It had been distracting trying to work with him there, though. I would find myself centering him in my viewfinder. As if he had known I was watching him, his gaze would somehow meet mine through the lens. Then on the drive back home, during which I normally would have been able to relax, I instead mentally ran through all the photos I had taken, sure that I had missed a crucial moment because I had been looking at Chris.
“He better not have messed up my shots,” I muttered as I plugged in my SD cards to my laptop as soon as I was back at the tiny apartment I shared with Gran.
I should have gone to sleep…I hadn’t been sleeping well lately. But I was concerned about my photos. I breathed a sigh of relief as I flipped through them—I had all the good shots. The decorations were impeccable, and Brea’s wedding dress complemented the bride’s heart-shaped face and English-rose complexion. The groom was handsome standing next to her and gazed at her like she was the most perfect thing in the world. I did enjoy a good wedding, and this one had been amazing!
Lately, though, I had started to grow a bit envious of the brides. Oh, I wished them well, but I wondered when it would be my turn. Not that I necessarily wanted to be the star of a humongous wedding, but I did want a life partner, a husband, someone to look at me like the groom in the photos looked at the bride.
I lay down on my bed. As I closed my eyes, my brain suddenly bashed the inside of my skull with a terrible reminder:
You already have a husband, and he’s a complete dick.
After hours of tossing and turning in a stew of anxiety about what I was going to do about divorcing Chris, and why the fuck was I married, and oh my God, why was this my life, I finally had fallen asleep only to be awoken a few hours later by Gran rushing into my room.
“Grace, the movers are here!”
“Movers?” I said blearily as I yawned and rubbed my eyes.
“And cameras!” she said giddily. “You’re moving in with Chris? This is exciting!” Gran turned to Zane, who was setting up a shot of my messy bedroom.
“Grace is a late bloomer,” Gran explained to the camera as the parrot made faces. “She’s hardly ever been on dates. She claims she’s not a virgin, but you know, I’ve always had my doubts.”
“I’m sitting right here!” I exclaimed, pulling the covers up to my chin as several movers started taking my thing off the shelves and putting them in boxes.
“Don’t take all my stuff,” I protested, hopping out of bed, my comforter draped around me. “I’m not actually moving in. Dana said it was just for show.”
“Look,” Gunnar said, coming into my bedroom. “I can’t just have you show up at Chris’s house with a garbage bag and a smile. The viewers want drama! They want the conflict of, how will these two people who’ve never met combine their lives? Also, Dana is pissed at me. She’s just looking for a reason to cut off my balls. We need the rest of the show to be as awesome as possible. Can I count on you, Grace, to be on Team Romance Creative?”
“Only if you let me put on a bra first.”
After arguing with Gran and telling her that no, she absolutely was not fake moving in with Chris and me, I was finally able to get in my Uber and ride across town behind the moving van. They were loading the first set of boxes into the elevator as I arrived.
I fidgeted nervously with the straps of my camera equipment bags as we rode the elevator up, the camera guys trying to film various angles of me going to my new home.
It’s just for what, a day? I pep-talked myself as the elevator stopped in a private lobby that was bigger than my bedroom at home.
The camera crew arranged themselves to frame a good shot of me stepping off the elevator and approaching the large heavy door of Chris’s penthouse. The door opened right as I rang the doorbell.
Chris wore nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a scowl when he opened the oversized dark metal door.
“You can’t greet people like that,” I protested when I came face-to-face, or rather face-to-bare-muscular-chest, with him.