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Scott smiles warmly and extends a hand to Griffin. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr...” He prompts for Griffin’s last name and I draw a blank. Oh my God…what is Griffin’s last name?
It’s a huge detail that was lost among the fuzziness of Saturday night. I know I saw it on the marriage certificate.
“Hart,” Griffin informs him. And me.
I thread my arm through Griffin’s, and hope my beaming smile makes up for my lack of memory.
He nods at both of us. “Congratulations. You make a stunning couple.”
“Thank you, Scott,” I say.
“I’ll have your bags brought up.”
He motions us inside.
“You couldn’t remember my last name?” His tone isn’t admonishing, it’s more playful, but my own shame makes me feel defensive.
“When I introduced you, it was weird to call you my husband. I got tripped up on that, then couldn’t remember anything. If he would have asked my own name I would have struggled.”
From behind the concierge desk, Mariella smiles and nods. “Good evening, Miss Warner.”
“Then it’s a good thing everyone here knows you.” Griffin’s lips quirk, and I know he’s teasing me.
“Good evening, Mariella. This is Griffin Hart, my husband.” I give emphasis to the word this time, letting it sink in.
“It’s a pleasure.” She smiles, her professional mask dropping for a moment when her eyes scan the length of him. I can’t blame her. “And congratulations.”
A minute later, the elevator doors close behind us and I sigh with relief at having almost made it safely to the apartment.
“We’ll need to talk about our relationship, when we started dating, how we met, the basics,” I tell Griffin as we step off the elevator. “It’s still a whirlwind relationship because we wouldn’t have started dating until after Alec and I broke up, but it’s plausible that we fell head over heels in love and wanted to elope.”
At the door, I pull out my key and unlock it.
“My parents are traveling for work; they won’t be home until Wednesday so we have—"
My words drop off when I open the door to find a crowd of people in my parents’ apartment.
CHAPTER12
Griffin
At first, I think we’ve arrived at the wrong apartment, but the initial shock on Emma’s face morphs into wary cheerfulness when a woman notices our arrival and rushes toward us.
“They’re here!” she calls, moving to wrap Emma in an affectionate hug. “Happy birthday, sweetie!” The woman kisses her on both cheeks before holding her at arm’s length. “And congratulations! You look radiant, what a blushing bride.” The woman turns to me, extending her hand. “I’m Sally Foreman, Emma’s piano instructor, well, former piano instructor. She decided fashion was her passion so we gave up the Julliard dream, but Emma was one of my best students. Such a delight.” She turns my hand in her smaller one, examining my fingers. “Do you play? You’ve got the fingers for it.”
“Sally, I don’t think—” Emma’s cut off by the next person in line, because there is a line forming now. A receiving line, like at a wedding. Judging from the ten-foot-high balloon arch and accompanying banner that reads ‘Congratulations, Emma & Griffin,’ we’ve arrived at some sort of post wedding celebration.
As we move through the crowd, I can’t even take in Emma’s parents’ apartment because all I see are faces staring back at me, eager to meet and greet. My brain switches into revue dancer Griffin—not that I’m going to start offering lap dances—but it’s easier to pretend I’m at a show, that this attention is due to the part that I’m playing, not because people are genuinely excited to meetme, Emma’s accidental husband. The guy that will disappear in three weeks, never to be heard from again.
That’s my way of coping, but from the anxious look on Emma’s face, I can tell she doesn’t have the same ability to put on a mask. I don’t know any of these people, but for her, it’s a room filled with family and friends, relationships that she’s collected over the course of her thirty years, and I can tell facing them all at once under the circumstances is overwhelming.
When she looks up at me, her eyes wide with alarm, that squeeze in my chest is back. All I want to do is comfort her, protect her. In the short time I’ve known her, it’s become a reflex.
My arm slides around Emma’s waist, pulling her into my side. I lean down to press a gentle kiss against her temple. The softness of her skin under my lips and the already familiar lavender scent of her hair pulls me out of my head. Almost makes me forget what I’m doing here.
Play the part.
“We got this,” I whisper against the shell of her ear. Emma’s body quivers against mine. The sensation pulls me back to the hotel room yesterday morning when I parted her robe. The same tremble of her legs when my tongue licked between her thighs. I pull back from her, knowing if I don’t get control of these thoughts this situation is going to take an embarrassing turn.
