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10:45 — Good. Hold that for a few minutes. Photographer is getting great angles. You almost look like you don't want to murder each other.

"Your sister," I say through my teeth without moving my smile, "has a god complex."

"I've been saying this for years."

10:52 — Okay now do something CUTE. Kiss her forehead. Feed her a grape. I don't care. Just make it look like you've touched a woman before, Everett.

He reads that one and I watch his jaw tighten so hard a muscle jumps.

Then, without warning, he leans over and presses his mouth to my temple. His lips warm against my skin and his breath stirring the hair at my ear. My hand clenches around the book.

"There," he says quietly, pulling back. "Happy?"

I am not looking at him because if I look at him right now I will do something stupid, like reach up and kiss him.

"I don’t know, ask your sister," I manage.

His phone buzzes.

PERFECT. That's the one. I'm literally tearing up. More of that energy.

His phone buzzes again.

Also: sending these to Pacific NW Monthly AND forwarding the best ones to Aunt Genevieve’s office. If the board wants proof of a happy marriage, we’re giving them a goddamn magazine cover. You’re WELCOME.

We hold the pose for another twenty minutes while I slowly lose my mind. His arm stays along my shoulders. My hand stays on his arm. The photographer is apparently somewhere in the landscaping getting shots of us looking like a couple who didn't just agree to pretend last night was a contractual obligation rather than the best sex of my entire life.

I guess he can check consummation clause off his list.

Not that I'm thinking about it.

At some point, the sun shifts and the shade disappears from his side of the pool.

11:30 — Okay I think we got enough. But STAY by the pool in case he circles back. Look natural.

"Natural," Everett mutters, leaning his head back against the lounger. "She wants natural."

"Maybe if you stopped looking like you're at a board meeting, it would help."

He doesn't open his eyes. "I'm relaxing."

"You look tense enough to snap in half."

"That is my relaxed face."

I almost laugh but swallow it because the photographer might still be lurking and I refuse to give Everly ammunition of me laughing at something Everett said. She'd have it framed.

He closes his eyes properly after that. A minute later, he shifts, rolling onto his stomach with his arms folded under his head and face turned toward me.

I go back to pretending to read.

The sun beats down. The pool glitters. And time stretches.

I don't notice him actually fall asleep until his breathing changes. It slows, deepens, and his face, resting against his forearms, loses that permanent tension. The line between his brows smooths out and his mouth relaxes.

I go back to my book. Actually read a few pages this time. Get absorbed enough that I don't track how long the sun has been sitting directly on him without the shade of the umbrella.

By the time I look over again, the entire expanse of his back is pink.