Truth is, I wish I didn’t have to. For the first time since I decided to become a chef, I’m resentful of the work needed to stay on top of the game and keep maintaining Michelin stars. I’d rather enjoy my wedding day with my wife and family.
And is this how the change creeps in? And if so, why doesn’t it feel too bad?
"We also have to tell the staff we’re married."
Her frown deepens.
Not something I’m looking forward to either. But it’s best done immediately. Before word reaches them.
I take in her tense face and soften my features. "I’m sorry we couldn’t take the day off but?—"
"But it’s a sham wedding. In fact, this wasn't necessary. We could have been at the restaurant by now." She glances away.
I know her well enough to realize her snapping is her way of dealing with her emotions. I wish I could be that open too.
When she swallows, I sense she’s feeling emotional.
My chest tightens.
I already feel terrible that I upset her with that sorry excuse for a kiss. I can’t bear seeing her this distressed.
I take her hand in mine and lower my head so I can look into her eyes. "Hey, you okay?"
Her face is pale. She’s literally vibrating with emotion. Her eyes are dazed. I snap into the mode I use with my team when one of them is hyperventilating in a difficult situation.
"Breathe with me." I draw in a breath.
She obeys. She mirrors my breathing. A few inhalations later, color filters into her features.
I kiss the back of her hand. "Good girl."
She shivers. And when her pupils dilate, I know I’m in trouble. The way she makes me feel—this mix of protectiveness and possessiveness, and some other emotion I don’t dare name. It’s new. It’s heady. It’s something I can’t control. And damn, but it doesn’t feel wrong either.
"I know all of this feels new and overwhelming, but it’ll get easier."
"Will it?" She firms her lips.
I choose my words carefully. "I can’t promise that everything will be easy, but I’ll do my best to ensure that I deliver on my commitments to you. It will be worth it."
She looks into my eyes. And something must convince her, for she nods slowly. Her breathing returns to normal.
I hand her a glass of water. She takes a few sips and places it back on the table. "Thanks."
"You’re welcome." I run my knuckles down her cheek. Because I need that connection.
She blinks.
There’s surprise on her face.
"People are watching. I want word to get back to Margot that we’re truly married." I explain my gesture both to her… And to myself.
"They were watching at the ceremony too," she mumbles.
Before I can formulate a response, the sound of someone clinking a glass cuts through the space.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, as the self-appointed best man, I have a toast for this occasion,” Tristan declares.
Fuck. Not looking forward to this.
