Chapter 5
After the ceremony, we’re whisked away to a “private” room at the country club lined with windows overlooking the rolling green hills outside. Even if the cameras weren’t here, we’d still be in a fishbowl. Country club members in polo shirts and visors golf outside with a perfect view of this catastrophe.
I tap on my flute filled with warm, flat champagne to hide the hammering of my heart against my rib cage. The matchmakers paired me with Kit Watson. The man who broke my heart clean in two a decade ago.
Suddenly this whole in-it-for-the-money idea feels dangerous.
“So,” I clear my throat and say delicately, “it’s nice to meet you, Christopher.”
He tilts his head in question, his lips pulling into a frown. I can’t believe I kissed him. Like, really kissed him. And he kissed me back. With purpose. “Everyone calls me Kit.” He says my name gently. “Andie.”
I swallow and give my head a subtle shake. If the producers discover that we not only know each other, but already had a relationship—however long ago—my chance at one hundred thousand dollars is dead in the water. I look into my champagne glass and redirect the conversation to the things we should be talking about.
What we do for a living—he’s an architect, I make wedding dresses.
Do we have any siblings—only children, the both of us.
What part of the city do we live in—him, lavish Buckhead, and me, bustling Midtown.
Where we went for school—Georgia State, of course. Where we met.
All I can think as I sip my champagne is how much I hate this. I can’t help thinking it’s all things about him I should already know. Like it was wrong for us to have been apart all this time.
Which is absolute bullshit, considering the way we ended things.
Out of nowhere, Kit tilts his head and asks, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I steel my spine and focus on the way my heels pinch my toes.
He shakes his head. “I can always tell when you—”
“Kit,” I warn. If he outs us right now and ruins my shot at that money, I might murder him.
He lets out a laugh that falls flat, scrubbing his fingers against his jaw. He’s close enough I can smell his aftershave. Citrus, cedar, sandalwood. It’s a more adult version of him, and I want to nuzzle into his neck to breathe him in.
Of all the men in Atlanta, why the hell did it have to be him? He’s not even supposed to be here; I heard years ago from an acquaintance that he’d surfaced in Manhattan.
“What brings you here?” I ask abruptly. After a nervous glance at the cameraman behind Kit, I rearrange my face to look demure. Polite. Kit is supposed to be a stranger, after all.
He sucks in a breath and levels his gaze on me. “To the show or—?”
“Atlanta.” My champagne glass clunks down on the table as I shift on my feet in frustration. “Why are you in Atlanta?”
“Because I live here?” He gives the cameras a sidelong glance, setting his glass down, too.
“Right.” I scoff.
He turns to face me fully, squaring up for a fight, then deadpans, “Andie, if you say this town isn’t big enough for the both of us—”
A frustrated sound somewhere between a whine and a grunt leaves my mouth, and I can’t help myself. I stomp my foot. He’s under my skin after only five minutes. How the hell am I supposed to make it eight whole weeks?
The producer behind him watches in amusement, brows raised.
“I need some air.” I down the rest of my champagne, pick up the skirts on my off-the-rack gown and march out the door.
My heels sink into the soft country club grass, but I don’t stop. Calves burning, I glance over my shoulder. Kit’s closer behind than I expected. He eyes the curves of my hips with a deep frown on his face. The camera crew is on our heels, ready to catch more of this disastrous reunion.
There are so many words that want to claw their way out of my chest—most of them made of four letters—and I don’t know where to start.
But he does.
“What brings you here?” he blurts out as I stop to lean against a white oak, shoulders slouching. The crew hustles to get a clear shot, forming a semicircle around us on the lawn.
“To find love, obviously.” I flick his question away with my hand. It’s a lie, of course. I’m here for the divorce money in eight weeks. I suppose I should be grateful I landed the one man I can guarantee I’ll walk away from.
He gestures to the crew around us. “Maybe we should tell the producers we’ve—”
I glare at him. It’s a look that says don’t you dare. If he outs our past relationship right now, I’ll—
“I don’t see how we can hide it.”
“Kit,” I say through my teeth. “Shut. Up.”
“Andie,” the producer behind Kit interjects, “have you met Kit before?”
Without removing my glare from Kit, I bite out, “Yes.”
“Was he a coworker or a roommate or—?”
“We dated.” Kit says it calmly, matter of fact, slipping his hands into his pockets. “In college. Only for a couple months. Ancient history.”
My jaw drops. I can’t believe he just equated our relationship to nothing. As if it hadn’t changed us both. Or maybe that was just me.
“Right, Andie?” He leans forward just enough to feel like he’s looming over me.
My mouth flaps open and closed like a fish. Four-letter words flash through my short-circuiting brain in seventy-two point, sans-serif font. Underlined. In bold.
“Right.” I force my lips to curl into a smile. “Old news. Practically strangers anymore.”
