While Royce is showering, and despite the part where I just lied to him by saying all of this ‘could feel fun’ I pace around the room, feeling truly freaked out. Feeling like I’m no longer on Earth, and now I’m living on Mars! Feeling even more like I’ve been elected the Queen of Mars, or something—the Queen of Mars who has no clue how to handle this new title.

I also can’t stop this paranoid nervous thing that’s coursing through my body.

I’ve closed each and every blind in the room. But now, the ones that still have little cracks of light seeping through are giving me anxiety, so I return to each one and turn the little poles as tightly I can without breaking them to make them all tighter. I’m trying hard to forget how exposed I felt being photographed in the hammock while I was half naked and wearing only a sheet, all while I’m also trying to forget what Royce Devlin looked like just now with his sheet slipping off around his waist.

“Because…in Mars, we only wear sheets.” I mutter. “And, because the Queen of Mars would like to acknowledge that the King of Mars is so damn hot,” I finish, laughing a little about how I nearly became possessed and how I almost stepped up and tried to trace his ab muscles before he ran into the shower. As if that wasn’t awkward enough, I was also seriously going to put my hands on that ‘V’ and figure out what was muscle and what was hip bones. I’m now so obsessed with the two lines below and to the sides of his waist, that I’m actually considering taking the fancy linen hotel correspondence paper off of the fancy ornate desk, and sketching what I remember of Royce’s amazing bare torso right now. But I can’t. What if he saw me doing that? What would I do with it once I was done? It’s not like I have a suitcase or even a purse to hide that drawing in…so I won’t. I will just sit here and imagine how my sketch would turn out.

Try to…memorize…every line of his abs. Because why not? I’ve already memorized Royce’s face. I think maybe I did that the I first day I met him. I say it’s because I’m an artist and studying faces is what I do, and I also say I can’t get enough of Royce’s face because his is angular and unusual that staring at the planes of his face have become my bliss. But it’s more than that—okay, it’s because he’s beautiful and handsome and I’m unable not to memorize how he looks. He’s So paintable…draw-able, sculpt-able…fine, after yesterday I know he’s…even very kissable.

How can I not think about that—when he kissed me so many times and I kissed him back?

I’ve sketched, and recently painted every line of his face, too. I’ve pondered the exact tones of his skin, figured out the lines of his cheekbones and before we were married, I embarrassed myself by mentioning to him out loud just how I love the straight lines that make up his chin.

I’ve also analyzed the way his silver eyes tilt up near his nose, and even today, I was counting the sexy-faint crinkles that exist at the outside edges of those same eyes. I’ve memorized the way his full lips bow and curve along the top lip, the way the bottom lip can pout when he’s thinking. So much so, that I’ve become almost addicted to watching the various degrees of his sardonic-twisty smiles and frowns. I also love when he’s in full laughter, how the smile goes up higher on the right side than the left.

But…seeing him in a towel? Being pressed up next to his bare skin—eye to eye with collarbones and shoulder muscles that must have been molded after Gods? Well…I either need to tell him straight up when he comes out of that bathroom that he’s actually married a real-live- stalker, or I need to learn or figure out how to fake that I’ve got some control when he’s around.

“That’s all,” I mutter out again. “That should be easy.”

I shake my head, wondering what would he have done if I had just run at him and started smearing my hands all over his stomach while uttering stuff like, can I please just look at and measure the way your abs line up, have a closer look at your hips—can we talk about your ‘V’ a little bit?

I fling myself on the bed, laughing out loud now. “What the hell is wrong with me? Do guys even know we call those sexy lines, ‘the V’ in the first place? Should I Google if ‘the V’ is even a thing? It is, isn’t it? It is to me…and it’s—oh stop thinking about it.” I slap my hand against my forehead, wishing my mind would shut up. “It’s okay. You’re an artist, not a stalker. Now you’re an artist and wife. Not a stalker. I’m sure all of this behavior is perfectly normal in the world of fake wives and fake husbands…right?”

I breathe out, feeling better and stand up to pace the room again, telling myself, “Somehow I need to figure out how to be conscious of the fact that yes, he is beautiful, and that he and I will probably see each other half dressed a lot starting now, considering we are sharing hotel rooms.”

