Page 39 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“You look beautiful, but you could wear a cardboard box and still be beautiful.”

“I feel like I’m wearing cardboard.”

“It’s sophisticated. I’m just not used to the lack of color or straight hair. I love your vibrant outfits and curls.”

“I want my curls back,” I whined.

He gathered me into his arms. “It’s just for today. I’m sorry they’re putting you through this, but I’m not sorry they’re putting you through this because you’re my wife. I’m proud that you’re mine. Though, now I have to do a situation check. You regret marrying me yet?”

I shook my head. “Nope. We’re team Karker all the way.”

“Karker?” he asked, laughing.

“Yeah… you know, Kowalski and Parker. Karker.”

“Ooh—sorry. You already committed to being a Parker.”

I shrugged. “Then after the press conference, we need to get on that. Otherwise, it’s Karker, buddy.”

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” he asked.

“No. I don’t think you have.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to lie to you,” he teased.

“Hey—” I punched his shoulder. We both laughed as he drew me in for a kiss.

“I love you, woman. Love you more than picnics on the Seine or African safaris.”

“Well, I love you more than those pastries we ate in Gibraltar, so…”

Blake dropped his arms from around my waist to grab my hand. “I don’t want to do this,” he said.

“I don’t want to do this, either.”

“Right. So, let’s not want to do this together… as we do this. It sounded better in my head.”

“We’ll work on your delivery.”

After that, I let him whisk me out to his car. Stupid press conferences.

We arrived through a secured back entrance and were quickly ushered to the room where the rest of the Parkers sat until it was time for us to pretend to be one big, supportive, happy family.

Then at a quarter to noon, the powers that be ushered us onto a stage with a podium. The backdrop was a large printed replica of the preamble to the Constitution—you know that whole “we the people” thing. Two American flags flanked the stage. Our job was to stand there with large smiles on our faces, not saying a word.

Brockton Parker had that handsome thing down. I mean, I clearly didn’t find him as attractive as I found my husband, buthis bright, white smile and expensive suit screamed presidential. His look probably fluttered more than a few heartbeats.

Exactly at noon, in front of a whole lot of reporters, the cameras went live. Rather than listening to my brother-in-law speak, I worried about pit stains darkening the suit. I wore a good brand of deodorant but I never saw a thing about preventing sweat due to television cameras on the label.

A half hour after Brockton started talking, we were thankfully allowed to leave the stage. My mouth hurt from holding my smile for so long.

“How you holding up?” Blake asked me.

“My mouth is sore. I might not be able to kiss for a—” My words were swallowed up by my husband leaning in to kiss me.

“What were you saying about kissing?” he asked.

“That we should head home and do more of it.”

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