19. Here Come the Grooms
19
HERE COME THE GROOMS
Nate
Why can’t I get a fucking cell phone signal? I need to find out what went down while we were flying and how bad it is.
But the customs area is made of concrete. “Keep trying,” I grit out before Hunter and I split up by nationality.
“Absolutely,” he agrees, then he heads to the UK line, and I turn to the all other citizens one.
I tap open a browser, then all my social feeds to try to figure out what’s going on. But all I get is a page loading .
When I’ve trudged halfway down the line, my phone connects, and my text notifications rain down on me.
Finally!
But the preview panes are freaking me the fuck out. My stomach twists as I read the notes.
Amy: OMG!!!! What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. When were you going to tell me?
Jason: Dude. Dude. Dude. Congrats?
Next, I click open the group chat with my parents, wincing as I read damning note after damning note.
Mom: He looks so cute! You look so happy! When can we meet him?
Dad: Did you sign a prenup?
Mom: Sweetheart, you’re such a lawyer.
Dad: And I always look out for my kids. Prenups are smart.
Mom: Yes, Nate knows. But focus on the good news first, dear.
Dad: Right. Sorry, kid! Congrats! You look pretty stinking happy in the pic we saw!
Yeah, and pretty stinking drunk.
My parents are the best, and they’re stoked for me no matter what. But no one is supposed to know I got married. Fine, my friends were there last night, and they know. But my guys live and die by the guy code—we don’t reveal shit to anyone else. Plus, I told Bryan I was getting an annulment, so I’d bet my life he told the other guys to keep it quiet I got hitched.
However it happened, someone else definitely knows.
As in, the whole fucking world.
The news must have come out while we were flying, our phones off.
One last note blinks up at me. I stare at a text from Vance like it’s a bomb, then I man up and open it to find out what my agent has to say.
Vance: Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t say a word. Bring your new man and I’ll be waiting on the other side of customs.
Frantically, I text Hunter.
Nate: Wait for me.
His reply appears in seconds.
Hunter: Of course. Also, I got service. Nate, we need to talk.
The last time I heard those words, Oliver told me he wanted to go to therapy. But what he was really saying was “It’s over.”
That’s all I hear in them now too.
Like chastened children, my husband and I walk to my agent. Standing with his arms crossed by the escalator on the other side of customs , Vance is sporting a tailored shirt that looks like money, and his best shut up say nothing grin.
When I arrive, he drapes an arm around me, squeezing too hard. “So good to see you, buddy,” he says, jaw clenched, making his fair skin look even fairer.
“You too,” I manage.
When he lets go, he extends a hand to Hunter. “And you must be the one and only Mr. Colburn.”
Hunter swallows, clearly nervous. But then he squares his shoulders. “Pleasure to meet you, Vance,” he says, suddenly all confident and in control.
Damn, he is a badass producer. Even when we’re in hot water, he’s handling the boil.
“I’ve got a town car. Let’s get out of here before the paps see you. But if they do, you two are going to smile and wave,” Vance whispers, this close to seething.
I nod.
Hunter doesn’t even protest.
Hmm. Something’s up with him, but we didn’t have so much as a second to talk once we cleared customs.
There’s no chance now, either, as Vance shepherds us out of the airport and straight to a sleek black waiting car. The driver flies around the back of the vehicle and hoists our bags into the trunk while Vance opens the door for us.
Hunter slides in first and I’m next. Then Vance joins us, slamming the door and raising the partition.
The second the glass is up and we’ve pulled away, the practiced smile on my agent’s face vanishes. “So, why don’t you men put your rings back on?”