Page 11 of New Year's Faye

“I know. Keep reading.”

“It ends with,‘perhaps this relationship isn’t as surprising as we’ve been led to believe.’”

He chuckled, far too relaxed for the media nightmare we’d drunkenly catapulted ourselves into.

“Is this a laughing matter?” I asked, fidgeting with the bedsheets as my mind raced with ways to minimise the damage. “We’re going to have to organise an annulment. That won’t be hard considering we didn’t consummate the marriage. Wait.” I sat up. “We didn’t consummate, right?”

Sam gestured at my dress. “No.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and sank back against the bed. “Then we should definitely contact the lawyers. Do you think?—”

“Hey.” He interrupted by placing a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe.”

During most PR crises I could be counted upon to be an oasis of calm. An island of competence and serenity in a sea of chaos. I’d steered us through crazed fans, false tax evasion allegations, dating and relationship disasters, and more than one media misstep with poise and grace.

In the face of my own crises, it appeared that all sense of calm had vanished leaving behind a growing avalanche of panic.

“Breathe?” I repeated, swinging my arms out wildly. “What do you mean, breathe? We’re fucked six ways to Friday, Sam. My professional reputation is in tatters. Our work relationship isdestroyed. I can never show my face in the Cove again!”

As I tumbled into an emotional black hole, Sam seemed determined to save me from despair.

“It’s not that bad.”

I jabbed a finger at his phone. “We’re on the front freaking page of the Chars Times, Samuel! Are you going to tell me that’s not about to be picked up by—Gods forbid—the goddamned international press?”

He shrugged. “It’s a slow news day. Something new will pop up.”

I fumbled with my bra, tugging out my cell to shove at him. “I have two hundred and forty-three missed calls and over a thousand text messages!”

“Sounds like an average day for you.”

“Men!”

Sam grinned at me—the same grin that sent millions of hearts a flutter every time he performed on stage.

“Oh no.” I waggled my finger at him in warning. “You can’t charm your way out this one, buddy.”

“Honestly, Faye. I don’t see what the big deal is. If anything, this is a boost to our ratings before the tour kicks off next week.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand, desperately trying to ignore the pounding in my head. “I hate you.”

“Shh, that’s just the pain talking.”

“Yeah, the pain in my ass,” I muttered, shooting him a glare that told him exactly what, or in this casewho, was the source of the pain.

He grinned and ducked his head to scroll on his phone. “You know, being married isn’t a bad thing.”

“No? Enlighten me.”

“There’s an article here called,‘Five ways being married is good for you’.”

“Does it include murdering your spouse and inheriting their millions?” I asked sweetly.

“It includes personal growth, health, longevity, life satisfaction and happiness.”

“All of which I can achieve as a single woman who loves herself.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “What about orgasms?”

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