8. Bailey

I'm still gettingover jet lag when Lucy, a stylist from Elite, arrives with a dizzying array of clothes. I'm used to a stylist showing me two, maybe three outfits to wear when I'm with a client, but this time she's bought double the amount of clothes I have in my wardrobe. The selection includes something for every occasion, season, and time of day.

Lucy makes me try everything on, including tight-fitting yoga pants.

"There wasn't time to do this before you jetted off to Vegas, or I would have ensured you had a better wardrobe to go on honeymoon with."

"It was fine. We spent most of the time in beachwear."

She clucks. "There's beachwear, and there's beachwear. Oh well, what's done is done. You'll be beautifully dressed from here on out. I'm only a text or phone call away, so ask if you're unsure about what to wear. Dinner with his parents tonight, yes?"

"Yes."

"How fancy is the restaurant?"

"I don't know where we're going."

"The Carrs are filthy rich, so let's assume it's going to be posh. Even if it isn't, it's better to be overdressed than underdressed." She sorts through the suits she's brought with her. "Ah, this one. Try it on."

"I already have."

"And I want you to try it on again so I can triple-check the fit. Does the shirt button without any gaping? Are the shoulder seams right at the edge of your shoulders? If they're not, you'll look sloppy. Is the hem right on the trousers? I can take it up or let it down if necessary." She hands me the suit and claps her hands. "Chop-chop. I haven't got all day."

I go into the dressing room and put on the navy blue pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt, and navy tie with white polka dots she's picked out for me.

When I leave the dressing room, Lucy walks around me like a lioness stalking her prey.

"Perfect. It brings out the colour of your eyes. Now, if you'd only smile."

I smile.

"Better. Do you need coaching on what to say? You've been trained in dinner etiquette, haven't you?"

"No, I don't need a coach. Yes, I've had training. Don't worry. I've got this."

She steps back and wags a finger. "Remember, pleasing the client is everything."

"I know."

"Take the suit off. You don't want to get it creased before it's time to go out."

"What are you doing?" I ask when I return to the bedroom.

"Isn't that obvious?"

It is. She's stuffing my clothes into bags.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Why are you doing that?"

"You won't be needing any of them. You can't wear these clothes while married to Harper Carr. I'll have them delivered to your apartment."

"No."

Her eye twitches. "No?"

"You're right. I won't wear them daily, but I'll still volunteer. I can't distribute food and supplies to the homeless dressed in Armani."

She sighs. "Point taken." She puts the bags in the bottom of the wardrobe.

"Are we done?"

"We're done."

"Thanks, Lucy." I gesture to the door leading into the garden, which is how I let her into Harper's house.

"Call or text for advice."

"I will."

"You're not alone, Bailey. You have Elite's resources to make your marriage to Harper Carr as convincing as possible. Reconsider coaching. You need to make everyone believe you're in love with him. Including his parents. Tonight."

Is she trying to make me nervous?

I see her out, shut the door, and lean against it, breathing slowly. Being on honeymoon was simpler. My stomach swarms with butterflies. Oh my god, I'm meeting Harper's parents. I've never met a boyfriend's parents, but now I'm a few hours away from meeting my husband's.

I explore the house to distract myself. Yes, Harper has shown me around, but I need to familiarise myself with what's going to be my home for twelve months. I wander around every room except the master suite upstairs and Harper's office. I assume he spends his days managing his stock market portfolios, but he hasn't told me what he does exactly. I linger far longer than I should in the gym, imagining Harper doing yoga in tight shorts.

"Hello, husband," Harper says from behind me.

My heart stutters. I press my hand to my chest.

"I didn't mean to scare you. What are you doing in here?"

"I was looking around. Is that okay?"

"Of course. This is your home. Hungry?"

"A little." I'm too nervous to want to eat much. "Where are we going tonight?"

"The Dorchester."

Lucy was right. A suit is the right thing to wear.

"I thought that would be less intimidating than accepting my parents' invitation to eat at theirs."

I smile to express my thanks.

"How are you feeling about it?"

"Nervous."

"You don't need to be. Easier said than done, I know, but they'll adore you." He checks his watch. "We have a few hours before we need to leave. What can I do to distract you from your nerves?"

My mind goes to places it shouldn't. Then Lucy's words flood my mind. You need to make everyone believe you're in love with him. Including his parents.

"Could we—" I rub the back of my neck. "I don't know how to ask this without crossing a line."

"Our wedding kiss was so amazing you want to snog me again?"

"Uh, not exactly."

He clicks his fingers. "Ah, well. What were you going to ask?"

"We need to be convincingly in love tonight. Could we practice being affectionate? In-front-of-parents affectionate. PG-rated affectionate." God, I'm stammering.

I don't want him to think I'm coming onto him. However, he was the one who brought up kissing. Does he want to kiss me? We almost did more than once during our honeymoon, but then one or other of us moved away, killing the moment. I can't go there with my thoughts. I'm on an assignment. I can't kiss my client. Not romantically anyway.

"I've never been in a relationship, but we should hold hands." He extends his.

I slide my fingers through his. His skin is soft and warm.

"Let's go upstairs. We can practice walking into the restaurant together and the kinds of small touches and glances we should do at the table."

