Page 15 of Tainted Tempos

Mrs. Tate.

“Thanks so much!” Mav gushes, grinning at her. His eyes flash, his dimple pops, and she doesn’t spare me a second glance.

I’m grateful. Thankful to my husband for covering for me.

Again, the realization makes me feel worse. I’m under contract. I’m supposed to act a part. The part of Mav’s doting, happy significant other. And I can hardly muster the energy to sit on the beach.

“Cheers, beauty,” Mav mutters.

I clink my glass against his. “Cheers,” I echo, taking a long sip of the champagne.

I settle back against the cushions, stare at the gorgeous beach, and beg for sleep to claim me.

Anything to stop this phantom pain.

Anything to end this darkness in broad daylight.

Mom

You got married wearing green?

Oh fuck, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Mom

Mckenna, that’s so tasteless!

While I understand you’re in a rebellious phase and you clearly married a rockstar to embarrass me, I don’t hate that you’re married.

At your age, it’s about time.

Call when you’re back from Portugal and we’ll plan a proper wedding. One where you wear white. Or, at the very least, ivory.

I groan and close my eyes. Even reading her text messages exhausts me.

She is completely out of touch with reality. Like, that’s her main concern? The fact that I eloped while wearing an emerald-green dress? Doesn’t the part where I eloped in the middle of the night in Las Vegas demonstrate that it obviously wasn’t a planned event?

Shouldn’t she be concerned that I eloped at all?

Dad, on the other hand, has the decency to call.

My phone rings later that day while I’m alone in the suite and Mav is down by the pool, enjoying the views and the sunshine like a normal person.

I arch an eyebrow when Dad’s name appears on my phone’s screen. I debate letting it go to voicemail but at the last moment, a tiny bubble of hope rises to the surface, and I accept the call.

“Hello?” I answer, praying it’s him and not his assistant. The last thing I want is to speak about my marriage to Mav via a third-party.

“You eloped in Las Vegas?” Dad explodes with anger, and the hint of a smile coasts across my face. How sad is that? I want to fucking grin because my father cares enough to be angry.

Oh, I am losing it.

“I did,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “I married Maverick Tate.”

“The rockstar.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

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