Joey nestles into the crook of my neck. Just holding her like this is worth the pain and suffering I’ve been through during the past few weeks. The agony of not knowing how she really felt was killing me slowly. I adjust slightly, trying to bring her even closer and kiss the top of her head, letting my lips linger there.
I don’t know how to be a husband. I suppose most men say this at some time in their lives, but the difference is they most likely had a solid upbringing whereas I had utter shit. My father is not the type of man I want to be … however; Hollywood predicts that’s exactly how I’ll end up. Like father like son, right? Aside from a few celebrities, marriages do not last here. The time away from each other, the constant rumors, and the never-ending temptation, are a surefire way to destroy your life, your marriage.
“I’m going to be strong for you,” I absentmindedly say out loud. Joey pulls her head away from my shoulder and looks at me, her forehead furrowed in confusion. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth and now it’s too late.
“What are you talking about?”
I quickly avert
my gaze out the car window and see that we’re a block or so from the hotel. Glancing at the driver, I frown—not at him, but at the situation I’ve now created for myself.
“We’re almost at the hotel,” I murmur, pushing her hair behind her ear. It’s crazy to think that her hair has gotten longer since I’ve last seen her, but I swear it has. Right now, my wife doesn’t look like the one I fell in love with. Joey, inside the house, never wore make-up and her hair was always in a ponytail or in a bun. I look at her now, and while she’s still gorgeous, I don’t like seeing all that crap painted on her face. I hate that I can’t run my fingers through her hair because the spray holding the curls in place prevents me from doing so.
The second the driver pulls up to the curb, light bulbs flash and the continuous clicking of cameras start. I take her hand in mine and ask if she’s ready. This is our first public appearance, outside of television, and the press is going to be all over her.
“Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, nodding, squeezing my hand for good measure.
I take a deep breath as the driver appears on the passenger side of the car, along with hotel security. As he opens the door, the noise grows louder. Our names are called, questions are hurled, and when Jules’ name is mentioned I try to walk a bit faster to get inside the sanctity of the hotel. I think about hanging my head, but I don’t. I stand proud and let them take my picture, because right now I feel like I can conquer the world with my wife by my side.
My wife.
Just thinking those words brings me a sense of calm. My life feels like it’s finally heading in the right direction and it’s all because of Joey and her willingness to take the risk of being in my life. If I were Joey, I’d run for the hills and not look back. I’m not worthy of her love, but I’m going to do every damn thing I can to prove that I deserve it.
When we finally reach our room, I pick her up—much to her delight—and set my hand with the keycard against the magnetic lock to open the door. I anticipated her saying yes, or at least coming back here with me, so I had the room prepared.
Rose petals are scattered around the floor, and a bottle of champagne together with strawberries and a small wedding cake sit on a small table to the side. The bedroom should be more of the same with an array of lingerie waiting for her in case she wants to wear something like that to bed. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but she did wear those types of things while on the show, although I’d be happy if she just wore my shirt.
“This moment should’ve happened the day we left the show,” I say before putting her down.
“It’s beautiful, Josh.” She doesn’t leave my side like I expected her to. Instead, she keeps her arm around my waist and leaves us both standing in the room wondering what’s next.
We need to talk. We need to get shit out in the open—especially about what happened after the show was over. I can’t have anything that Jason did hanging over our heads.
“Is that cake?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“Yeah. I thought we could … well, not smear it all over each other’s faces, but enjoy a slice or two. It’s probably not as good as yours, though.”
Joey glances at me, smiling. “You’re rambling.”
“I’m nervous,” I say, shrugging.
“Don’t be.” Joey walks over to the cake and swipes a bit of frosting off the side. “Yum.” She licks it off her finger, humming her satisfaction. She walks over to the window with her finger still in her mouth, which sends a nice jolt straight to my groin.
When she reaches for the handle of the sliding glass door I cringe. “The cameras are out there.”
Joey turns and winks. “We can pretend we’re the Royals and step out onto the balcony and kiss for them.”
“Is that something you want to see? You’re going to be all over the tabloids.”
“It’s part of your life, right?” she asks.
“It is, but you can ignore them.”
She beckons me with her finger and I move toward her willingly. “If I’m going to be your wife I need to accept all of you, including your professional life. For three months I didn’t have to share you with the world.” She sort of nods and shakes her head at the same time after she says that. “I know what I’m getting into, Josh. I happen to think that if we’re more willing to appease them, they’ll leave us alone when we want our privacy.”
Maybe she has a point. I don’t really know because the press has only ever hounded me about my life.