Page 88 of Wild Side

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Okay. Then let them all think what they want. You and I know the truth, so who cares if millions of people think you’re married to a mega-hot blond? It could be worse.

Rhys:

That is the worst.

Tabby:

Nah. Millions of people are wrong. You’re actually married to a short, flat-chested, prickly chef from Buttfuck Nowhere, Canada. HAHA. Joke’s on them.

Rhys:

No. I’m married to a mega-hot brunette who makes the best carbonara in the world.

Tabby:

Oh, Wild Side, you’re so romantic.

A smile curves my lips. Leave it to Tabitha to make me almost laugh at a time like this.

Rhys:

What if I have to kiss her?

It seems like a juvenile question, but if Tabitha tells me no, then I won’t. I’ll violate my contract—I just need an excuse that isn’t my ego.

Dots roll and then stop. Roll and then stop. Seconds pass with nothing. Then…

Tabby:

Just pretend it’s me. ;)

Rhys:

I’m serious.

Tabby:

So am I.

Rhys:

I don’t like this.

Tabby:

I’m sorry, Rhys. I hate that you’re in this position. I really do. But if it’s any consolation, I don’t always like work either. I hate chopping onions during prep, but some days I get stuck doing it because I can’t pawn it off on the kitchen staff every time. But it’s part of the gig. If this is part of the gig, so be it. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot on my behalf. I’ll be fine. Maybe pretend she’s onions?

Rhys:

Are you sure?

Tabby:

Strangely, I think I’d rather not watch it. So give me a heads-up. But yes, of course—work is work. Like you said, we’ve got a lot of extenuating circumstances. Don’t worry about me.

And that’s all the answer I need to know this is never going to fly. Because I do worry about Tabitha—a lot more than I expected to.

CHAPTER 30

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