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“More likely a stomach bug.”
“Good.”
“How is my fiancée having a stomach bug a good thing?” Swinging my disapproving glare her direction occurs next. “And if you aren’t feeling well, baby, you should’ve stayed in. Went to the estate. Let Hamilton examine you.”
“I needed to be here.” The soft smile I’m presented creates an unexpected ache in my chest. “You needed me to here. At your side. Doing my future Mrs. Dark Knight duties.”
“And I need you easier to manage, which is possible when you haven’t had three whiskey sours,” Evie swiftly sasses.
“I have to support our company,” the woman at my side impishly argues.
“Not by drinking the entire bar’s supply.” Bryn’s proud smirk precedes Evie’s continuing, “No more than ten minutes with senators, congressman, or judges. No less than five with anyone hosting this event. Avoid controversial conversations. Sidestep current sports or music or film. Refrain from gossiping. And above all else do not leave one another’s side for longer than a pee break because if I have to spend one more day countering Global Laundry’s smear campaign about you being a ‘couple in crisis’ I’m gonna slash Jenni’s paycheck in half and give myself an overdue vacation to Maui.”
“Please, don’t cut my pay,” is shyly croaked in the background.
“Bright smiles for the cameras!” Evie cheerfully demands prior to spinning on her heels and exiting.
“She’s like a fucking Galapagos shark,” Bryn mirthfully proclaims. “Equal parts potentially friendly and dangerous.”
“Accurate,” I warmly chortle while steering us the instructed direction. “Highly accurate.”
Our casual strolling towards the bidding area allows for several opportunities to shake hands with other guests.
Make small talk with familiar faces.
Avoid eye contact with others.
Regardless of my brand, my status, and undeniable wealth, my mutilated appearance along with my choice in a wife – or “first wife” according to some of the older men I find myself around – aren’t always well received.
To them, it’s alright to be a monster as long as you don’t physically look like one.
And it’s fine to have mismatched eyes but not “mismatched” races.
Fuck, I hate having to be in public.
How my parents did this with such grace and poise is one thing I wished I would’ve studied a bit more.
That and cigars.
I occasionally find myself envious of a language my best friend and fiancée speak without me.
I swear learning bits of Klingon has been easier.
Bryn offers a polite wave goodbye during our move away from some Vlasta based child psychologist prior to inquiring, “What exactly is this shit for again?”
“Neurodivergent children in low-income brackets.”
“Catchy.” We decline the offer of champagne by a passing server. “And where are we going tomorrow?”
“A non-profit fundraiser dinner in which the proceeds go to supporting individuals with congenital heart disease that struggle to afford the extensive medical care sometimes needed.”
“And on Sunday?”
“A charity brunch golf tournament-”
“You hate golf.”
“I do,” I concur upon entering the bidding table area, “however, our company sponsors the entire thing with Haworth Enterprises – the proceeds go to assisting military vets who are looking to start their own businesses – and J.T. gets a kick out of playing against celebrities like Pierce Wyatt and Cooper Copeland.”
