Page 9 of Forever Oblivion

5

Aya

Marrying Nash proved a logistical nightmare, not unlike pretty much every other part of our lives together—because Nash’s fame kept growing. The world ate up our love story and wanted more of us. At least half of the articles written about it were glowing. I didn’t read the other half.

The waiter from our engagement dinner told the paparazzi we planned to marry at Cam’s ranch, which caused an uproar of speculation. We hadn’t even made it home from Turks and Caicos before we had to change the venue. My poor Nash rarely had anything go smoothly. People didn’t understand the lack of privacy and the lack of autonomy that could come with such fame.

Nash’s contrite glance as he apologized made me more determined to seek out a better balance before the wedding.

And after.

Because I had plans. Big plans for some much-needed relaxation. And they did not include sharing my soon-to-be husband with anyone, no matter how much success they showered over him. Nash deserved to just be sometimes.

The day after our return home to Austin, we sat in the home office Hugh had set up at Nash’s months ago. He settled back in the chair behind the desk, his normal position, Nash and I together on the micro-suede sofa. I curled into his side, chilled by the air conditioning, and Nash wrapped his arm around my waist before resettling me in his lap.

“Maybe that fucking mob scene out front is all because of you, Ay,” Nash joked.

I scoffed even as I pinched his nipple hard, giving it a little twist at the end that caused his hips to jerk upward into my bottom. I hid my grin in his neck.

“Please,” Hugh said, answering for me. “As if Aya’s father’s tiny British title compares to your fame. You’re a household name, buddy. That’s why thousands of people are out there, slavering to see you in your wedding attire.”

“Just thousands?” Nash shook his head, causing his too-long hair to flop around. I loved his hair. “Definitely not my people.”

I snorted. “You’re such a diva.”

“And you’re a Tunisian princess or something.”

I laughed. “I’m not—not even close. My grandfather grew up in Paris. Even though his family preserved their ties to their culture, he spent his life in Europe and then the United States. And I…I’ve never been to Tunisia.”

Surprise flared in Nash’s eyes. “We’ll have to rectify that. We’ll go see your family’s province or whatever it’s called. And you’re my princess.” He winked.

I shook my head. “You can keep the royal titles, Superstar.”

Nash nodded, his face solemn. “The Superstar. No, the Rock God.”

Hugh guffawed, which caused me to lose it. After a long, deep belly laugh that had me wiping my eyes, I looked up to find Nash staring down at me, his expression a combination of fascination and adoration. I loved that look, and I beamed back, bathing in his besottedness. He turned my ring on my finger—his new thing—before he moved his lips to that sublime spot where my jaw met the tender skin of my neck.

“You like to pretend to be a proper English lady, but you’re really an inciter, you know that?” He blew a raspberry.

I squealed, squirming to get away, though really, I wanted to snuggle deeper. I loved playful Nash. I loved all facets of him. Even the broody, frustrated one who had to work hard—very hard—not to lash out.

I loved him. Full stop.

“Only with you,” I said, holding my stomach.

Nash fixed my ring once more and kissed it. He stared at me, adoration in his clear gaze. Oh, he still got stormy and raged, both silently and out loud, but he’d also found peace. In some ways, I had Lindsay to thank for that. I might even tell her the next time I saw her…

That would be on a Zoom call tomorrow when I told my team they were going to have to complete the next few projects without me.

Lindsay had come through over the past eight months, keeping the organization’s message precise and donations rolling in. She’d married Alistair recently in a huge ceremony in north London.

I’d sent our regrets, which both Nash and I agreed was for the best.

“Now, if you two are done playing,” Hugh said, a smile tugging at his lips, “let’s finish up this planning.”

A few minutes later, Hugh’s phone beeped. He picked it up and read, his eyes rounding. “Ah, hell.”

“What happened?” I asked, worry gnawing at me.

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