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The girls all know of my dislike of Alan. I may have started the week wishing our group chat would go poof and disappear, but I dedicated a good amount of time today texting them. And I didn’t even hate it. They kept me sane during a day I could have lost all my sanity, and while Bradford had to reply to some texts on the way here, I tapped out a rant about how I’m going to start plotting Alan’s death.
“Let’s just say his death is imminent.”
“I’ll help you bury the body.”
I smile. “Jenna’s lucky to have you.”
“We’re all lucky to have each other.”
“My midlife crisis obviously never ended because I’m beginning to think you might be right.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were having a midlife crisis. I know I would be if I had to endure Alan.” She glances in Bradford’s direction for a moment before coming back to me. “It’s all well and good to be networking like you guys are, and winning people over, but are you going to tell your side of the story?”
I arch my brows. “Do you really think Alan would allow that?”
She doesn’t answer that question; she just waits for me to answer hers.
“We’ve got some interviews lined up soon, but I doubt Alan will sanction our real story being told. I think they’ll be more fluff than anything.”
It’s Adeline’s turn to lift her brows. “I think you’re wrong. Bradford has a massive profile and the entire country’s attention is on him right now. People can’t get enough of you. Have you seen the posts and comments from the public about their extreme interest in your marriage or are you just seeing the political smear campaign?”
“You girls told me to stay off social media, remember?”
“Right. But you looked today.”
“Okay, so yes, but I didn’t look too far. I mostly just saw the lies that are designed to hurt him politically.”
“Trust me when I tell you the general public want to know more about why he would spontaneously marry you in Vegas when he was engaged to another woman. Yes, it’s scandalous but people love a good scandal, and even more than that, they love a good romance. And I think that even the women sitting back judging your marriage secretly wish they had a man who looks at them the way Bradford looks at you.” She gives me a pointed look. “These interviews aren’t going to be just fluff, Kristen. I think they’ll want to dig deep into your relationship. My advice is to take charge of the narrative and be honest with the world. People are tired of slick spin. They want real, even if it’s messy.”
“I agree with you, but I think Alan is the best at what he does, so we have to put our trust in him on this.”
“I’ve checked him out. He is the best. But you know what? Sometimes people get it wrong, even when they’re at the top of their profession.” Her voice softens as she continues. “What is your gut telling you to do?”
“I’m a thinker, Adeline, not a feeler. I haveno ideawhat my gut is saying.”
“Yeah, you do. Just feel into it. No thinking. Does it feel heavy in there? Icky? Like you maybe want to be sick? If so, run the other way. But if it feels light, or excited, or a little like butterfly nerves, that’s what you want to run to.” Jameson catches her eye. “Okay, that’s my cue. My husband has had enough for the night.”
I frown. “It’s only been an hour.”
“Which is precisely one hour more than he wanted to give. And since I’ve already seen the people I came here to see, I’m going to let him take me home and do whatever he wants with me.”
I watch her walk toward Jameson and think about what my gut is saying. I spend a few minutes on that, trying to decide if it feels heavy about Alan’s plan or light, and decide that Adeline has no idea how my gut works. It doesn’t. It’s mute and always has been.
I’m in the middle of this when I see Alan pull Bradford away from that flirty woman to speak with him about something. It’s the most useful thing Alan has ever done in my opinion. After they finish their conversation, I gain Bradford’s attention. He stops what he’s doing and watches me. Actually, he undresses me with his eyes and if that’s not my signal that it’s time for our date, I don’t know what is. I nod my head at the door and he doesn’t hesitate.
Five minutes later, we head for the elevator after collecting our coats. “Do you think you’ll still eye fuck me in public when you’re eighty?” I ask.
He settles his hand on my hip as we reach the elevator, pulling me close while we wait. “Do you think you’ll still have this filthy mouth when I’m eighty?”
I turn into him and pull his face down to mine so I can whisper against his ear, “Yes, unless you’ve worn it out with your dick.”
“Fuck, Kristen.” He sounds like he’s in actual pain.
The elevator arrives and the doors open. It’s empty and no one else is waiting with us to enter. Bradford’s hand remains on my hip as we step inside. I select the rooftop and the doors slide closed.
My husband wastes no time forcing me into the corner and pressing me up against the wall while moving into me. Reaching for my leg, he roughly pulls it up and around his body as his mouth crashes down onto mine. He takes hold of my face with both hands while kissing me with the same level of need I have for him.
We’re wild and frantic. Careless with the way our hands are all over each other, touching, reaching, groping like sex-crazed teenagers.
