“I’ve just realized that lately … you’re different too. But ina good way. You’re more … mature. More settled in yourself.”
I nodded because she was right. I was.
It was all Maia. She made me want to be a better man. The kind of man she could count on. And part of that meant growing the fuck up.
“You’re both handling the campaign madness well,” Ainsley offered.
“Aye. We’re ignoring it. Seems like the best way to handle it.”
“Well, people are obsessed with you as a couple.”
“Of course they are. We’re the shit.”
“Cocky arsehole.”
I shrugged, grinning unabashedly.
“For your sakes, I hope it dies down after the campaign,” Ainsley said. “It would be a nightmare trying to navigate a marriage with people constantly filming you when you’re out in public. And you being in the Professional League isn’t going to help the publicity go away. It might affect your marriage eventually, if that’s the case.”
“Gee, Ains, did you come over to be a big ray of fucking sunshine or what?” My tone was teasing but worry flickered through me at my sister’s words. However, I couldn’t let those worries sink in too deeply.
I had to believe that the public would grow bored with us and move on to something else because there was no way I wanted either of us to have to deal with that level of scrutiny for too long. I had a feeling Ainsley was right and that eventually, it could impact my and Maia’s relationship.
The thought filled me with so much trepidation, I immediately chucked it away.
If only I’d prepared myself better … because I had no idea the campaign was about to throw us a devastating curveball.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MAIA
“Don’t you swim three times a week?” Gail, the production crew assistant, gave me a narrow-eyed look. She wore a slight air of impatient annoyance.
I did swim three times a week, but there was hardly anyone in the pool and I wasn’t strutting out there in a bikini that left very little to the imagination.
Unpleasant butterflies roiled in my stomach as I opened the robe again to look at myself in the mirror. I’d provided Pennington’s with a bunch of swimwear options for both me and Bear for the fake honeymoon shoot, and the campaign management had chosen a fuchsia pink bikini set for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it or that I wouldn’t wear it under normal circumstances. It was the knowing that millions of people would see me in it that bothered me.
The bikini had a pink print inspired by Spanish tiles. The top was a halter neck with a deep V and padded cups that pushed my boobs up and together. The bottoms had a high cut with a peekaboo strip on the hips and showed a good deal of my arse cheeks.
“It’s just a lot of skin to bear to a lot of people,” I murmured.
Her expression softened. “You really are nervous, aren’t you?”
“I don’t particularly enjoy the idea that these images will be on the internet forever for anyone to look at any time they want.”
“Ugh, yeah, didn’t think about that.” She cocked her head. “If it makes you feel any better, any dirty bugger could take a photo of you on the beach and look at it anytime he wants.”
Oh my God. I whirled around, lips parted in horror.
Gail tried not to laugh at my expression and failed. “Sorry.”
“That is going to be embedded in my brain forever now.” I shuddered. “People are creepy.”
“Some really are, but we can’t stop living because of it.”
I blinked at her words because she was right. We couldn’t stop ourselves from doing things because of the actions of a few. Nodding in agreement, I shrugged out of the robe and strode across the dressing room. “Let’s do this.”
“You look gorgeous,” she assured me.