“And…hammocks,” I add, feeling my cheeks fire with the memory of my chest pressed up against him when he woke me up.”Which is why I need to get over the fact that he’s probably beautiful in all of the usual places, as well as also shockingly beautiful in places other mere mortals are not beautiful. Like…I bet that even his elbows and armpits are probably stunning, and that even mundane things like his kneecaps are all angled and balanced and very…very…paintable?”

My thoughts spin…Is that the word I’m searching for? Paintable? Whatever. I want to paint him. Every single inch of him, and one day I’m going to ask. One day, when things aren’t awkward between us, I will. I’ll bet one day, I will be able to ask him anything I want…

One day…

* * *

I’m startled out of my thoughts when the sound of soft knocking comes from the bungalow’s front door.

Fearing this might be a trick or more paparazzi, I hardly let my feet touch the marble as I walk to the door so I can peer through the little security-peek-hole. I’m holding my breath and listening at the same time, wondering if I should go alert Royce when I see that girl Clara, the daughter of the lead stylist I met yesterday, frowning and trying to peek into the peek-hole as I’m peeking out!

“They’re not answering.” She huffs out a puff of air, making her straight cut bangs flip to the side while she tries to peer in again. “Probably they’re still doing it in there—can’t—see—anything,” she’s grumbling. “Let’s see if I can hear…something going on.”

I jump back a little when I realize she’s moved to pressing her ear against the door! So rude. Who listens for people doing it, if that’s what she thinks we’re doing?

I back away, thinking I’m not ready to face anyone from Royce’s entourage, especially not the one girl who I think might be a possible mean-girl.

But when I hear a second person talking, I return to the door and peek out in time to see Mrs. Felix, wheel up to the door next to Clara.

She’s frowning at Clara while commanding: “Knock louder, dear. I’m sure if they’re occupied on the morning after their most romantic wedding, well it’s to be expected, and who could blame them. Not I. We will call what they are doing something proper, well past the words ‘doing-it’. Young lady. Tsk. Tsk. Did you think I did not hear your crass comments?”

“Mother, do not ramp into one of your speeches,” Gregory says, crossing into my narrow view point.

“It’s not a speech, it’s a teaching moment we’re all about to have,” Mrs. Felix sounds highly offended.

“Mother. Please. Don’t go there.” Gregory is backing away, shaking his head at Clara like he feels sorry for you. “I’m going to go help the stylists move the racks up the walkway.”

The guy is almost running down the walkway as Mrs. Felix turns to Clara saying, “Royce and Robin are most probably making love right now. Love, young lady. Your generation, with your meet-ups and hook-ups and doing-it verbiage simply horrifies me. Tsk. Tsk. Don’t think I haven’t heard about how you young people do this ‘hang and watch Netflix’ ridiculousness.”

I almost burst out laughing as Clara’s face turns from red to panicked while Mrs. Felix zooms closer, cornering Clara against the door with her wheelchair while, ranting on, “Watching a movie is watching a movie. Making love is making love. Never should the two just mix on some young man’s dingy couch or unmade, most-probably unwashed bed. And at least use Amazon Prime to watch your videos. Save some money and get some self-respect?”

She mock-shudders but then my view is blocked as Clara’s dark hair is pressed up against the peep hole while Mrs. Felix finishes with, “Self-respect is something you must try to hold on to. I’ve heard this is a millennial epidemic, dear. Royce and Robin never watched one movie together before Royce proposed, and I think more young people should simply get married and commit instead of all of this…swiping right and swiping left, and-and movie watching-meeting up business that you all do. Do you understand my meaning, Clara? I hope you will let my Royce and Robin be a quality example for the direction your own life should go.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Clara sounds like she’s choking while I step back again, so I can cover my mouth and swallow back some laughter, fully understanding now why Gregory bolted. Mrs. Felix on a rampage is one force to be reckoned with. Ha!

“Good,” Mrs. Felix adds pertly. “Because the morning after a wedding, the bride and groom are making love. Do you understand me? Love and making love are two things we should not be ashamed of or joke about, nor should we minimize these acts of beauty with the words ‘doing it’. Never again, young lady. Do you hear me? Now please apologize for your slight.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I—I’m sorry,” Clara adds, and turns back to the door so Mrs. Felix can’t see her rolling her eyes. For a moment she looks so humiliated, annoyed and possibly still jealous of what she’s imagining we are doing behind this door, that I almost crack up again, straight into the door peek-hole as she knocks softly again.

