Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
JULIETTE
I’d come this close to telling Griffin everything back at the hotel.
But when he’d said we were going on a cruise he’d booked in the middle of the night without a second thought, I knew it wasn’t the time.
But the longer I put it off, the more betrayed he would feel when he found out.
So I gave myself a deadline: tell him as soon as we get back.
Because you can’t go on a cruise to Mexico without the proper attire, an hour later, we were in Target.
I held up a pale blue bikini. “What do you think?”
“Absolutely yes. You should get the green one too.” He winked. “And the yellow one with the ruffles.” Another wink. “Or let’s save the money and forget the bikinis altogether.”
I tried to hide my blush with a dramatic scoff.
He grinned, so pleased with himself. “Hold on.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and went slightly still. “It’s a FaceTime from my mom. I’m nervous about telling her.”
Uh… My body locked up. Had he missed the part where I said the longer we kept this quiet, the better?
He hit accept. “Hey, Mama.”
I squatted, pretending to check out a floral one-piece. Really, I was trying not to hyperventilate.
“There’s my Griffin guy,” she said warmly. “Why are you back in Vegas… and what are you doing in Target? I thought you were heading home after the hike.”
Again with the location stalking. I smiled. What I would’ve given to have a mom who stalked my location.
“Uh…that was the plan.” He scratched his forehead. “But I left… my shoes at the convention and had to come back to get them.” A flush crept up his neck.
“Why are you in the women’s swimsuit section?” his mom asked.
“You know Griff,” a younger woman called in the background. “Trying on bikinis again.”
I glanced up from my crouched position.
He held the phone away and mouthed, That’s Sophie.
His sister. Who was very active on social media. And who loved DayGlow and would likely post about me the second she found out. My heart went soft when I realized she was my sister now.
Griffin gestured for me to stand, then pointed at the phone, motioning that he wanted to introduce me.
The blood drained from my face. I held up a finger, needing a second.
He tilted his head, like come on. He was so excited to tell them. So proud of who I was. But that was the problem. He didn’t know who I actually was. If he did, he’d be the opposite of proud. He’d want to annul our marriage and never see me again. And he’d have every right.
How could I look his mom in the eye and let her believe I was something I wasn’t?
“Griff, who are you talking to?” his mom asked.
He beckoned me up again.
I shook my head, my whole body saying no.
He sighed. “No one.” He paced away, giving me space.
The second his back was to me, I darted around the nearest aisle. Then I broke into a run, and I didn’t stop until I reached the makeup section.
Right next to the TrueTone mascara—a terrible brand, by the way—I bent over, hands on my knees, dragging in air.
Someone on my right whispered, “Hey, I think that’s Juliette Serrant. Why is she buying TrueTone? That brand is so mid. Actually, it’s straight-up trash.”
Two teenage girls stared. I bolted again. With my hands up, guarding my face from passersby, I darted in and out of shoppers, trying to find somewhere to be alone. From the cereal aisle to sporting goods to the seasonal section. People, people, people every-freaking-where.
I loved my long, red hair. But in moments like this, it wasn’t a feature—it was a beacon. A very enthusiastic one, alerting anyone paying any attention to my presence. No matter where I turned, someone seemed to recognize me. For fifteen minutes, I kept moving, too recognizable to stop.
You know where you can be alone at Target?
The cleaning aisle. Not a single soul in sight.
Apparently, the entire city of Vegas was too busy blowing their life savings at one of the various casinos to actually clean their houses.
Because it was there between the Swiffer mops and lemon-scented Lysol that I found solitude.
I slumped onto the floor, sweat gathering in my cleavage.
“There you are.”
My head whipped around. Griffin.
I hopped to my feet and tucked my hair behind my ears, as if that helped anything.
He walked toward me, his shoulders dropping, pushing our cart. He’d broken out in a sweat too, right along his hairline. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I’d acted like a crazy person. No question. The shame washed over me, and I hugged myself.
He studied my face, expression unreadable.
Then his mouth curved into a gentle smile.
“Being married to you is going to be something else, isn’t it?
” He chuckled. “I swear. It was like a game of Where’s Waldo.
I was walking around calling your name, and people knew exactly who you were and which direction to point me. ”
It took a moment for my brain to process…
He wasn’t mad? Like… at all? Actually, he seemed super relieved—like he’d been worried that I was running away, or trying to leave him, or something.
