I know. And I can’t wait. I clutch my heart, which can’t take much more of this. If it’s possible to die of happiness, I’m in trouble. “Stop. You’re killing me.”
We hug our friends when it’s over. When we are finally married—forever, this time—Luke offers me his arm, and we go to the edge of the terrace, where a table is set for a lavish meal. We sit down, and Jimmy raises his champagne glass for a toast. “To Penny and Luke. You may not have gotten the million dollars out of that goddamn show, but I think you guys got somethin’ a hell of a lot better.”
We toast and sip champagne, and Courtney and Lizzy and I are giggling like schoolgirls from the excitement of the night. There’s a buzz of romance in the air, and I can’t stop looking across the table at my incredible husband.
And then there’s dancing. A lot of dancing, though I’m not much better at that than I am at swimming. But we’ve danced before under the eye of the cameras, so this is nothing. Luke guides me onto the floor and engulfs me in his arms and says, “Hi, wife.”
I’m grinning like a fool. “Hi, husband.”
He whirls me around, his hands drifting down to my ass. “I seem to remember a dance floor in Boston where you got pretty crazy.”
“That was someone else,” I say, batting my eyelashes innocently. “I don’t do such things.”
“Damn. Are you telling me I married the wrong girl? Because I was really looking forward to getting her shitfaced. Makes her easy.”
I laugh. “So I hear. But shitfaced or not, I think the girl you married will be pretty easy for you tonight.”
He pumps a fist. “Yessss,” he hisses. “Come on, let’s go get you a drink. Just in case.”
He goes behind the bar, surveys the ingredients, and starts to sugar the rims of cocktail glasses. Then he fills a shaker with cognac and lemon juice.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“One of the first drinks my granddad showed me how to make was a sidecar. Born in Paris.”
I stare at him, mesmerized, as he adds ice and expertly shakes it, then picks up a lemon and a peeler and shaves the rind into the glasses. It’s clear he’s been making them for a long time.
“You look good doing that,” I say. “Sexy.”
He pours the liquor into the glasses, easily, and hands one to me. “Does it turn you on?”
“Oh, fuck yes,” I say, taking a sip, then pulling back, surprised. My man can get me liquored up anytime. “Mmm. This is good.”
He stares at me in mock horror as he lifts the glasses for the girls. “I don’t approve of that kind of talk, Mrs. Cross. I find it low class.” He gives me a wink.
“Hey,” Joe calls from the table, where he and Jimmy are checking out Jimmy’s latest YouTube video. “Word overseas is that a certain tell-all book is at the top of the bestseller list. Again.”
Courtney claps her hands. “That makes two weeks in a row!”
I look at Luke, and we shrug. Haven’t read the book. Haven’t even thought of reading it. We sold our story at auction, did a few in-depth interviews with the writer, got the money to pay off my loans and his mortgage, and wiped our hands of it. Actually, we were kind of hoping it would bomb, because we’ve already gotten the money, and if it bombed, maybe people would stop caring and the media would finally leave us alone. When we left for the wedding, they were camped out at both Tim’s Bar and Courtney’s apartment, even though I’ve been living with Luke for several months.
But we say what we’ve always said, which has now become the Cross family mantra. I’m going to have it sewn in needlepoint and placed above the mantel in our apartment at Tim’s when I get back to the States:
Fuck ’em.
I’ve been decorating, and the place isn’t nearly the shithole Luke thought it was. The bar is actually quaint and homey, and people love it. With a little advertising and some clever marketing schemes Lizzy and I worked up, the bar that holds his grandfather’s name is not just going to live on—it’s really starting to pack them in. The night before we left for Paris, the line to get in was all the way around the block. Jimmy was joking