I shrugged, feeling oddly exposed. “What are husbands for?”
Her eyes swept over me from my backwards hat to my bare chest to my sawdust-covered jeans. “I can think of a few things.”
Meredith bustled through the door before I could decide what to do with that admission. The stylist from the previous day was on her heels. And the same routine started again: shower, new clothes, hair goop, and a mad dash to the car.
This time, we were being interviewed by a journalist for some fluffy article in a gossip magazine. Rosalind assured me that, in exchange for exclusivity, they would ask easy questions and tell the story we laid out for them.
We dashed through the Vegas heat and into the air conditioning of an office building off the strip. The lobby was spacious, with high ceilings and stark white walls. Before I could look around, a tall man with gel-spiked hair and khaki pants came to greet us.
“Rosalind, Derek, I’m Kirk.” He shook my hand, then pulled Rosalind into a hug that set my teeth on edge. His hand was entirely too low on her back, and he held her for way too long for my liking. “Right this way.” He led us to an airy office with sparse furniture and a collection of bottled water and snacks on the table.
I waited for Rosalind to take a seat on the white leather couch before getting comfortable beside her. Close beside her.
Kirk relaxed back into a wingback chair across from us and flashed us a smile that screamedused car salesman. His eyes scanned over Rosalind. She wore a little pink sundress with gold sandals. Her hair was pushed back from her face by sunglasses on top of her head, and her lips were a distracting frosty pink shade. She looked the part she had created for herself. The idea that I was one of only a few people who knew both sides of her had me puffing out my chest.
I slid my arm over the back of the couch behind Rosalind’s shoulders when Kirk’s eyes stayed on her. I didn’t want to go full caveman on the situation, but if this pretty boy thought he could eye-fuck my wife in front of me, he’d better think again.
Either he was overly cocky, dumb as hell or he thought this whole marriage was a sham. It could be a combination of all three. Either way, when Rosalind snuggled closer into my side, his eyes flew to mine, and I flashed him a smile of my own. “Should we get started, or did you want more time to stare at my wife?”
His ears turned a little pink, and he turned his attention to the notebook in front of him. I probably shouldn’t antagonizethe guy since we needed him to write an article that was good enough to set us free from our mansion prison. Still, Rosalind made it sound like any number of journalists would pay to have the chance we’d given him, so he better tow the fucking line.
“Right, so Rosalind, the public is pretty familiar with you, but Derek, you’re a nobody. How did the two of you meet?”
My shoulders stiffened, and I was about to show this guy exactly who was anobodywhen Rosalind reached over and interlaced her fingers with mine. This was her world, not mine. She was cool under pressure, where I was ready to deck this guy. I squeezed her hand and let her take the lead.
“Tsk tsk, Kirk, you sound as jealous as all the other men who were eager to marry into my bank account.” It was impressive how quickly she could turn on her flirty heiress persona. She was playing the schmuck like a fiddle.
He flushed red and cleared his throat. “Let me rephrase. Derek, you haven’t been in the public eye like Rosalind has, and you live in a different country. How did the two of you meet?”
“Canada isn’t exactly on the other side of the world. Rosalind was on a ski trip in Whistler, and I was there for a weekend with friends. We met and hit it off.”
Rosalind had coached me on how to answer the question, without giving enough details for them to try and verify them. No specific dates or locations, as much as possible. She squeezed my hand again, so I guess I did well. I hated lying. I hated how well lies rolled off Rosalind’s tongue. I really hated that she felt like that was the only way to survive.
Kirk flashed me a tight smile that screamed he didn’t believe me, but he wrote it down like a good boy.
He tapped his pen on his chin. “Funny, I don’t remember hearing anything about a Whistler trip in the tabloids. Odd for them to miss a photo op.”
Again, my blood wanted to boil, but Rosalind handled it like a pro.
“Stalking me, are you?” she said playfully.
He didn’t back down as easily this time and continued to stare.
“Ugh, Kirk, you’re going off script here, but I can indulge your curiosity. I don’t post my every move. If I post that I am at a club, it is to draw people there. I wanted a little time away, so I didn’t post it. Very simple. Honestly, you should know this stuff.” Her lips formed a phony pout, and he moved on.
“So, Derek, was it Rosalind’s beauty that led to this whole thing?” He gestured vaguely between the two of us.
Now I was pissed off again.
Or pissed off more.
It was this attitude that had her stuck in life, not able to pursue her true passion.
To make it sound like I was a crow who grabbed a shiny object and flew it back to his nest wasn’t much better.
Rosalind dug her elbow into my side, and I took a deep breath before I answered. “Ferraris are beautiful. That’s why when I see one on the street, I turn to watch it drive by. But that isn’t why I’d buy one. I’d buy it for what’s under the hood.” I turned to look at Rosalind, whose phony public smile was starting to look more genuine. “When we first met, sure, I saw a gorgeous woman I wanted to talk to, but that isn’t why I married her. The media,”—I shot a look at the journalist—“have made it seem like she is just something nice to look at. That is a weak assessment. Rosalind is passionate, authentic, rebellious, and thoughtful. I wish more people saw that about her.”
“And you saw those things.” His tone was sarcastic.
