Page 72 of The Temporary Bride

“Scroll. You’ll know it when you see it.”

My heart thuds in my chest as I follow her instructions. After only a few seconds, the damning image appears before my eyes. She was right.

The photo depicts Tristan and Iris, standing outside of the entrance to Paulie’s, a popular Italian spot downtown. Tristan stands tall and composed, his back to the camera. I can’t see his face. But I can see Iris’s.

She wears a subtle but knowing smile, her lips curved in a way that suggests she knows something others don’t.

Tristan stands in close proximity to Iris, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The gesture, seemingly innocent, sends a surge of discomfort coursing through me. What are they doing together? Why is she touching him like that?

The image burns into my mind, and the caption below the photo doesn’t help.

TRISTAN THORNE SPOTTED WITH EX DOWNTOWN. How is Tristan Thorne adjusting to married life? Well, check out this photo our reporter grabbed a week ago outside of Paulie’s and see for yourself!

I clear my throat, looking up at Genevieve. “They probably just ran into each other. Just an innocent encounter.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did he tell you about it?”

“No,” I admit, an unpleasant flutter in my chest.

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Then that means it wasn’t so innocent.”

My stomach twists, and I turn my gaze back to the screen, unable to look her in the eye. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you have a right to know,” she snorts, folding her arms. “Come on.”

“It’s not⁠—”

“Listen. If Tristan is gonna get some on the side, then so should you. It’s only fair.”

I stare at the picture, at the way Iris’s hand rests on Tristan’s arm, a gesture that suddenly feels charged with meaning. Genevieve’s words sink in, leaving me feeling torn and conflicted. Part of me wants to dismiss the photo, to believe that there’s a reasonable explanation for their closeness. But another part of me can’t ignore the nagging doubts and suspicions that swirl in my mind.

I know she’s waiting for a response, expecting me to agree with her or at least consider her advice. But the truth is, I can’t bring myself to entertain the idea of seeking solace in someone else’s arms, especially not in the midst of this turmoil with Tristan.

I don’t want another man.

But I don’t voice my reluctance aloud, instead letting the quiet defiance simmer beneath the surface. It seems, however, that Genevieve can sense my hesitation, my unwillingness to entertain her proposition.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says with a sigh. “Don’t fall for him. That’s just gonna be a whole mess.”

I shrug one shoulder. “It’s really none of your⁠—”

“You’re technically married now, sure, but… it doesn’t mean anything, you know? You shouldn’t forget who he is.”

My mouth feels dry as I meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a competitor,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “He’s the enemy. For fuck’s sake, he’s the CEO of Thorne Enterprises. This is a marriage of convenience, and I thought you knew that.”

Genevieve’s words strike me like a slap in the face. The reminder of the nature of my relationship with Tristan, the stark reality of our situation, cuts through the haze of my emotions with brutal clarity.

I swallow hard, trying to quell the rising sense of panic threatening to consume me. “I know what this marriage is,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you?” Genevieve says slowly. “Because if you do, then seeing that picture shouldn’t come as such a shock.”

I stare at the picture again, trying to reconcile it with every conversation I’ve had with Tristan since the wedding—with the man I thought I was getting to know.

Genevieve’s gaze softens, sympathy flickering in her eyes as she reaches out to place a reassuring hand on my arm. “I wanted you to see this because I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says. “I’m serious. You shouldn’t act like a married woman, because he’s sure as hell not going to act like a married man. You get me?”

Silently, I nod. Genevieve approaches my desk and pulls me into a lopsided hug.