Page 63 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

“I promise to love, cherish, and absolutely destroy you every chance I get.”

“Jesus,” I murmur. “Write that into our next marketing campaign.”

She grins. “The algorithm’s got nothing on us.”

***

We’re sipping rosé on the deck wrapped in robes when it happens.

“Grayson King?”

I look up from Margot’s shoulder, and my first instinct is to lie. Say no. Say we’ve never met. But it’s too late.

Standing there in boat shoes and a smug grin is Nathan Ellis, formerPerfectly Matchedclient and certified tech douchebag. Trailing behind him is a woman in oversized sunglasses with a press badge clipped to her wrap dress.

Margot stiffens. “Tell me that’s not…”

“It is.”

Nathan waves like we’re friends. “Small world, huh? Didn’t know you two did honeymoons in public.”

“We’re not in public,” I say. “We’re on private property. You’re trespassing.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Elise just wanted a few words for a piece she’s working on. You’re trending again, you know.”

Margot stands up slowly, cinching her robe tighter like she’s about to murder someone with class.

Elise steps forward, notebook in hand. “Mrs. King…Margot Evans, just a quick word? The dress rumors, the algorithm recovery, your thoughts on the celebrity tier atPulseMatch…”

“No comment,” Margot says sweetly. “Except to say I will burn this entire place to the ground if you print a single word.”

Nathan laughs. “Come on, Margot. Don’t you want to control the narrative?”

“I am the narrative.”

I step in front of her, all calm fury.

“Leave. Now. Before I call security. Or worse, our lawyers.”

Elise hesitates. Then nods.

Nathan throws one last wink. “Hell of a honeymoon story though.”

They leave.

Margot exhales. “Unbelievable.”

“You want to go inside?”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“And take out your press-related rage on me in the bedroom?”

I shrug. “Just saying… therapy comes in many forms.”

She grabs my hand. We disappear into the villa, slamming the glass door shut behind us. Margot yanks her robe off and tosses it onto a nearby chair like it personally offended her. “I cannot believe we got ambushed by Nathan freaking Ellis on our honeymoon.”

I follow her in, grinning. “You have to admit, we sort of attract drama like it’s oxygen.”

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