"Okay."

Still holding hands, we go upstairs. I move a little closer so our shoulders are brushing as we walk.

"Oh, that's good," Harper says.

I smile.

He lets go of my hand, pulls a chair out, and gestures for me to sit. He takes the seat beside me.

"Father appreciates firm handshakes. Mother will want to hug you and kiss you on both cheeks."

"Noted."

He blows his cheeks out. "What do couples do to show affection at the dinner table?"

"Glance at each other."

"Good idea."

We make eye contact. Harper has quirked his eyebrows so they're slanting upwards towards the centre of his forehead. His lips are twitching.

I laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to give you a smouldering gaze."

I smack my hand over my forehead. "You look ridiculous."

He gives me puppy dog eyes. "I was going for romantic and sexy."

"It wasn't. Sorry. Try a soft smile instead."

Harper relaxes his face and replaces his smoulder with a gentle smile as he gazes into my eyes.

"That's better," I whisper. "How's my face?"

"Perfect. Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know." I couldn't raise my voice to a normal level if I tried.

"You have pretty eyes." He's still whispering too.

"Yours are like honey."

"Is that good?"

"Yes."

He widens his smile a fraction. "This is more than a glance."

My cheeks heat up. "Yes."

"What else should we do?"

"Um, hold hands under the table?"

"I've got a better idea." He puts his hand on my knee and strokes his thumb back and forth. "How's this?"

"Nice." Too nice.

"Make a joke."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

I hook my lip as if horrified. "I can't think of a joke on the spot."

"I'll pretend you've said something funny." He laughs, leans towards me, and gently knocks his head against mine. "I love you, husband."

"You can't call me that," I hiss.

"But you are my husband."

"Yes, but no one uses husband as a pet name."

"Oh." Harper juts his lower lip out. "What should I call you?"

"By my name?"

He rolls his eyes. "That's dull. I don't mean your name is dull, but it would be more convincing if we had cute pet names for each other."

"Or it would give us something to trip up over if we forget them."

He snorts. "Or we could be super cute and come up with a different pet name every time. My gorgeous husband, my snookums, my?—"

"Snookums? What does that even mean?"

Harper shrugs. "It's a term of endearment."

I'm getting a headache. "Maybe we should skip the pet names."

"You're not a pet name person. I get it." He lifts his hand off my knee and raises it to my hair, not quite touching it. "Would this be PG-rated dinner appropriate?"

I swallow. "I don't know. Try it, and then we can decide." I'm whispering again.

"Good idea." So is he.

He strokes his fingers through my fringe and sweeps it away from my face, but it falls back into place instantly. My stomach flutters.

"PG rated," he says.

"But probably not dinner-with-your-parents suitable."

"No. Probably not." He does it again. "Your surfer hair doesn't want to be tamed."

"My—what?"

"Surfer hair. You look even more like a surfer now you've got a tan." He smirks.

"What?"

"Sorry. Forget it."

I'm too curious to do that. "What?"

"I was thinking about the tan lines you'll have from your long swimming shorts."

Now I'm imagining his tan lines.

He clears his throat. "Moving on. Do you think we'll need to kiss?"

"In front of your parents?"

He nods.

"I don't think so."

"Should we practise anyway?"

Say no. Say no. "Yes."

We lean towards each other.

"PG rated?" he asks.

Abort. Abort. "Yes."

Our lips meet in a brief, soft peck. It's not enough but more than we should be doing.

"Maybe we should practise again," Harper whispers. "I'm not sure we were convincing enough."

"We should close our eyes this time."

"Great idea. You're good at this. Thanks for being my husband."

We close our eyes and find each other's lips with ease. We keep our mouths closed, but the kiss is longer, as though neither of us wants to be the one to end it. But it has to come to an end.

I straighten and open my eyes.

Harper smiles as he opens his. "That was better. But was it good enough?"

Yes, it was. More than good enough. "I'm not sure." Has my mouth disconnected from my brain?

"I'm not sure either."

We lean towards each other again.

"We should do something with our hands." I put mine on his waist.

He cups my cheek. Our mouths meet again. Don't part your lips. Don't part your lips. But I do, and his tongue slips into my mouth. I whimper. I should end the kiss and walk away, but I don't want to. I want to taste his mouth too. So I do. We take turns sucking on each other's tongues. I tighten my grip on his waist, desperate to slip my hands beneath his tucked-in shirt so I can feel his skin.

We have to stop to breathe. His lips are damp and kiss-swollen. Mine must be too.

"That wasn't PG rated," he says.

"Not at all."

"But it was nice."

"Yes."

He rests his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry for getting carried away."

"Me too." Am I? Is he?

"We should get ready to go out."

Stay. Kiss me again. "Yes."

"Unless you think we need more practice."

Say no. Say no. "I think we're good." Finally, my mouth and my brain are on the same page again.

He moves his hand from my cheek and stands. "I'll meet you here in half an hour?"

"Half an hour. Right."

I don't move as he jogs upstairs. I crumple in the chair, tilting my head back as I stare at the ceiling. What did I do? What did we do? The only thing I know for sure is that Harper was as into the kiss as I was. I wipe my hands over my face. Kissing him was a huge mistake.