Page 43 of The Marriage Narrative
“Blue next,” he instructed. “Pour it slowly over the back of the spoon.”
She studied the side of his face instead. His nearly invisible freckles, the hint of gray under his dark brown eyes, his cute nose and balanced lips. The subtle beginnings of a beard peppered his jaw. He’d told her he only shaved every other day.
“What?” His lips twitched—an easy smile at the ready. A single joke from her and he’d unleash it.
Except she felt like being honest instead of funny.
“Just felt like staring at you.”
His eyes flashed with curiosity. “Why?”
She’d been saving her next line for the perfect on-camera moment. “Because you make me happy.”
His cheeks never turned red, but his ears sure as hell told on him. She turned away first, picking up the spoon and placing it in the glass.
“LOOK OUT!”
A shot glass flew into their station, landing with a densethud—Zinnia flinched and accidentally knocked over her glass. Her ruined drink splashed everywhere, including all over her lime-green cardigan sleeves.
The entire room went pin-drop quiet. Everyone stared at a wide-eyed Wylie, who said, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to hit you. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you need to stop,” Lulie snapped. She threw a quick, tense glance Zinnia’s way before turning back to her brother. “You obviously can’t juggle.”
“Yet,” Wylie promised.
Zinnia exhaled through her nose, emptying her lungs, and closed her eyes. It was just food coloring. The giant dark splotches would come out this time. It was fine. She balled her hands into fists, pressing her fingernails into her palms until they hurt.
A hand touched her back and she jumped again, letting loose a startled gasp.“Jesus.”
“Nope, just me,” Jordan said with a weak laugh. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just need a minute.”
Her camera pod was suddenly a lot closer to her than it had been a second ago. She made a show of smiling at Jordan, who then touched her hip, pulling her closer…and sheknewthe camera caught her flinch again in response.
Honey Brown’s sky-high eyebrows confirmed it—an unmistakableYikes.
“Actually, I think I need a break.” She didn’t dare look at Jordan.
Zinnia was allowed to take fifteen-minute camera pod–supervised breaks. She usually spent them wandering around the house, counting to calm down and trying to memorize the layout. A quick reset to get her head back in the Zaffre game when the stress got to her. She didn’t go far, ending up sitting on the staircase near the front door.
She took off her cardigan and neatly folded it, careful to make sure the stained patches didn’t spread. Her chest shook from trying not to rage-cry again. She didn’t want Jordan to think that he married the wrong person for the job, but she just couldn’t get her act together.
Why did his family have to make being there so impossible for her?
“Now, who left this flower on the stairs?” Damon leaned against the banister while his camera pod stood off to the side.
Like father, like son, but they carried the same face so differently. Damon was colder, quieter, with yellowed dark eyes. He had a calming edge to him that Jordan didn’t inherit—nighttime in a cool, dry desert versus high noon at the shameless corral.
“Most people don’t even know what my name means.” She blinked up at him. “How was work?”
Wholly committed to thewe’re just like youbit, Jordan’s parents went to work every day. Amber’s home office was clear on the other side of the estate. She spent a minimum of ten hours a day doing…something. Running a dynasty in the making apparently involved secret meetings, two full-time assistants, and minimal distractions. They—“the children,” which now included Zinnia—were forbidden from interrupting her during business hours unless someone was “dead, dying, or bleeding.”
Damon, a former college basketball star turned physician, had rotations at a family clinic in town. He left before sunrise, returned midafternoon, and she usually didn’t see him until dinner.
“Good.” His white coat was slung over his arm, and he was holding a large black bag. “Feeling all right?”
“Yeah.” She tried to smile.
