Page 99 of Insta Bride

My laugh sounded horse and bitter, “If that bitch could get a few dollars for her story about one night, how much would I get for being married to you for a few months.”

“Do you want money or the marriage?”

“Are you kidding me?” I ran back to the bathroom, but there was nothing left to retch but the bottom of my heart.

“Babe, babe, Elena,” Kye stroked my back and offered me a glass of water. “For the record, I’d pick marriage with you over money any day.”

“Easy for you to say when we only need to last a few more weeks before you can get the cash.”

By the time I crawled back into bed, clutching a pillow as a shield, Kye had removed the croissants and had returned with a cup of tea and sweet biscuits.

“Who was she?” I asked, needing more information to add to the mounting evidence. “I’m sure you don’t recognise her name, but surely her boob would jog your memory.”

I unlocked my phone and threw it at him.

“I was out with friends and we were mucking around. It was months, maybe a year before I met you.”

I sipped the tea and then pushed it aside for my coffee. “You keep saying you want the chance to explain, well, the floor’s yours.”

“Did you read the article?”

I shook my head, “I’ve seen the headline and the photo.”

Kye took a moment to scan the story. “Okay, I remember.”

“Great. Hopefully you’ll remember me in a year’s time.”

“Elena, I couldn’t forget you even if someone clubbed me over the head.” He reached forward as if to kiss me but I held up the pillow. “Fine, the photo. It was the grand final weekend a year ago. Zac, me and the boys were all getting smashed at some hotel. It was hot and about a dozen of us jumped in the pool.”

“Clothes or no clothes?” I had to ask even though Kye’s shrug gave me the answer.

“I think I still had my boardies on, the girls had stripped down to bra and g-strings.”

“I didn’t see a bra in the photo.”

“Some of the bras came off in the pool.”

“Accidents do happen, I suppose.” I knew my clothes wanted to come off the minute Kye looked my way.

“Look, we were drinking, watching the football, partying. I don’t even think I slept with her.”

“What does the article say?” I’d already decided not to read it. It couldn’t be worse than the photo.

“Apparently, I gave her the best night of her life and she thinks you’re a lucky woman.”

“Good to know. When will I start feeling lucky?”

I wanted to cry, again.

Kye tossed the phone to the end of the bed, pulled the pillow out of the way and caged over me on our bed. His strong arms either side, just as he had that first night on the Island.

“Babe, I promise you, it’s you and me. I haven’t cheated, and I’m not lying. I can’t even remember fucking her. I remember the weekend. I even remember when the photo was taken. We were all in this Congo line kind of thing—everyone having one hand over the next person’s chest and the other hand went low.”

“So some woman had her hand on your junk.”

“We were all mucking around. No one was taking it seriously.”

“How do you know.”

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