Iris was still on cloud nine as they walked down the dock with the sun setting romantically behind them.
His hand went around her lower back.
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Pretty as a picture, Iris thought, her lips curving up into a satisfied smile.
As if her mind had conjured it, the flash of a camera had her heartbeat stuttering.
The smile fell from her lips as one flash met another and another and another.
“This way, Finn.”
“Give us a kiss.”
“Iris, a little to your left.”
“What is this?” Iris asked, her heart plummeting as she wrenched away from Finn.
It really had been the perfect day.
Too perfect.
His timing was too precise.
He’d taken her on a date to set them up for a photo op.
She wanted to see shock or anger on his face, like she felt on her own.
“Iris …” he said, his tone placating.
The words were there, hanging heavy in the air around them.
Think of the optics. Don’t make a scene.
Campaign over everything, even her comfort.
She was hardly evendressed. Which was fine for a stroll down the dock toward the car. It was a complete other thing to have that image plastered all over gossip blogs and magazine covers.
Her hands folded over her chest, trying to cover up some more, painfully aware of the thin fabric and her nipple stickers.
“How was the queen?” a reporter asked.
Iris wrenched away when Finn tried to hold her tighter, tried to get her to play her part, to accept what felt like a betrayal.
Of course, the day had been perfect.
He’d planned it for the best optics.
Because he knew it was going to make the best gossip.
She stared at him for another second, all of her hurt raw on her face.
Then she turned and strode away.
Please follow me,she silently begged.Show me I matter more than what the public thinks.
But when she turned back at the start of the parking lot, he was engaged in a conversation with one of the paparazzi.
