Not jealousy, nothing that ridiculous, of course. Maybe it was the fact that he could flip a switch and act like the perfect, charming fake husband while still making me want to wring his neck.
Then Chris slid an arm around my shoulders. I stiffened instantly, biting back the instinct to shove him off. His palm was too warm, his touch firm in a way that felt entirely too natural.
“Because,” Chris added to Janet with a sheepish chuckle, “we definitely want another bed for… you know.”
Janet gave an awkward little laugh. She looked like she wanted to disappear behind her monitor.
Two could play at this game.
I wrapped an arm around Chris’s waist, pulling him closer. His breath hitched in surprise. I smiled sweetly at Janet while my fingers dug hard into the muscle at his side.
Unfortunately, he was built like a damn brick wall. My pinch barely made a dent.
Chris leaned in, close enough that his lips brushed my ear. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that if you want to leave a mark,darling.”
Heat shot straight down my spine. I hated that my pulse stuttered. So I twisted harder.
“A—ow!” he gasped, then immediately covered it with a laugh. “We’re just… very passionate. Newlyweds, you know?”
Janet looked like she regretted asking anything.
“Is that all?” I asked, clearing my throat. “We’ll leave our bags for now. We need to go register for the show.”
“Yes, of course,” Janet said quickly. “We’ll bring everything up once the room’s ready.”
I shoved all my bags at Chris, everything except Pampi’s carrier, and didn’t bother hiding how done I was with him.
“Here. Make yourself useful,” I said, already turning away.
He didn’t even complain. Just took the bags like some annoyingly capable pack mule. I hurried toward the registrationbooths, still feeling heat climb up my neck. And I really, really wished I didn’t.
I didn’t know where that had come from. The teasing. The grabbing. The way I’d leaned into it instead of shutting it down. That wasn’t me at all.
I didn’t joke. I didn’t like playing along. I especially didn’t flirt in public like some love-struck idiot trying to sell a story. And yet, with Chris, it had felt almost easy.
I didn’t like that he seemed able to tug that side out of me without effort. Like he’d found a loose thread and given it a curious little pull.
I straightened my shoulders and forced my focus back where it belonged. Registration.
Behind me, I heard Chris jogging to catch up. Of course he’d still manage to keep pace with me even after handling our luggage.
Before he could open his mouth, the registration steward lifted her head.
“Next, please.”
I exhaled and stepped forward with Pampi’s carrier.
The steward typed something into her tablet. Then she frowned. Then she looked up at us.
“Um… there seems to be a mix-up,” she said, rotating the screen toward me. “You’re… Peter Hill, right?”
A profile photo filled the screen. It had Chris’s face. Not mine. My brain flatlined.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This could not go wrong on day one. Why was Chris’s picture here? Why wasn’t itmine? Why?—
Chris slid up beside me, leaning an elbow casually on the counter as if this wasn’t a complete catastrophe.
“Ah, that’s on me,” he said, sounding warm and apologetic. “My computer’s ancient. Sometimes it attaches the wrong files if I don’t double-check. Sorry about that.”
