Yeah.
Everything is going to be A-OK.
Chapter Eight
Aksel
“How is married life treating you so far?”
“It’s the best experience in the world,” Aksel answers easily, a wide smile flashing, making his dimples pop.
“Really?” Cammie presses, pushing well past polite curiosity. “You’re happy you got drunk and married in Vegas?”
“We may have been drunk,” Aksel says calmly, unfazed, “but the location doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, confidence settling into his posture. “I was always going to end up married to Hale Aka.”
Chapter Nine
Hale
Everything is fucked.
The call comes about twenty minutes after we finish our coffee and sketch out a vague, half-assed timeline of the night before. It’s the same monotone woman from the first day, her voice as lifeless as ever.
“Hale. This is Nadine. Mr. Andreas would like to speak with you and your husband. Please come downstairsto the convention center, and I will escort you to his office.”
And then she hangs up.
Justclick.Gone.Noroomforquestions.Nomercy.
Who does that?
No one moves.
I’m pretty sure Aksel stops breathing entirely. Eric, meanwhile, is physically incapable of staying quiet.
“Ohshit,”hesaysgrimly.“Mr.Andreas?Likethe
Mr. Andreas? Creator of the show? One of the richest beings
in the world? That Mr. Andreas?” He frowns at us, far too doom spirally for my taste. “Yeah. You guys are fucked.”
“Thanks for the support,bestie,” I mutter.
But he’s not wrong. If the creator of Tattooed Spectacle wants to see us personally, there’s no universe where this ends well.
“You know I’ve always got your back, babes.” Eric slaps me hard on the shoulder, jolting me forward so abruptly I nearly tip out of my chair.
“Maybe it’s about something else?” Aksel offers, tentative as hell.
I fix him with an exaggerated, wide-eyed stare. “Yeah. Totally. The creator of the reality show that’s about to hand one of us a million dollars definitely wants a private chat with the two idiots who got spontaneously married last night for reasons completely unrelated to said marriage. Very realistic. Extremely rational.”
Eric makes a sharp hissing noise and pantomimes a dramatic catfight. “Okay, calm down, Bitchy McBitcherson. This is Vegas. You two aren’t the first morons to get drunk-married, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.” He slurps obnoxiously at the dregs of his drink, dragging the sound out. “He probablyjust wants to tell you to keep it on the DL until filming’s over.”
As goofy as he is, Eric makes a solid point, and my childish outburst has heat creeping up my neck. I’m blushing now. Fantastic. Have I mentioned how mature I am? Because I amincrediblymature. The most mature person to ever mature in the history of maturity.
I mumble a quiet “sorry” to Aksel. He meets my eyes and nods, accepting it without comment.
A loud, pointed throat-clearing snaps the entire table back into silence. Apparently, we took too long, because Nadine is here and she lookspissed. Her face is scrunched tight with irritation, clearly offended by the fact that we made her wait.