When I still don’t open the door, Clara says, “Maybe I should text my mom to halt the stylists? I could ask them to stop unloading the trucks? We can come back in another hour with the clothing rack choices and makeup crew?”

“Let me try knocking with this.” Mrs. Felix zooms closer and whacks the door with the retractable cane she keeps in her basket a few times.

Clara again rolls her eyes and makes yet another face, this time she finds the doorbell and dings it about fifteen times. So much so, that if Royce and I had been making love, we would have fallen off the bed and thought there was a fire.

I wait a good five seconds so they think I walked here from far away, then try to act all fluttery and making-love breathless as I call out, “Who…who is it? We—were um…watching a movie,” I call out, unable not to say it, while choking down another laugh at Clara’s responding glare.

“Robin, dear. There you are,” Mrs. Felix answers first. “Let us in. We’ve brought news. We also have press waiting to interview you and we need to talk about the developments with the attorneys. It looks like we will get early approval on our custody attempts to be co-guardians with Sage. Isn’t that exciting? Open up, darling. Please, do?”

* * *

I secure the sheet and clamp down my arms tight against the sides of my rib-cage before I pull open the door. Mrs. Felix zooms past me in her wheelchair. Clara’s eyes are going all around the room and over me as she’s squeezing in close behind.

“Do you mean it about the custody? That’s wonderful news,” I call out, following Mrs. Felix as she wheels past me.

“My dear, Robin. I mean it. I knew it would not be difficult. Everyone loves a great love story and that’s exactly what you and Royce are, my darling girl. The press has run with what’s happened and the courts are all alerted and playing nice. The PR people have told me that you and your little brother have been already branded as America’s sad little orphans.”

Using the automatic spin control on her chair, she twirls once and then goes on, “Even better, the entire world is in support of our quest to help you and Sage. They have backed your marriage, they adore what the band did last night by including the fans in the wedding, and most especially, people are obsessed with your rags-to-riches tale, as well as over how Royce stepped up to help his girlfriend the best way he could, by marrying the girl he loves right away to help you. It’s all a glorious success, darling, and of course I’m so happy to call you and Sage part of the family because from the moment Royce told me you were ‘the one’ on the very day you two met, I’d been hoping.” She glances over at Clara then back at me, and I can tell she’s a little worried she may have slipped up and said too much.

Although my chest twisted at the word ‘orphans’ and then twisted again at the words true-love, she’s used the absolute scorn that was just flashed to me by Clara’s expression has me bending to give Mrs. Felix a swift hug. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Felix. You’re so nice to me. Thanks for welcoming me so easily.” Can I ask, how is Sage holding up this morning? Any reports?”

“Sage is sleeping in. The resort left the water slide running for extra hours last night and Hunter and Vere had a blast tiring him out. He had big plans to go on it again with them this morning, but we must see if we need to dress him up to be in the press conference we are planning.”

“Where’s Royce,” she asks, as her eyes skim back to me, going up to my messy hair and then back to how’s she’s noticed that I’m totally naked under my sheet. If Clara weren’t here I’d explain that Royce and I didn’t have anything else to wear besides our sheets, but instead I stick to the plan and answer what I can.

“Oh. Royce…he had to…he’s…”

For some reason the way she’s looking at me so intently as though she’s trying to read my mind—or maybe trying to analyze if Royce and I really did make love last night or not, that her scrutiny has my cheeks going hot. I’m wishing I’d taken the time to glance in the mirror before answering the door. “He’s in the shower.” I shrug. “And uh. I go next,” I add lamely.

Mrs. Felix presses the controller on her wheelchair again, and it zooms ahead making a beeline past the living room area and goes directly into the wide double doors leading to our bedroom area, with Clara following close behind.

“Oh my lord. The dress. My dress.” She gasps and I can’t tell if she’s being dramatic or serious. “I see you two didn’t pause to hang it up? Good gracious.” She gasps again. “You two didn’t even pause to take it off…properly. I will have words with Royce about this.” She waves her hand at the mess.

“Oh. I…um. No. It wasn’t like that.” I follow her, taking in the rumpled dress, the little pearl buttons all over the floor and the corset with the cut ribbons flung to the side of the bed. Again I want to explain, but I hold back because of Clara again.

