Page 93 of The Accidental Honeymoon

The chef looks genuinely impressed. “I’m a pastry chef in New Orleans. We are doing a home baking competition on WhiskTV soon. I’d love to talk to you about being a guest judge on the show. It would be amazing exposure for your business.”

Calla’s mouth opens, then closes. I can see a dozen emotions flicker across her face, but she’s literally speechless.

She hands the card to me and I take the chef’s card and pocket it. I nudge her, breaking her out of her awkwardness.

“It’s so nice of you to think of me. I will really consider it.”

The chef nods and walks away. Calla turns to me, her eyes wide. “Can you believe that?” she says. “A job offer on TV?”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s huge. If you can manage it, I mean.”

She frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… Your wedding cake business is just taking off. Can you really leave to do something else?”

She gives me a funny look, like I’ve said something in a language she almost understands. “It’s just a meeting, Jay. I didn’t offer to move to a new country oranything.”

Why am I being such a dick about this? I can’t seem to control the words coming out of my idiot mouth. “It’s just a lot, that’s all. You were so stressed on the phone earlier! You’re already so busy.”

She takes the card from my hand and studies it. “I can handle it.”

“Of course you can.”

She slips the card into her purse, then looks back at me. “Can you take some pictures of the display? I need them for my portfolio.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And post them. Tag me.”

I pull out my phone and start snapping shots from different angles. The desserts look like an enchanted sugary skyline. “You know, I can just send them to you. You don’t need me to post them.”

“It’s better if it comes from you,” she snaps. “Your followers are more engaged.”

I finish taking the pictures and put my phone away. Now I’ve made her angry again. That’s the last thing I wanted. “Calla, I’m really sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to?—”

“Thank you for the pictures,” she says without looking at me. “You know what? I can take it from here. If you want to go mingle with the guests, that’s fine.”

That’s a dismissal if I’ve ever heard one.

I nod, not knowing what else to say. I walk out of the reception room, past the dessert table, and into the hallway. The sounds of the wedding fade. I’m left with the silence of my own thoughts.

What happens when I’ve given her all the exposure I can? When she doesn’t need my platform or my followers?When she’s famous in her own right and doesn’t need me at all?

I take out my phone and look at the pictures of the dessert display. They’re perfect, just like everything Calla does. I start to post them, tagging her bakery and adding a few hashtags.

She deserves all of this, I tell myself. She deserves to be taken care of.

But when I close the app, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just a stepping stone for her. That when this is all over, the only thing I’ll have left to offer is a fake marriage.

thirty-two

JAY

Calla.Sweet, caring, wonderful Calla.

The last two months since we got accidentally married have been a whirlwind. Now, though, I seem to be standing on the edge of something I can’t quite see the bottom of. Basically, we’ve have had an amazing two and a half months together. But most of it was just for show. Is that really enough for a marriage?

I don’t know. I need to talk to her, but these feelings are so foreign to me that I’m not even sure where to start.

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