Page 35 of Married in Michigan
“How am I supposed to know that? I don’t know the first thing about you.”
“Nor I, you. You think I’m any more excited about this than you? I don’t want to get married. I didn’t, and I don’t. I don’t know what to do, how to approach this, how to handle you, this, us—the whole thing. I’m doing the best I can. So to put it bluntly, Makayla, no, I do not expect you to have sex with me on our wedding night.”
“You don’texpectit.” I know my voice sounds bitter.
He growls. “Well, fuck, woman, what else am I supposed to say to you? We’re going to getmarried. You’re an attractive woman. If some part of me does hold out even a minuscule amount of hope that you may one day end up liking me enough for that to happen, even knowing the whole thing is fake and temporary, can you blame me? I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got, okay?”
I huff a laugh. “I think we’re getting a glimpse of what this is going to be like, huh?”
He glances at me, then, and laughs. “I guess so.”
Silence.
“Again, I ask you, Paxton: now what?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s a little over three months till the wedding. It would have worked for there to be a surprise wedding if it was Cecily, because she and I have been photographed together on and off for years, and speculation has run rampant about us getting back together, especially since she dumped that Linus Mackenzie tool, so a surprise wedding between her and me would make sense to the media.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have to think like Mom, and then outsmart her. Which is hard. So, um…with you, no offense, but you’re nobody. Meaning, no one knows who you are.”
I snort. “No offense taken, because it’s just the honest truth.”
“So, a surprise wedding with no precedent, no exposure, no rumors of me seeing anyone? That’ll raise eyebrows. But I don’t want it to be known that it’syou, in particular. I want it to be a shock to Mom and my family and the media who it is I’m marrying, including what you look like, and who you are.”
I frown. “I see the conundrum. Put out rumors without letting out the whole truth.”
“Exactly.” He paces back and forth, and I think I’m getting a glimpse of Paxton the Congressman. “I think the best plan would be to be seen together, but pay a specific photographer for specific shots that we leak ourselves, that show me with you, hints of you, but not details of what you look like or who you are, just enough to whet the tabloid frenzy’s appetite. I won’t tell Mom shit, and that’ll drive her crazy. Just tell her I’ve got it covered, and it won’t be Cecily. If I promise to be there, with a suitable bride, she’ll take me at my word.”
“What about the invitations?” I ask.
Another shrug. “Not my problem. She’ll send something out that says something along the lines of ‘the deBraun family cordially invites you to attend the wedding of Paxton deBraun,’ blah blah blah, and just leave off the bride’s name. It’s gauche, as Mother would put it, but unavoidable as I’m going to refuse to provide a name. I don’t care about the appearances of it—that’s Mother’s problem, not mine.”
“I see.” A pause, and then I glance at him. “So all we really need to do is release a few photographs of us together?” I ask.
“No, no.” He pivots away, but with only three steps across the living room his need to pace is tightly curtailed. “You’ll have to move in. Get pictures of the moving truck, shots from behind with my arm around you as we go into my condo, some us on the town.”
I swallow hard. “I…move in? Like, when?”
“Like, now.” He faces me. “We, as a couple, will have to be at least somewhat believable for the wedding. Right now, you’re stiff as a board around me. If I touch you, you shy away. I don’t know how to act around you. You call me Paxton, and only my mom calls me that.”
“Move in with you…right away.” I’m faint. I was expecting a bit more time, I guess. “A moving truck would be silly, because I can’t imagine your DC condo would require anything that I have here.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Obviously. It’d be full of prop furniture. A staged photo op. Have a real estate staging company fill a truck with a believable load of stuff from a normal woman’s apartment, bring it in for the photographers, and then load it back up in secret through the private loading dock.”
I laugh, despite myself. “What a ridiculous game.”
He nods, serious. “It’s all a game. That’s what it is. But it’s serious, and for keeps. And for now, I have to play it, or my whole future is shot.”
He turns to me, a hand in his pocket—for the first time since he arrived, I take time to really look at him: dark wash jeans, just the right amount of tight, clean, straight. Orange polo, the front tucked in behind a black leather belt, the rest left loose, black high ankle leather boots, buckles and straps instead of laces or zippers. Casual, but still dressy and presentable and elegant. Hair perfectly just so—not gelled into submission or actually messy, just…effortlessly perfect, swept to one side, short on the sides and longer on top, a few strands draping over his smooth forehead.
“Do you want to keep this place?” he asks.
“What?”
He gestures. “The apartment, such as it is. Are you attached to it? I can pay the owner enough to make sure it stays open for you until you’re ready to come back. Or, you can bring your personal effects and when we go our separate ways, I can see you set up in a new apartment with new furniture and stuff.”
There’s one logical, obvious answer. “There’s very little that I really need, honestly. The apartment is just convenient. If I have to quit my job and move in with you, marry you, divorce you, and figure out a new life after that, then I imagine the life I have afterwards is going to be pretty drastically different than my life now.”
He nods, his hand still stuffed in his hip pocket. “I’d say that’s true.”
“So.” I shrug. “The apartment doesn’t matter. It’s just somewhere to live, really.” I look around, and laugh ruefully. “And truthfully, I really don’t like this place. Even for a dirt poor barely making it chick like me, it’s tiny. But it’s safe, and it’s cheap, and it’s mine.”