You mean like you did this morning?
I hated myself for that. Leaving was the opposite of what I wanted.
Why would I want to run from a man who was so in love with me that he’d chase me all over this store, pushing a cart full of my things—complete with a bright pink suitcase covered in bows, indecent bikinis, and downright scandalous lingerie—and not even get mad about it?
I shook my head. Why would he even do that?
Because he cares about you. Just… you. Not what you can do for him.
At that realization, my heart burst open with all the love I’d been stomping down. Back at Starbucks, I told myself I was going to stay. But I’d been so worried about the ‘hows’ that I’d still held back just in case.
He looked at me the way I’d always wanted to be looked at—and though I couldn’t say it out loud, I recited our vows in my mind.
From that moment on, I was Griffin Dupree’s wife.
Whatever came next, I wasn’t going anywhere.
I don’t know why it took a stupid game of cat-and-mouse in the middle of Target for me to realize he was the real thing—this love was the real thing—but so be it.
“I love you so much,” I said in a breathy gush. Then I dropped my head to his shoulder. “Just… get me out of here.”
“I love you too.” He wrapped his arms around me, his chest shaking with laughter. “Jules. There are ways to deal with fame that don’t involve the world’s longest game of hide-and-seek. Usually, my Uncle Ford just signs a couple of autographs, takes a few selfies, and then waves and walks away.”
It should’ve been funny. But I couldn’t laugh. The entire time I zigzagged through the store, I pictured Cecil waiting around every corner.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my breath still uneven. “I just… I wasn’t ready to meet your family.”
Griffin rubbed circles over my back. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“Did you tell your mom?”
He rested his chin on the top of my head, his biceps a cocoon of safety.
“Did I tell my mom that I eloped—thus killing her dreams of the big wedding she’s had planned for me since birth—with a woman I just met who conveniently pulled a Houdini as the call came through?
” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “No. I thought it might be better to wait.”
“I’m an idiot.” I lifted my head and smacked my forehead against his shoulder. “You probably want to divorce me already.”
He went still, arms dropping. Then he crouched down, both hands gripping my shoulders.
“Divorce isn’t in my vocabulary. You got me?
” The way he said it wasn’t a censure. It was a promise.
A promise that no matter how crazy I acted, no matter how many times I treated Target like a maze he needed to solve, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“I don’t deserve you,” I said.
“Ditto.” He squeezed my shoulders.
I didn’t even know love like this existed. At least for me. Up to that point, when things got too hard, people either disappeared or tried to get rid of me as fast as possible. Like I was stuck in a cruel, never-ending game of hot potato. And I was the potato.
“You know what I think we need?” he asked.
“What?”
“To go on this cruise and not worry about telling anyone until we get back. Just you and me, the sand between our toes, sunset walks, falling asleep to the ocean in the background. Completely incognito. How does that sound?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, overcome with relief. “Oh my gosh, yes, please.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do it.
” He glanced left, then right, with theatrical suspicion.
Then he crouched low and flattened himself against the Dawn dish soap, like he was evading hidden motion sensors.
He whipped his head to the right, peering around the corner, Jack Steele style.
His Uncle Ford would be so proud. “Bloody fantastic,” he hissed with an impressive British accent.
“This store is crawling with civilians.”
I giggled. “Right?” I peered around the corner, my cheek smashed against his. Seriously—it had to be the busiest Target in the world.
He pulled the truck keys from his pocket and passed them to me with the gravitas of a man handing over nuclear launch codes.
“I’ll take care of the payment,” he said, voice low, still in character.
“Can you exfiltrate to the truck without triggering surveillance? Or do you need me to improvise a distraction?”
“Copy that, Agent Dupree. Solo extraction in progress, meet me at the rendezvous point.” I slapped him on the butt. He startled, then laughed. “I’ll be waiting,” I murmured before catching the lobe of his ear between my teeth and giving it a gentle tug.
“Woman,” he moaned.
“Hurry,” I purred. Then I pirouetted away, disappearing in the opposite direction.
I grabbed a journal from the stationery section and held it up, pretending it was a juicy novel, and made my way to the front of the store.
Right before I reached the exit doors, I dropped the journal onto a bench.
Then I jetted through the sliding doors out into the sunshine, fighting back a smile.
When the truck came into view, I thrust my fists in the air.
Being married to Griffin was going to be so. Much. Fun.