Page 193 of The Wife Situation

Easton and I pack a suitcase each. He grabs money from his safe and shoves it into a leather duffel bag.

“Uhh, how much is that?”

“A hundred thousand,” he says.

My eyes widen. “No, we are not traveling with a bag of money like criminals.”

“It will be fine.”

He zips up the bag and I finally notice what he’s wearing—jeans, a T-shirt, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. I can’t help but admire him.

“You’re eye-fucking me again, Lexi.”

“It’s too easy.”

He walks over to me. My hand slides behind his back and I hold him tight, not knowing how he’s keeping it together so damn coolly. I can tell he’s working scenarios out in his head, because he’s calculative in everything he does.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“No. Weston’s taking care of it.”

He grabs my hand and we leave like we robbed the place.

When we make it downstairs to the cars, Easton goes to the keys, and when he unlocks the door to the Charger, I shake my head.

“You’re searching for trouble,” I say, sliding across the seat.

“We’ve found it,” he says, walking to the driver’s side. After he cranks the car, he grabs my hand and kisses it. “Ready?”

“Hell yeah,” I say, squeezing his thigh.

“To Chicago we go. Then, it’s two thousand four hundred forty-eight miles of pure fucking fun with my wife.”

I smile. “Just me and you, babe. Bonnie and Clyde. Running away from it all.”

He chuckles, leaning over and brushing his lips against mine. “No fucking regrets.”

When we exit the garage, Easton turns on the radio and blasts some oldies from the ’90s—histeenage years.

The sidewalks are full of paparazzi waiting for us—more blatant than usual. The number of flashes nearly blinds me, and I cover my eyes, trying to shield them from the brightness.

Easton lifts his middle finger out the window and flips them off as he burns out. Not long after, we’re leaving the city and worries behind us.

I glance in the side-view mirror, seeing the buildings and blue skies fade into the distance as he opens the engine up on the highway.

As we cross the bridge, I do a quick Google search, and I see the Internet is out of control with articles and photos about ourfakerelationship. I click on the video of him and Weston and watch it. Easton glances at me, keeping his hand on my shoulder as we cruise.

“Meh,” I say. “How does this prove that we’re not together? Shouldn’t matter.”

“My father knows the true intention behind our relationship, and it makes me seem untrustworthy. In a fucked-up way, I understand, but I also expected grace after things changed.”

EASTON CALLOWAY IS A SCAMMER.

FAKE MARRIAGE CONFIRMED.

EASTON CALLOWAY IS STILL ON THE MARKET.

THE GREATEST ACT OF ALL TIME.

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