“It wasn’t you I insulted,” I mutter.
Dylan laughs. “So, it wasn’t love at first sight?”
Lucas’s gaze lands on me a beat before he answers. “Not exactly, but she did make an impression.”
His tone is soft, but there’s a flicker in his expression that makes my stomach do a little twist. Ok, fine. Gooey is the word.
“And Lucas certainly made an impression, too,” I counter sweetly, batting my lashes just enough to make him suspicious.
“When did you realize there was something more between you?”
Lucas and I glance at each other. Nope. We did not plan for this.
“I think it was when Grant and Sophia went public with their relationship last fall,” Lucas says smoothly. “Jess was professional in keeping it exclusive until he was ready to share, and she asked such insightful questions that went beyond the usual PR fluff. I remember thinking how refreshing her approach was, even if it made my job harder.”
A little too polished, but points for effort.
“Probably at an industry panel on media ethics last fall,” I say. “He was the only communications exec who admitted that studios sometimes cross lines. Of course, he immediately spun it into how Wonderland was different, which was complete BS.” I flash him a grin. “But for a brief moment, there was actual honesty there.”
“So, you were drawn to each other’s professional integrity?” Dylan prompts.
“I was drawn to how passionate she is,” Lucas says, his arm drifting lower to brush my shoulder. “Even when she’s stubbornly wrong about something.”
I smile sweetly and lean into him just a little harder. “And I appreciated how he could articulate his position, even when it’s carefully calculated spin designed to protect the studio machine.”
Without breaking eye contact, Lucas slides his hand down to cover mine and pats it like I’m a toddler who’s just spelled her name right.
I retaliate by pinching the inside of his thigh. Hard. He jerks slightly and lets out a muffled yelp.
“Everything ok?” Dylan asks.
“Perfect,” we answer in unison.
Lucas, not to be outdone, subtly jabs his elbow into my side. I grit my teeth and dig the point of my nail into his knuckle. His smile never wavers, and neither does mine. We’re both on the verge of either cracking up or starting an actual physical fight. Possibly both.
“But what made you decide to get married in Vegas?” Dylan asks.
“Temporary insanity,” I say.
“The culmination of years of chemistry,” Lucas says at the exact same time.
We stare at each other, still locked in that too-sweet, too-sharp smile.
And even though we’re surrounded by lights, lenses, and a full production crew, somehow, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.
“What my wife means,” Lucas says as he wraps his arm around me, his fingers digging slightly into my shoulder, “is that we’d been dancing around our feelings for so long that when we finally admitted them, we didn’t want to wait.”
“And what my husband means,” I say, my hand digging into his thigh with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes, “is that after years of pretending we didn’t care, we finally stopped lying to ourselves and maybe skipped a few steps along the way.”
By the time Dylan finally calls it a day two hours later, any warm feelings from our earlier moment have completelyevaporated. The second the door closes behind the crew, I move to the opposite end of the room.
“Well, that was a disaster,” I say.
“You couldn’t resist taking shots at my career, could you?”
“Me? You practically called me stubborn and wrong on camera!”
We glare at each other from across the living room that’s supposed to be our shared home for the next six months. Right now, six hours feels impossible.
