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“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
Chad starts laughing again.
I groan. “Really? Why is that funny?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not funny.” He chuckles again. “But there is no fucking way you’re going to make it three weeks without completely falling for this woman. You couldn’t make it a handful of hours without marrying her. As your friend, I mean it in the nicest way when I say…you’re fucked.”
I consider Chad’s assessment. He’s not wrong. When I’m around Emma, I’m not thinking clearly. I told myself I wouldn’t touch her, then minutes later, I’m offering her an orgasm to cure her headache with the knowledge that even if her head didn’t get relief, I was desperate to taste her. To feel her pussy clench around my fingers. Even thinking about her now has my heart hammering in my chest. The crotch of my jeans tightening.
Orgasms aside, Emma is in a situation that my actions helped put her in and I can’t abandon her.
“She needs me. I already told her I’d go. I can’t back out now.”
“Since I don’t have the time or psychology degree to dive into what I believe to be your superhero complex, I’m going to offer you a piece of advice.”
“Yeah?” I ask, warily. “What is it?”
“Do not, under any circumstances, have sex with your wife.”
CHAPTER11
Emma
“I feel nauseous,” I announce, biting into another gummy bear.
“Then stop eating those things.” Jess scrunches her nose at me. “I highly doubt artificially flavored, high fructose corn syrup laden gummy bears are going to make your stomach feel better.”
She’s right, but they were preventing me from biting my nails, so I thought it was a win.
After a smooth flight from Las Vegas, we’re now standing at baggage claim at La Guardia.
She looks at her watch. “Griffin should have landed by now.”
Our flight was sold out, so Jess booked Griffin on another airline. My stomach squeezes at the mention of him. I’ve been anxious since he left my hotel room yesterday, wondering if he’s going to show up. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. It was my video that announced our wedding to the world; that put me in this mess with not only the Kandi Kline interview but with my family and friends.
“He’ll be in the same terminal so you’ll meet him on Level 2 where I’ve arranged a car service to take you both to your parents’ apartment.”
At the mention of my parents, my stomach drops out. My phone still has hundreds of unanswered text messages and voicemails, but the hurt in my mom’s voice in the message she left me yesterday morning had me calling her back as soon as Griffin left. We all determined that the fewer people who know that mine and Griffin’s marriage was a mistake, and will ultimately be annulled, the better, but it was hardest to lie to her and my dad. To let them think that I purposely didn’t invite them to my wedding to a man they’ve never met. But Jolyn Warner’s lips are looser than a garter belt with no elastic. She wouldn’t do it maliciously, but I can’t risk her letting it slip to one of her friends. A single word to one of the ladies in her Upper East Side society circle and my plot to conceal mine and Griffin’s drunken nuptials would fold.
“I’m kind of freaking out here.”
Jess moves to pull her suitcase off the carousel, and I join in to help her muscle the oversized bag.
“About which part?” she asks.
“Um, marrying a stranger, then flying that stranger to New York to pose as my husband even though he is technically my husband on paper, but it’s not real, but we’re going to pretend it is and try to convince a magazine editor, as well as everyone I care about, that we’re legitimately in love.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes,that.”
I spot my bag and move to reach for it, giving Jess an incredulous look as we heave it over the side of the carousel.
“You and Griffin have chemistry. I saw it Saturday night. You two will need to lay low for the next day or so to work on your back story, learn as much about each other as you can, and then everything else will fall into place.”
Jess is right, Griffin and I do have chemistry. That’s how we got into this situation in the first place.
Last night, I lay awake most of the night thinking about him. His hands on me, his mouth between my legs. His deep voice rough in my ear telling me I’m a good girl. Also, the way he had hung my mom’s wedding dress—now, mine—with care and precision in the closet after I had left it in a heap on the floor.
