Page 106 of Insta Bride

“I didn’t know.”

How many more times would I have to say the same three little words before Elena would believe me?

“I promise you, I didn’t know.”

“You hid his name from me.”

“I didn’t. I said he was an important potential client. Someone I wanted to bring on board. Representing a company that could make or break my career. I told you, most of my clients signed deals when I was on the island—with you.”

“So, it’s my fault?”

I hated this limousine. I hated the cameras in our faces and the blank stares of Bree and her camera crew. Judging me, hounding Elena.

Kneeling on the limo floor wasn’t high on my list of things to do tonight, but if it was the only way I could pull my wife to my chest and let her cry with a little privacy, I was willing to kneel for her—literally.

“Babe, none of this is anyone’s fault. I didn’t know the name of your ex—because I hate thinking of you with anyone but me.”

“You’ve been with everyone.”

I could almost hear the advertising teaser for tonight’s episode—which was scheduled for two days. Ramped up editing to cash in on what was supposed to be introducing Elena to my world.

“Babe, sweetheart, I promise you—I didn’t know.”

“But he did. He must have. Even if he never watched the show—his friends—someone—would have seen me on it. One of our old friends would have told him. He would have known about you and me.”

“Did you know?” I turned to Bree, pinning her to the seat. “Fuck. Of course, you did.”

“He came to us months ago. Offering a personal insight into Elena and your relationship.” I brushed away her hand. She’d lost the right to touch me even as friends. “Kye, we said no. We’d declined his offer and rejected his price.”

“Seems like someone reconsidered.”

“You saw our planned schedule. We wanted to get footage of a couple of date nights, day in the life of you as a couple, and how you’ve integrated into each other’s world.” She sighed, looking to Elena, “I’m sorry. I thought Maddox would’ve have told Kye about your history. I assumed one of you would have mentioned his name before tonight. I honestly thought you all knew, and we’d be getting footage for a lot of laughs.”

“Why would I be laughing?” Elena’s red eyes were my fault. If she’d felt confident in our relationship—in my love—she could have thrown tonight in the face of Maddox. Instead, my beautiful wife had withdrawn into her grace, poise and dignity. Holding onto her social face with nails that had left red welts into her arm and probably leg. I knew these things, because I knew my wife, and I knew her triggers.

“I never would have fucking done that to you,” I urged. Needing Elena to believe me. “Think back, you know me. I wanted you to be comfortable tonight—I came home early to—.” There were things even I wouldn’t say on camera. “Elena, not even if we were at our fighting worst would I do that to you. We fight, we throw food and then we—forge together.” Boring enough to be edited out? Hopefully. Unless I could loop the tape together until Elena believed me.

“Why would I be laughing?” Elena ignored me, repeating her question to Bree. Even distraught, she remained graceful in the blood-red satin dress I’d purchased earlier today. The fabric had hugged her body in all the right ways, the high neckline and extended V at the back hiding her breasts but showing me the path to her lower back.

Perfect for a night of romance and celebration.

“Come on, Bree,” Elena continued, “Fill me in on the joke.”

“Elena Mercer having dinner with two hot guys—one her ex and the other—” Bree tried to make amends, and failed.

“Her husband.” I stressed. “I’m her husband.”

“Who happens to be the 2.0 version of her ex.” Bree had lost the argument. “We thought it would be funny as you realized you’d married the 2.0 version of your ex.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Elena

“Why didn’t you call in sick?” Jess asked over pizza boxes recently delivered to our emergency dinner. For now, I was still living with Kye at his place. But since the show aired last night, my face had become fodder for every journalist and would-be media influencer. Everyone had an opinion, and the brazen ones preferred to come up to me in public—phones ready to capture my reaction.

Luckily my friends surrounded me in food and support, coming here so I could curl up in ugly sweatpants and one of Kye’s over-sized sweaters. Yes, I loved him. Yes, I wore his clothes when he wasn’t home or likely to be home for hours.

Yes, I’d been unable to stomach anything other than green tea since the dinner disaster. The pizza would either make me throw up, or line my stomach for a night of drinking. Either way, I’d take it as a win.

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