Page 89 of The Accidental Honeymoon

"Love is like baking," she says, and I raise an eyebrow. Baking? "You need the right ingredients, and you have to follow the recipe. But even then, it takes time and patience. You can't rush it. You have to be willing to put in the effort, even when it's not turning out the way you hoped."

The crew nods, and I hear a few murmurs of approval.

I clear my throat and add, "And sometimes you have to be willing to throw the whole thing out and start over." All eyes turn to me, and I shrug. "Love is messy. It’s not always going to follow a recipe. You have to be passionate and adaptable. Sometimes the best relationships come from the biggest mistakes. Without my first wedding falling apart, I wouldn’t have married Calla."

Calla looks at me, her hazel eyes searching for something. Understanding, maybe?

Brigitte leans back in her chair, trying to smooth over the differing views. "It sounds like you both have a lot of experience. Jay, what makes this relationship different from your last one?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The cameras feel like they’re closing in, their lenses shrinking the room to a pinpoint. This was supposed to be easy. Predictable. We had a script.

I take a breath, stalling for time. How do I explain that this marriage, fake as it is, already feels more real than the one I’d planned with Blake? That with Calla, every momentis charged with a tension that makes me feel alive, whereas with Blake it was just routine?

"Well," I start. I clear my throat again. "This time, I?—"

"—have a partner who understands him," Calla interjects smoothly. "Someone who knows what it’s like to balance work and personal life. We’re both figuring it out as we go. But the important thing is that we’re moving forward."

I look at her, grateful and confused. She’s saved me, but why? Her answer is perfect. Almosttooperfect. It’s the kind of response Blake would have given, crafted to deflect and reassure without actually revealing anything.

Brigitte smiles widely. Clearly, she’s pleased with Calla’s diplomacy. "That makes a lot of sense. It’s all about growth, isn’t it?"

"Exactly," Calla says.

I let her words sink in. Growth. Moving forward. She makes it sound so simple, so attainable. But is it? Can we really grow from this, or are we just treading water, waiting for the inevitable sinking?

“It sounds like we should expect great things from you two. Jay, Calla, where can we find you both online?”

I give my handle and the one that I helped Calla start for her business. Brigitte gives the camera a strange, frozen smile and wraps up the segment. The cameras turn off, signaling the end of the interview and the usual post-segment chaos filling the studio.

Calla starts to gather her things with the precision of someone who knows exactly what comes next.I watch her, noting how composed she is, how seamlessly she handled the situation. I reach out to touch her arm, leaning my head close to whisper in her ear. "You did great. Thanks for agreeing to do it."

She smiles. “Of course. I’d do almost anything for you, Jay.”

My mouth goes dry. I stare at Calla. “Do… do you really mean that? Or is it just a bluff?”

“Why would it be a bluff? It’s just us two here.” She smiles, crinkling her nose.

Before I can answer, I’m interrupted. The PA, sensing some weirdness, pops into view. “Excuse me, Calla? Would you mind giving us your website and social media info?”

“Of course.” Calla heads off into the busy set.

I let her go, my mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

I think about what she said during the interview, about love being like baking. About following the recipe and putting in the effort. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either.

Love isn’t something you can measure out with cups and spoons. It’s a force, a hurricane that sweeps you up, whether you’re ready for it or not.

When you get down to it, we’re on different wavelengths. She sees love as a calculated risk. Like it’s something you can plan for and manage. I see it as a leap, a blind jump into the unknown.

What if she’s as bad for me as Blake was?Calla might be nicer to look at and easier to laugh with, but I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.

Blake had been safe. Predictable. We’d followed the script, played our parts. In the end, there was no passion, no fire. Just two people going through the motions. With Calla, there’s a spark, an underlying tension that promises something more. But is that enough?

This was supposed to be easy. A few months ofpretending, a quick annulment, and we’d both be free from the media circus. But nothing about this is easy. The hardest part is knowing that, deep down, I don’t want it to be over.

Not yet.

thirty-one

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