Page 36 of The Marriage Narrative
Jordan got up and closed all the blinds while Mabel threateningly cussed him out. “Problem solved. We’ll just turn the movie up really loud.”
The bungalow seemed larger than it was because of all the empty vertical space. They aimed the projector at the blank wall above the fireplace and made a nest of blankets and pillows as far back in the living room as they could. She taught him the Hobbit meal structure and they made their menu starting with elevenses. He taught her how to place an order with the estate kitchen staff.
“It’s not twenty-four hours. They’re only available from five a.m. to five p.m. because my mom cooks dinner every night,” he explained while they were waiting for their delivery.
“I would not have guessed that.”
Their food arrived in a large picnic basket. Jordan retrieved it from the back entrance—the sunroom—instead of the front porch where Mabel was still skulking. They set up their first meal in a picnic style, all the food shared between them as they loungedon the blankets. In the middle of a scene full of unexpected fireworks, Jordan whispered, “Thank you for staying.”
“I almost left.” She glanced at him with a quick grin before turning back to the movie. “I had the airline app open, tickets in my cart. I stayed because I realized that we both jumped in headfirst, hoping for the best. I thought it’d be fair if we each got one fuckup. A free pass for a mistake that would normally tear a relationship apart. You’ve used yours. That’s all. No big deal.”
Oh, fuck. Kindness and generosity like that was dangerous onZaffre Hours. Just imagining how the network would twist her willingness to forgive in their favor made him sick with worry.
“It is a big deal, actually. And I won’t forget it,” he said, trying and failing to steal her attention away. “When you start having sit-down interviews, promise me you won’t ever tell them the whole truth about anything. It’ll seem like they’re being friendly by asking innocent questions when really, they’re searching for your weaknesses. Don’t give them any.”
To his surprise, she laughed. “You sound like Grace. Don’t worry, I already know. Now, shush. You’re missing important exposition.”
He continued watching her instead.
Zinnia
The next morning, she sighed before opening her eyes. Her borrowed bungalow bed was gloriously just right—soft enough to sink into and firm enough to cradle her straight to sleep.
Jordan had starred in her dream before it turned into aborderline nightmare. She’d given him her word, her hand,anda second chance, all within two weeks of knowing him. This was never going to be easy and her subconscious refused to let her forget it.
He was already in the kitchen waiting for her by the time she was dressed. “I thought you didn’t wake up early?” she asked.
“No need to wake up if you don’t sleep.” His voice was clear, not a hint of morning scratch. “Coffee?”
She leaned against the counter watching him pour her a cup. He was wearing all black again, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It suited him—he truly was overwhelmingly handsome. Irresponsibly handsome.
“How do I look?” She stood up straight and gestured to herself.
“Beautiful,” he said to the refrigerator as he grabbed the creamer instead of looking at her.
“I’m not asking for compliments. I need feedback.” That got his attention, so she continued, “You know how cartoon characters always wear the same thing? I was thinking this could be my signature look—a different cardigan every day. I havea lotof them.”
For her first official day of filming, she’d chosen a solid dark blue one that had a single pink flower over the right wrist. Her face inexplicably began feeling warm as Jordan considered her idea, slowly, from head to toe and back again.
“Spin for me,” he said thoughtfully.
She did and added a few poses at the end.
He nodded. “I was right the first time. Beautiful.”
“That’s unhelpful.”
“That’s my honest opinion.” He shrugged while holding both coffee mugs. “Shall we?”
Their open floor plan kitchen had the cutest little windoweddining nook. The sun was already up and bathing the spot in a dreamy orange glow as they sat. A new picnic basket was already on the table, and she peeked inside. He’d chosen an array of pastries and egg-based dishes.
“Did you get your family email?” he asked.
“Already activated.” She grabbed her phone.
Her Zaffre company account was also connected to a shared calendar that had everyone’s entire life schedule on it. There were three categories—production, personal, and blacklist. Zinnia and Jordan would be on camera for twelve-hour blocks, clocking out at eight p.m. every night, seven days a week. For the next four months. How fun.
“Why are all our evenings blacklisted?” she asked.
