20. 20
The press conference is fast and productive. Miles is a quiet one, so I do the talking while he stands at my side—my little bit o’ eye candy.
I may not be interested in love right this minute or having a family… ever, but I’m not a total loon. Miles is nice to look at. And he’s an incredibly decent husband. He picked me up early, fed me, and listened to all of my press conference instructions until this evening.
Show time!
When it comes time for questions, I am pretty good at commanding the attention. Which Miles doesn’t mind.
I answer the typical questions: Where did you meet? When was the wedding? Why so secretive? How long did you date? This last one is trickier because of the show. We finished filming in August. The show aired from February to May. So, I go with September. “Filming was over for Celebrity Wife, and while I was bound to silence, life doesn’t stop. You can’t stop love. Believe me, after the show and not falling for any of the men, I wasn’t looking.” I peer up at Miles. “But I couldn’t stop seeing Miles.” It’s true—well, the last part anyway. Of course, I didn’t meet Miles in September since I met him this very week. Lucky for me, after the show I went into hiding. The press had no location on me for a time. They can’t call my bluff.
“Miles,” says one man, hand in the air though no one has called on him. “You’re pretty quiet. Second thoughts on this quick courtship?”
Miles clears his throat while I refrain from punching Mr. Baldy Badge in the back.
My new husband moves closer to the mic before I can swoop in and save him—which I would have had I not been taken so off guard. The press just loves a struggling Lane Jonas. Even now, with this ”happy announcement,” they like to pair me with regret.
“No second thoughts,” Miles says. “Just grateful a mansion full of men didn’t stop Delaney from being true to herself.”
Anyone can Google and look up my actual name. Still, it’s rarely something said or heard through a microphone, on a stage, or in front of the press. Not even the men in the mansion knew my name.
I inadvertently hold my breath. But Miles wraps one arm around my shoulders. I rest my head on his left pectoral, breathing in his pine and musk like he is the great outdoors. I’m thankful he’s here. I’m thankful this whole thing fell conveniently into my lap. I’m thankful I convinced him to go along. Maybe he’s thankful too. No second thoughts.
With my side snuggled up to Miles’, a round of flashes light up the room.
“Did you watch the show, then?” the same man asks.
“Would you want to watch your girl date a bunch of other guys?”
“I’ll take that as a no,” the reporter says with a chuckle.
Miles’ arm around me tightens and soft lips press at my hairline. “No. I didn’t watch,” he says, though he did confess to one episode.
We smile for a couple more photos, and then Miles’ friend Nina ushers everyone out into the hall.
“You think we’ll have less company now?” Miles asks, peering down at me. His hazel eyes are bright with green—especially today, with his contacts in.
“Umm, maybe,” I say, thoroughly and ridiculously distracted. “You have nice eyes,” I blurt.
Miles’ brows pinch together.
“That’s not a come-on.” I swallow and straighten out my shoulders. I’m good at confidence. I can usually muster it, even when I don’t feel it. “Just a fact. Very nice eyes.” I smile, for some reason stupidly pleased with myself. And because my brain likes to jump into multiple conversations and categories at once, I say, “And just an FYI, you may have to kiss me one day.”
“Excuse me?”
“We are married.”
“In theory,” he says.
“In reality, bud.” I huff out a breath. “The public may want it one day. I’m just giving you a heads-up.”
His brows lift. “So thoughtful of you.”
I lift one shoulder. “I’m here to please.”
“How about a late dinner? Would that please you?” He holds his arm out to me, and while I slip my arm through his, I’m also not my grandma. So I slide my fingers down his forearm to his hand and lace my fingers through his.
Nina’s outside and she and her officer friends have done a decent job clearing the way to Miles’ truck.
“You’re so good at feeding me, Miles. Believe me, I appreciate that. But I think I’m ready for my bed.”
“Already?”
“I know I sound like an old lady. But it’s been a long week.”
“Yeah. No problem. I’ll take you to the rental.”
Nina watches as Miles opens my door. I bat my eyes up at him. We have an audience; we might as well get that first awkward kiss over with. I slide onto the passenger seat of his small truck but keep my gaze locked on his.
He’s a smart man.
He gets it.
He also leans in and kisses my—cheek. Oh, wholesome, decent Miles. It’s just a kiss. You are my husband.
I bat my lashes at him. “Thanks, honey,” I say as sappy as I can. Nina glances from down the street to Miles and me.
“You’re welcome, Baby Cakes.”
I lift one brow and watch as shy, quiet Miles walks around the truck and hops inside.
“Baby Cakes?”
“It just felt right,” he says, his eyes on the road but his lips up in a wry grin.