Page 104 of Marry Lies
“For the rest of my life,” he murmurs.
I can’t help my sharp inhale at his words, and he pulls away quickly, shaking his head.
“We should go,” he says quickly, his indifferent mask sliding into place.
I follow him out of the living quarters, and we silently walk to the elevator as I contemplate his words.
For the rest of my life.
Did that mean he was thinking about this marriage in a long-term sense? What about the contract we signed that said we would dissolve the marriage after a year? I don’t recall there being a clause for what would happen if one of us didn’t want the marriage to end.
I’m still thinking about it as we climb into the backseat of the black SUV, and I say a quick hello to Niro as we make our way to West Hollywood. I knew Miles had chosen a place that would likely be ripe with paparazzi. Soft music plays over the speakers, and I silently thank Niro for cutting the tension a bit. Even though I’m still thinking over what Miles said, I reach out for his hand, holding it tightly the entire drive to the restaurant.
And, as predicted, cameras flash as we pull up to the front.
“I might’ve made some calls,” Miles says quickly. He turns to face me and gives me a tight smile. “Ready?”
I nod as realization dawns—as I think about how I’d be ready for anything with him by my side.
With him watching me shower, watching me get ready, as if I washis person.
With him stroking my back before settling into a numb, dreamless, fitful sleep.
With him cooking for me.
With him telling mefor the rest of my life.
“Ready,” I tell him, hoping he understands the double entendre of my words.
We exit the car, and people begin to shout at us. Miles’ hand starts on my lower back, but by the time we step onto the curb, he tugs me into his body.
“Stella! Miles! How is married life?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Miles answers, smiling warmly. “Thanks for asking.”
“Stella! How are you adjusting to living in California?”
I grin as I look up at Miles. “It’s been incredible.”
Miles smiles down at me, and then to my surprise, he pulls me in for a kiss.
It’s not acting.
There’s no pretending.
His low groan vibrating in the back of my throat is real.
This—us—is real.
“Lovebirds!” someone shouts.
“So romantic!”
“Young love!”
Miles pulls away and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. As we get closer to the door, someone steps in front of me.
“How does it feel to be married to someone so distrustful?”
