CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
“Thank you.” I pushed onto my tip toes to give him a kiss.
“Car’s outside,” Archer announced a moment later as we headed for the main doors. “I can’t wait until you see the restaurant I picked—”
His voice faded as he pushed open the doors and the shouting began. It took a few moments for the scene to register in my brain. All I could make sense of were the cameras and the crowd of people rushing toward us up the stairs.
"Shit," Nash muttered. "Paparazzi."
Nash guided me and Mia behind him, while Trojan and Archer formed a protective barrier between me and Mia and the oncoming people.
“Back up,” Trojan barked as he led us through the fray. “Keep your distance.”
Despite his commands, cameras were clicking and questions were flying through the air.
"Clara! How does it feel to be Mrs. Nightingale?"
"When did you guys get engaged?"
"Is this a shotgun wedding?"
Nash's arm came around me protectively, shielding both me and Mia as Trojan and Archer cleared a path toward the waiting car. Zoey stuck close to my other side, glaring at any photographer who got too close, and Teri was Archer’s shadow.
"Well that was a rush," I said once we were all safely inside the car.
"Someone inside must have leaked," Nash said. "Son of a bitch."
I looked out the window as we drove away, leaving the small group of photographers behind. Safe inside the car, the group looked small. But when they’d been ambushing us, it had felt like hundreds of people.
One thing was certain though. The photos were taken. Our secret City Hall wedding was now public knowledge.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Archer asked in the backseat.
Nash and I turned to look back there. Teri’s brows furrowed, and she had her eyes pinched shut.
“Just had a little dizzy spell,” she said. “Must have been from the excitement.”
“Have you been to the doctor like we said you should?” Nash asked.
“I’m fine.” Teri drew a deep breath then offered a smile. “See?”
“You’ve been getting dizzy a lot lately,” Archer said. “You need to go to the doctor.”
“I promise I’m okay,” Teri said, patting Archer’s hand. “Let’s focus on what’s important today, which is Nash and Clara.”
We tried to resume the happier mood from earlier.
Archer had made reservations at a small Italian restaurant in the West Village—the kind of place that didn't take reservations for anyone, except apparently the Nightingales.
We were tucked in a private back room with exposed brick and soft lighting.
Trojan lingered near the threshold, scanning the main dining room for potential threats.
We started off the lunch the only way fitting: with a toast.
"To the happy couple," Archer said, raising his champagne glass. "May this marriage be exactly what you both wished and prayed for.”
Something about his words made my chest tight. I’d wished and prayed for a man like Nash when I was younger. And now I had him. Only until December 31st.
"To Clara and Nash," Zoey added. "Who deserve all the happiness."
“To my baby boy and his beautiful bride,” Teri went on, her voice hoarse with emotion. “May you be happier than your wildest dreams.”
That one got me. Tears leaked out of my eyes as we clinked glasses. I felt split down the middle. My tears and emotions were all genuine, but I could also see how it played perfectly for the ruse. Authentic and faking it all at once.
The push-pull of these halves was driving me crazy. Which meant the only thing left to do was eat lots of food, get drunk, and figure it out another day.
The food was incredible—handmade pasta, perfectly seasoned osso buco, a tiramisu that made Zoey's eyes go wide. And buttered noodles for Mia. Nash kept his hand on my knee under the table, his thumb tracing absent patterns that made it hard to focus on conversation.
“Where are you guys going for the honeymoon?” Zoey asked after our plates were cleared and we were finishing drinks.
“We’re going wherever Clara wants,” Nash said, looking down at me warmly. “I don’t care where it is, as long as she’s there.”
The table aww’d and it felt like time for another kiss. Nash dipped down, pressing his lips to mine as I fought to contain my cheek-splitting smile.
We chatted for a while longer, finally ready to leave by the late afternoon. We said goodbye to Archer, Teri, and Zoey outside the restaurant, Mia giving them all enthusiastic hugs before I loaded her into the car seat.
"So," Nash said once we were in the back of the SUV. "What should our honeymoon destination be?"
"I don't know," I said, my head spinning. "Somewhere warm? With a beach?"
Nash's eyes lit up with that mischievous gleam I was starting to recognize. "I have an idea." He pulled out his phone and started typing rapidly. "The private jet can be ready tomorrow morning. We'll go to—"
His phone buzzed with a notification. Then another. And another.
"What the hell?" He frowned at the screen, his expression darkening with each passing second.
"What is it?"
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to see this. We’ve had an amazing day, let’s not ruin it.”
That made my stomach clench. “Well if that was supposed to deter me, you failed. Now I only want to see it more.”
He looked at me with seriousness etched into his features. “Haley Reeves posted her deep dive.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out at first. “I take it it’s not good.”
He sighed heavily, and I held out my hand. “I need to see it. If you don’t give it to me now, I’ll just look it up on my own phone.”
Nash handed me his phone. The headline made my stomach drop: "BILLIONAIRE'S brIDE'S SECRET PAST: From Catering Server to Mrs. Cinderella"
Below it was a photo of me in a catering uniform from years ago, juxtaposed with a shot from today at City Hall as we came down the front steps.
The article laid out my entire history in excruciating detail.
My modest upbringing. My job with the city.
My failed relationship with Preston. My pregnancy. My struggle to make ends meet.
“How did she get all this information about me?” I mused as I read.
"Sources close to the couple reveal that Clara Whitehall worked as a catering server at events Nash Nightingale hosted. Some are questioning whether this whirlwind romance is genuine, or if the struggling single mother saw an opportunity to secure her financial future..."
"Oh my God," I breathed.
"That fucking—" Nash caught himself, glancing at Mia who was obliviously playing with her flowers. In a lower voice, he said, "Haley Reeves is going to regret this."
But I barely heard him. I was too busy reading the comments that had already started flooding in.
"Gold digger much?"
"She baby-trapped the wrong guy lol"
"He could have had any woman and he chose HER?"
My vision blurred. This was it. This was the moment when everyone would know I didn't belong in Nash's world. When they'd see me for exactly what I was: a desperate woman with nothing to show for herself except some money by way of her wealthy husband.
"Clara." Nash gently took his phone back, forcing me to look at him. "This doesn't matter. None of this matters."
"It's all true," I whispered. "Everything she wrote."
"So what? You worked hard. You survived. You took care of your daughter. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
"The comments—"
"Are from people who don't matter." His hand cupped my face. "They don’t know you. I know you. And nothing in that article changes how I feel about—" He stopped abruptly, his jaw tightening as he glanced toward Trojan in the front seat. "About what we're doing."
What we’re doing. Code for this marriage of convenience.
I nodded, trying to pull myself together. The photos were out there. The story was public. There was no going back.
This was my first big media test, and I’d survive it. But as Nash gazed down at me, concern and tenderness on his face, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the bigger test.
Making it through this marriage with my heart in one piece.