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“We make perfect sense.” He smiled in that bless your heart sort of way. “Baby, they don’t want to understand. They want to sell headlines. You have to stop worrying about this.”
“Says the man they adore. They act like you found me in the fish market shaking a tin cup full of rusty nails and coins.”
He laughed. “Nobody thinks that.”
“Well, they’re trying really hard to sell a similar storyline.”
“Then we’ll have a photo shoot and offer an exclusive interview that clears the air. You can tell them whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but they’re never going to understand why I love you or why I’m marrying you. This isn’t real journalism. It’s trash. They don’t care about the facts. Please try to grasp that.”
I sighed. In the past, there had been some less flattering articles about Hale, but since we started dating the papers changed their position on Remington Davenport’s eldest son. Getting engaged seemed to put him in a more flattering light—a handsome, wealthy bachelor about to settle down.
Maybe Hale just had a thicker skin than me.
I considered the interview. Did I want all that attention? “Like a television interview?”
“We could do television or print. There are ways for us to leak whatever paints us in the most flattering light.”
“But what if they twist things around?”
“Then we sue the balls off of them and make their life hell. Don’t give them so much power, baby. They’re following you because you’re irresistible. You shouldn’t doubt yourself.”
My face pursed. “You’re biased.”
“Completely.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “But I’m not alone. Millions of men wish they had you. Which is exactly why I claimed you first.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved him away.
I didn’t want to be a weak woman who constantly doubted herself. Before this blinding spotlight on our life, I never used to be. And, deep down, I wasn’t. I liked me. I liked my life, my job, and I especially liked my future husband. What I disliked was the light the media tended to cast me in. They had no idea who I was, yet they continued to tell the world about a character with my name they completely fabricated from assumptions and shitty pictures.
But maybe he was on to something. A photoshoot and polished article would give me a much needed sense of control where the tabloids were concerned. It would also give me a chance to show the world the lovable little sidekick I was.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
Hale’s schedule was gridlocked with meetings and travel for the next few weeks, but we managed to squeeze something in. The photo shoot would take place as soon as Hale returned from Tokyo.
I was feeling pretty calm and in control now that we had a plan. Everyone seemed to agree that an exclusive interview would redeem me in the critical public eye.
I’d called Seraphina for some fashion advice. “I love this for you, Rayne. I insist on sending you something to wear. Something to bring out the green in your eyes, but also something that doesn’t strobe or clash with Hale’s golden coloring.
I hadn’t realized my appearance required such an in-depth strategy session. But I trusted Seraphina’s taste and was happy to promote her clothing line publicly. “Whatever you think. Just remember, I’m still holding onto some holiday weight.” And Thanksgiving weight, and baby weight, and new job weight, and there was the usual organs and flesh and bone weight. “It’s probably wise to size up.”
“I know your size, Rayne. I’ve dressed you before.”
This was true.
Things were working out. The wedding venue was booked, and Quinn was currently on the lookout for a ceremony location to host the rooftop wedding Hale envisioned.
No one but me seemed concerned that it might rain on our wedding day. Or snow. And wasn’t it colder at high altitudes?
New York only saw April snow about once every ten years. But once in a while, extreme blizzards blew through. It had been more than a hundred years since the largest recorded snowfall, so statistically speaking, a whiteout seemed overdue. Sure, those storms were freak incidences, but stranger calamities have been known to happen to brides on their wedding days, and calamities happened to me every day.
To play it safe, I told Seraphina to look for a fur shawl to go with my gown. Snow or not, fifty stories high had to be cold in April in New York.
When the clothing for the photo shoot arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. Phina sent multiple options with all the trimmings. She thought out every detail and her packages included everything from panties to earrings, plus a sweet little note telling me to keep the items I didn’t use for the shoot for future events.
