I search his eyes. “Why can’t I leave, Harrison?”
I brace myself, absurdly hopeful.
Because you’re the only woman in the world for me, Ava Alvarez. Stay in my life forever.
Okay. Expecting those words out of his mouth might be a bit dramatic, but anything along those lines will do.
Instead, the man on the brink of insanity plants both hands on his hips and snaps out, “Because you’re my wife.”
CHAPTER 46
Ava
We’re in the kitchen.
I’m making the kids a quick snack. Tortillas. Butter. Cinnamon. Sugar.
Normal.
Harrison, on the other hand, is on speakerphone with Mr. Henry Bloom, who, from what I’ve gathered, is the most expensive attorney in New York City.
Not normal.
“So, let me get this straight,” the man says. His voice is older. Careful. Choosing each word like he’s tiptoeing through a minefield. “The two of you did not intend to get married.”
Harrison’s eyes meet mine for half a second.
“That’s right,” he says.
I try not to bristle. Because he is right. We never meant to get married.
We just sort of… collided into it.
So why does it feel like someone just dragged a blade straight through my chest?
Harrison lifts one brow and looks at me.
“I must’ve gotten the address wrong,” I mutter, mortified.
The thing is, my life is memorizing scripts. Hundreds of pages at a time. Revised, rewritten, replaced overnight. So no, I didn’t write it down.
I thought I could handle it.
Obviously, judging by the rings on our fingers, I was wrong.
“I see,” Mr. Bloom says. “Then why did you take so many photographs? Selfies with the priest and the paparazzo?”
Harrison stares at me.
Not daggers. But definitely not gratitude.
I lift a shoulder, grasping for an explanation. “I thought they were actors. They looked… right. How was I supposed to know?”
“There was no crew,” Harrison points out. “No production. No anything.” He waves his hands like a maniac. “And didn’t I mention that? Because I distinctly remember mentioning that, and I’m not even an actor,” he cries.
“I’m sorry,” I howl back, because apparently, this is what we’re doing. Shouting the roof down over breakfast.
Thank God the kids can’t hear any of this. They’re too busy being pampered by the most attentive glam squad I’ve ever seen.
