasses she wears when off-air, though. They’re playful and a little funky, just like her personality.
I remember she asked me a question, and I nod again. “It’s good. I mean it, though. It’s yourchoice.”
She rarely gets exasperated with me, but today is one of those times. “Kev,please, honey. Give me some input. I feel like I’m running roughshod over you and making all the decisions. This isourwedding.”
“I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but I swear, I have no preference so far.” I opt to smooth things over by smiling at her, then I lift her hand to my lips and kiss the backof it while I look into her eyes.
She loves it when I do that.
The bakery assistant helping us today makes a little giggly noise. “You guys are so cute together. Hold on to him, Miss Baltazar. He’s a keeper.”
“He is,” Lauren says, a smile finally curling her lips. Her hair is naturally a chestnut brown color I think looks beautiful in the sunlight, like mahogany, but she’s been going lighterincrementally for over a year now, high- and lowlights to take her up to an ashy blonde I don’t have the heart to tell her makes her look about ten years older than she really is.
I’ve been at the network five years now, and I know people talk behind my back, wondering if my dad applied a little juice to help my career.
Ha!
As if.
Obviously, those people have never met my father, if they thinkthat.
My career is mylife, if I’m completely honest.TOBPhas been passed to another new host, and I have developed a reputation in the office for being a perfectionist who wants facts triple-checked before I cite them.
I’ve finally found the thing my father appears proud of me for having accomplished.
#daddyissues
But now Lauren and I are athing. The longer we’re together, the more I findmyself clinging to her, in a way.
Fear that my secret could be exposed cripples me, in some ways.
Lauren is definitely my beard, but she doesn’t know that. She admits to me that, while in college, she and her roommate were both single, so they got drunk one night and “experimented.”
