Myhusband’s. The word—the whole notion that Antoine is my husband, that I now have a husband—is too wild to wrap my head around.
Focus on the small talk, Gigi!
“It’s very yellow,” I say.
Antoine grins.
How can a man that looks so stern and distant have such an infectious smile?
“It’s very bold,” Gigi says diplomatically. “I like it.”
Henri turns to me. “Would you like to hear the story of how Antoine and I smuggled a cat into the house when we were kids?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
“We found this stray in the park—scraggly little thing, but cute—and decided to keep it,” he begins. “Our dad hates cats, so naturally, we thought it was a brilliant idea to sneak it into the house.”
I cock my head. “Let me guess, he found out.”
“Not on the first day,” Antoine picks up the tale. “But then he started sneezing and crying, and that’s what made him suspicious. We didn’t know he was horribly allergic to cats.”
“So you got caught?”
Antoine nods. “The cat was rehomed within twenty-four hours.”
“First time I’m hearing this story,” Gigi says stroking Henri’s cheek.
They exchange a look of such tender complicity I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. Here’s a real couple, genuinely in love and planning to be married for a lifetime.
For a brief moment, no one speaks. The childhood memory hangs between us, sweet and easy. I want to ask more questions. About their dad and mom, about Antoine’s friends, but I decide against it. His parents didn’t come to the wedding, which most likely means they disapprove. I don’t want to press, especially not with the cameras pointed at us.
“Anyway, I wanted to congratulate both of you,” Gigi says to me and Antoine. “We’re rooting for you.”
“Oh, yes, big time!” Henri chimes in.
I peer into his eyes. He isn’t being ironic. Nor is Gigi. Yet, they don’t seem completely earnest, either. There’s a hidden layer to their words, some kind of inside joke or a reference I’m not familiar with. While I ponder this, the Bellay brothers and Gigi exchange a quick but eloquent look.
Hmm, what’s going on?
CHAPTER EIGHT
LAURA
Isabelle swoops in, mic in hand and camera crew in tow. She looks at Antoine and me with simulated delight, like we’re the hottest thing since reality TV marriages were invented.
Henri and Gigi make a break for it under the guise of thirst.
“Well, well, how are our newlyweds?” Isabelle gushes.
“We’re doing great.” I force a smile, well aware my voice sounds just as fake as hers.
Antoine adds, “It’s been an interesting day.”
“Dear viewers, let me tell you something,” Isabelle says to the camera. “The chemistry between these two is electric!”
Dear viewers, here’s whatIcan tell you.There are people who embellish the truth. There are folks who make shit up. And then there’s Isabelle.
“Ooh!” She rubs her arms, as if she had goosebumps. “I’m sure everyone at home can feel it, too.”
