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“Nice place.” Asher strokes the length of his beard and surveys the cream-colored living room with splashes of marigold and gray sage echoed in the pillows and area rug. His eyes track to the leafy floor plants, brick fireplace, and up to the family pictures on the mantle and our wedding collage above it. “Bright and homey. It’ll show well on camera.”
“Thanks. We like it too.” Which is why Mick would have preferred to do the interview at his condo. That’s where he works during the week when he’s in the city. The condo doesn’t hold any special meaning to him. Unlike our house. Our sanctuary. But that’s the very reason I needed to be here. In the comfort of my happy place.
I loop my arm through Mick’s and smile up at him in a show of thanks. He’s been so good about easing my nerves when I know he’s feeling his own stress about putting me and our relationship out there. Especially when questions about how we met are on the list and will mean exposing our past.
The crew arrives on time; lugging in cameras, tripods, lighting boxes…
I try hard not to freak out. But really, it’s Bianca Keller. She sweeps in with a flipped blonde bob, laughing green eyes, and ageless skin. Although her show is filmed locally, it’s nationally syndicated and airs oppositeSixty Minutes.
“Micah Peters, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again,” she gushes and extends her hand.
“Likewise, Bianca.”
While my knees are knocking, I watch Mick casually shake her hand as if having a television personality in our house is no big whoop. Though I guess for him, it isn’t. Aside from his own celebrity, Mick is a powerful presence. Even his laid-back appearance doesn’t diminish it any.
Jeans and a sweater fit his tall, muscular body like a hug. Dark facial hair frames his sensual mouth and dazzling smile. Shifting his gaze to me, he slides an arm around my waist. At a time when I’m feeling a little unsteady, he’s there to hold me up.
“I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Deeana Peters.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Deeana.” Her response is friendly and disarming. Trained to be that way, but I recognize I’m being assessed.
“Dee is fine,” I say. “And it’s nice to meet you too.”
“Your first television interview?”
“Does it show?”
“Nerves are normal,” she consoles. “Look at me, not the cameras. Make it conversational and you’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you. I’ll try that.”
While the crew sets up, Lexie and Asher are kind enough to take on the task of getting them drinks and coffee. I excuse myself and go to the bathroom. Washing my hands, I peer at myself in the mirror above the sink. This all just got very real. I’m going to be on TV. The girl who used to be too self-conscious to even pose for a photo is going to be broadcast across the country with Micah Peters. Crazy! But I asked for this. To leap from my safety net, and acknowledge my husband’s accomplishments and our marriage.
Thankfully my hair cooperated today. The new cut has thinned some of the volume and the shorter curls graze the tops of my shoulders in a glossy bounce. I’m wearing medium gold hoops, mascara with a dusting of taupe eyeshadow, and nude matte on my lips to give them a natural hint of color.
Selecting an outfit had been a stressful event. I knew I had to keep it casual for a relaxed-at-home vibe. But I’d agonized over what would be most slimming on camera. In the end, I’d stopped obsessing over how to minimize the pounds and picked a cinnamon, off-the-shoulder sweater with ankle-length jeans.
Once upon a time, I would have covered up in the armor of dark, baggy clothing. I would not have even considered going on camera or sharing any part of myself. I’ve since stripped away those layers. Bit by bit. I won’t profess to have all my insecurities under control. I don’t. But I’m starting to focus less on my flaws to see more of what’s pretty good.
When Lexie knocks on the door to tell me they’re ready, I take a slow, deep breath and exit the bathroom. Mick’s gaze flies away from Asher as I re-enter the living room. Whatever he’d been saying dies on his lips. He approaches and takes my hand. “You okay?”
“Yes, actually. You?”
“If you’re good, I’m good. Ready to do this?”
I nod, feeling my pulse skip.
Mick gives my hand an encouraging squeeze and leads us over to the sofa to sit in our designated spots. His arm goes around my shoulders and I lean into him. He smells divine—clean skin with whispers of sandalwood from his body wash and cologne.
Our faces are dabbed with powder and we’re run through a sound check. One of the crew adjusts the throw pillow beside me and another smooths down a piece of my hair. When satisfied that we’re good to go, Bianca takes the chair opposite us and crosses her legs. The room goes quiet. The camera lights shine in my eyes. I remember not to stare at them.
On cue, Bianca flashes an engaging smile, introduces her show, then segues to the interview. “Today, I have the privilege of being in the home of one of Chicago’s own— former Bulls guard, Micah Peters and his lovely wife, Dee. Yes, folks, you heard it first onSunday Nights with Bianca Keller.” She beams then directs her attention to us. “Congratulations to you both on your recent marriage. And, of course, Micah, on your Generosity of Spirit award. I want to hear more about that and Papa’s Kids in a moment. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask how you two met. It all seems to have happened very quickly.”
Mick is such a private man when it comes to his personal life. He’s done a few interviews since his retirement, all of which have been focused exclusively on Papa’s Kids. But he’s made this exception for me. A declaration of his commitment as solid as the wedding rings on my finger.
“There was nothing quick about it,” Mick answers in a voice that could melt butter. “Dee and I first met as teenagers. I fell hard for her heart, her intelligence, her beauty. We were young and it wasn’t meant to be then. But our story wasn’t over. When I saw Dee again several months ago, I knew she was still the one. The only woman I’ve ever loved.” He lifts my left hand off his thigh and brings it to his mouth for a kiss.
Under Bianca’s professional demeanor, I notice her swoon. I mean, really, what red-blooded woman wouldn’t?