Kit’s mouth tilts in a half grin, brutal in its familiarity.
Heart in my throat, I look at the producer in the middle of the semicircle. “Is that going to be a problem?”
We signed the papers. A prenup and an NDA. The marriage license and the contract with the network; the phrase Heidi mentioned was there, sure enough. They wouldn’t make it all null and void right now, would they?
The producer—tall and blond—smiles and shakes her head. “This is unexpected, but I think it will make for great television. Luke and Mia had met before last season, and fans loved them. We’ll work on the storyline.”
Great. The fear of losing my shot at the money evaporates, leaving behind a very different kind of discomfort. Instead of being released from the show, they’ll use the second-chance angle to paint some story of finding our first love again.
My stomach lurches at the idea. I curl my fingers against the lace on my bodice, trying to stop my spiraling thoughts. Kit just made this infinitely harder.
We’re both in this now. The only way out is through. Eight weeks. I can do this.
I could use some bourbon right about now. Why doesn’t this damn dress have pockets?
“Still in, sweetheart?” Kit plants a hand on the tree trunk next to me, settling into a perfect lean.
I take a deep breath. “Why not? The matchmakers saw something here, didn’t they?”
“They must have,” he murmurs to the ground. I take a moment to study him. Time has treated him well—it really is unfair. He’s always been an attractive man, but I’ve never seen him in a suit. His body has filled out, no longer lean and wiry. His tux stretches across his broad shoulders, strong enough to carry whatever is weighing him down. His brown hair is shorter, and he has a tiny streak of gray at his right temple. When did that happen?
He looks up, and my eyes dart away like I wasn’t just drinking him in. “I’m in Atlanta because I work for an international resort company,” he says, answering my question from earlier. “I’m here to supervise the construction of a new property.”
“The Colonnade?”
He nods to confirm it. “That’s the one.”
I whisper a curse into the breeze that blows through. That resort is going to be one of the hottest new wedding spots in town. Which means I’ll be there, looking at the walls, knowing he had a part in them. Heidi showed me drawings of the domed hothouse they’re building, so they can host luxurious garden weddings year-round, no longer beholden to the weather. I stared at the drawing in rapt wonder—the geometry was as beautiful as it was functional. I immediately sat down to sketch a dress inspired by it.
The lump in my throat becomes impossible to ignore as it hits me: Kit designed the dome. I should have known it was his.
There’s no escaping him. There never has been.
And now we’re bound together in a legal marriage for the next eight weeks. With cameras following us everywhere.
His gentle question invades my thoughts. “It’s hot out here; do you want to go back inside?”
I hate the way he asked that question. The way it feels like an intimate inquiry, like he has access to every dark corner of my soul. He doesn’t know me now, and he doesn’t deserve to. Steeling myself, I push off the trunk of the oak and give him a mocking, saccharine smile. “Sounds great. I’m parched.”
His wedding ring glints in the sunlight as he drags a hand through his hair, leaving the style off kilter when he lets go. He pushes off the tree and holds an arm out for me to take.
I offer him a perfunctory nod and straighten my skirts. This man will not see me look a mess. When I slip my arm in his, I mutter, “I can walk fine on my own, thank you.”
His jaw clenches, tension making itself known across his brow. “Yes, but what kind of man would I be to walk away from the supposed love of my life?”
I trip over my skirt, and he catches me, making sure I’m steady on my feet. I refuse to look at him as we stroll back to the building, bracing myself to dance and take wedding photos, like nothing is amiss.
FIRST LOOK AT FOREVER
CASTING INTERVIEW: ANDREA “ANDIE” DRESSER
SEASON THREE: ATLANTA
PRODUCER:
So why do you want to be on the show?
ANDIE:
I’ve been relying on myself for a long time. It would be nice to have someone to lean on sometimes, you know? I mean, I have friends, but this would be … different.
PRODUCER:
Do you think you’re ready to be married?
ANDIE:
I don’t think it’s a question of readiness. I wasn’t ready to drop out of college to help my mom after her divorce, but it helped make me who I am now. I think marriage is another challenge I can rise to.
PRODUCER:
You say it like it’s a game to be won.
ANDIE:
No, not really. Just like … it’s the next step in my life. The next level. I think I’m ready to take it on.
FIRST LOOK AT FOREVER
CASTING INTERVIEW: CHRISTOPHER “KIT” WATSON
SEASON THREE: ATLANTA
PRODUCER:
Have you ever been in love before?
KIT:
Once. A long time ago.
PRODUCER:
Never after that?
KIT:
No. Every other relationship sort of paled in comparison. Then my life got busy, and I haven’t had time.
PRODUCER:
What makes you think getting married sight unseen will change that?
KIT:
I’m open to it. I don’t think I should base my entire future on old ghosts. My life is more stable than it used to be. So am I. I’m ready and willing to be the partner someone can rely on.