Page 19 of Hot Mess Wedding

She smiles as she says it, but I can see the truth in her eyes. She doesn’t like the ring. I’ve known this woman less than twenty-four hours and I can already tell when she’s lying. I like that about her.

As soon as the woman leaves, I take Cleary’s hand in mine and run my thumb over the big ass ring. “We should get you a better ring.”

“Better?” Her gaze darts nervously to mine. “Pretty sure this one is expensive enough.”

“But you don’t like it. You think it’s gaudy.”

“I just …” She blushes, looking down, a frown marring her features. “True. It’s not what I would have picked, but I think it bugs me more that I don’t remember you giving it to me.”

She looks back at me and I see all those questions in her eyes.

This morning, when she first woke up and assumed we were married, she never gave me a chance to explain that we aren’t. The few times I tried to give her some explanation, she didn’t believe me. She was busy getting ready for the book signing. And now that there’s time to explain, now that she’s digging for more information, I have no excuse.

I have no reason not to tell her the truth.

No reason other than this panic gripping my heart. No reason other than this primal need to keep her by my side.

If I tell her the truth, she’ll be out the door faster than you can say shotgun wedding.

So here it is, the perfect moment to tell her what really happened, and what do I do?

I pull out my wallet and toss a couple of fifties on the table. Then I take her hand in mine and lead her out of the restaurant.

“Let’s go pick out a ring you love. One that’s the ring you’ve always dreamed of having.”

“Where are we going to find a wedding ring in a hotel? We’ve got that photo shoot thing in less than an hour.”

Despite her protests, she links her fingers through mine and falls into step beside me.

I grin down at her. “All these big hotels have jewelry stores in them. If you win big in the casino, they want you to spend the money here.”

My steps slow as we leave the restaurant, which is in a part of the hotel that’s set up like a mall, with shops on either side. I scan the stores until I see a jewelry store and head that way.

* * *

By the time we make it to the smaller ballroom, the place where Wendy told us to come for the photo shoot, Cleary has a simple diamond solitaire on her left ring finger. She moved the other ring—Micah’s ring—to the ring finger of her other hand.

I don’t ask for it back and I don’t make any more attempts to explain what really happened. When we walk into the room, there’s a small gathering of people, mostly women, seated in a semi-circle arrangement.

Then there’s a bed, covered with luxury bedding, and a plush chair that’s clearly built for two. All of this is leaned up against one of the room’s anchor walls.

“Oh, our models are here,” Wendy announces in the microphone.

The audience claps and hoots and hollers.

“This is Anita Dix and her new husband. They’re newlyweds and spending part of their honeymoon with us. Isn’t that fantastic?!”

Murmurs and cheers spread through the room. Cleary, though, seems to be getting smaller and smaller, trying to disappear behind my frame.

“Now remember, you need to be as quiet as possible during the shoot so that the photographer isn’t distracted. You’ll be able to ask questions at the end of the session.”

The photographer, a thin guy in his thirties, maybe, ushers us over to the bed. He kneels in front of us to explain the process. How he’ll put us in various positions, but our job is to just do what feels natural. Be our normal affectionate selves with one another and he’ll hopefully fade into the background.

“Ian, man, could you take off your shirt?”

Cleary squeaks from beside me.

I squeeze her hand. “He’s not going to ask you to take any of your clothes off, are you?” I ask him, making sure to shoot him a glare.

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