Page 45 of Never Been Worse

“Oh my god,” I whisper, unable to guard my expression as my heart pounds even faster.

That’s permanent. A tattoo. On his skin forever.

“I take it that was a bit of a surprise to you?” the interviewer asks, and I let out another coughed laugh.

“Uh, yeah. You can say that.” I shake my head to try and remind myself to keep it together before clearing my throat. “I know he got a new tattoo, of course. I saw the tape, but I didn’t know…”

“I was waiting for a grand reveal,” Wes says, then he grabs onto that necklace once more, using it to pull me to him and bring his lips to mine. “Happy wedding, little wife,” he whispers against my lips, slightly open with awe and shock, before he leans in gently, pressing his there. It’s a soft, quick kiss before he pulls back, then repeats the same move on my forehead.

Finally, he sits back, looking at the interviewer, who has a hint of dumbstruck awe expression on her face.

“Wow. Well. That was…you two really are the real thing,” she says with a chuckle. “And I think that’s a great place to stop, as we’re running out of time.” She turns to the camera and starts spewing facts on where to find Atlas Oaks and me online before handing it off to the news anchor. She turns to us, her entire composure different than when the camera was on, an easy smile taking over her face.

“Wow, you two really are something. When they brought this story to me, I was sure it was some kind of press relationship. We get a lot of those, you know. But you two. God.” She looks from me to Wes. “You’re one lucky girl.”

“No,” Wes says with a shake of his head, standing and offering his hand to me, tugging me up and pulling me into his side. “I’m the lucky one.”

There is barely any time between our first interview and the second one as we move across town. I spend the short drive while Wes is on the phone with Leo, trying to organize my thoughts so I don’t freak out on him. It’s not until we’re alone in the greenroom at the next studio, changing, that I find words to say, sort of.

Sort of, because it just kind of blurts out when he catches me staring at his bare chest as he changes sweaters.

“When did you get that?” I ask, my eye moving toward his wrist.

“Get what?” he asks, a cocky smile on his lips I kind of want to smack off. Thankfully, he tugs on a new sweater, this one burgundy, hiding his wildly distracting chest so I can think.

“You know what I mean, Wes, don’t play stupid. It’s not cute on you.” I expect him to banter with me, but instead, he answers honestly.

“After we got back. I was going to do it before, but you aren’t supposed to go in pools after.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “But…but,” I start, then finally speak coherently. “But that’s permanent, Wes.”

His head tips a bit as he smiles at me. “Yeah, and?”

“And...and…and this isn’t!” I say, my hands moving in the air with the panic that I feel.

“You’re already under my skin, Harper Holden. Might as well put you there myself.” I can feel my eyes going wider, and Wes laughs at that before adding, “This might not be permanent, Harper, but I don’t plan on having another wife after you. Why not commemorate it?”

I open my mouth over and over like a fish out of water, trying to decide what to say and how to respond, but there's a knock on the door.

“Two minutes!” the production assistant yells.

Wes steps closer, tugging me against him, my chest meeting his as we stand toe to toe. “Believe I care about you yet?” he asks low.

“A tattoo doesn’t prove you care about someone, Wes. It just proves you’re impulsive,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I even believe myself.

“Got it. Not yet,” he says, his smile widening before he steps back. “Go. You’ve got two minutes to finish changing.”

The second interview is mostly the same as the first, but this time, there is a male and female interviewer. It’s a well-known gossip show starring Marty Man and Kelsey Smith, where the two leads bicker and argue often, something viewers love. But being on this side of things, with Marty taking the lead, I am much more uncomfortable than in our first interview.

Especially since it seems he is already not fond of me.

“It really is something,” he starts after we get through the niceties. “You know, many were confused by the announcement of your nuptials.”

My stomach churns at the twinkle in his eyes. It’s much different than the way the first interviewer spoke to us, more like he’s preparing for somegotchamoment.

Still, Wes smiles at me, my hand in his, his thumb brushing over my skin like a calming metronome as I try and keep my serene look on my lips.

“How long have you been together?”

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