“I’m sorry. We uh…I couldn’t breathe after we arrived and he was helping me but then…” I glance at Clara’s over interested face. “Well. I hope the dress can be fixed.”

Mrs. Felix recovers first and says, “I also couldn’t breathe on my wedding night dear. My dear husband ruined a lot of my outfits, too. I’m sure with Royce looking so handsome in his tux he and you two were swept away with reckless…wild…” She frowns at the buttons again. “Abandon. I’m sure all can be repaired.”

I scour my brain for other things I can talk about and come up only with, “Yes. Well. We went out to the hammock, and…it’s by the beach, past the pool, which is gorgeous by the way,” I point at the sliding glass doors, “And we were only now getting back to the bedroom.” I swallow, flushing, because I realize that sounded like Royce and I had been really…very…active. I rush on, “We weren’t expecting company just yet and…we would have cleaned up some but we—were—uh…you know.” I bite my lips and look down at the floor, wishing it could quickly swallow me up.

“Spare us the details, please. We get it.” Clara crosses her arms. “I have got to open a window because now…” She wrinkles her nose before finishing, “Now I can’t work in here unless we air things out.” Clara gingerly kicks my torn, lacy corset aside with her foot as she passes by. Then, she struggles to open all of the blinds I’d just worked so hard to close, getting each window open a crack. “There. Much better. Fresh air.” She wrinkles her nose, acting even more disgusted.

Mrs. Felix and I exchange an annoyed glance as Mrs. Felix asks, “Didn’t Royce tell you we were coming?” I asked Vere to text him, she’s coming in a minute.”

“I don’t think either of us know where our cell phones wound up and we haven’t—didn’t think about even finding them because…um.” I glance helplessly at her.

Mrs. Felix chuckles knowingly again. “You two newlyweds are so adorable. Of course you didn’t have your phones. We can all help you search for them. Go alert Royce he’s been invaded, would you?”

I nod and pad to the bathroom door and give it two raps. “Royce. Your grandmother’s arrived and Clara. Everyone else is coming in here right now. Everyone.” Hoping he can hear that I might need some backup out here, I add. “Is it my turn yet?”

I hear things dropping on tile and the heavy glass shower door sounds like it’s just banged into something. “They are? Okay. Coming now.”

Mrs. Felix has followed me and calls through the door. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, dear.”

Royce answers, “I know it can’t be helped, Gran. How’s Sage,” he calls out through the door and even though I swore to ignore stuff like that, my heart flips because he’s so nice.

“The boy is better than fine. We’ve worked out a way for him to have adjoining suites near us for the remainder of the honeymoon and also, Robin, we spoke of this briefly before the engagement, but I wanted to confirm that it is okay with you if Gregory and I place ourselves as secondary guardians until your father is found? It will streamline the legal proceedings if we offer him our full financial backing, but we are well aware you are full guardian and the person acting as parent. Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes. Of course, and again. I can only thank you and vow somehow to pay you back for that,” I answer, backing up next to the bathroom door as the room fills up with stylists, clothing racks and a whole bunch of people.

“Not necessary, darling.” And then, she shouts out, “Royce Devlin, what are you doing in there?”

Because the stylists are circling us now as well as Clara, and suddenly there’s too many bodies crowding into the bedroom and whispering about the torn up wedding dress while pointing at the pearl buttons scattered all over the floor, I work to come up with some sort of acceptable chatter, “We’ve already noticed, Royce spends way more time in front of the mirror than I do.”

“That’s obvious. Something that needs to probably change on your part,” Clara says, with a fake sunny voice while her scathing glare surveys me, ever finding below her standards. “But that’s where we stylists come in, isn’t it? I hope we can get you up to his level but like…” her voice drops. “We’re not miracle workers, are we?” She’s said that last part too quietly, so Mrs. Felix couldn’t hear it, and she ends it with a look that says she doesn’t think I’m going to make it to what an acceptable rock-star-wife should look like.

“What did you say, Clara?” Mrs. Felix calls out.

“She’s wondering how to make me up, and so am I, because I don’t have much experience with all of that stuff, ” I say, saving Clara’s ass, even though I shouldn’t.

“Clara, can you see how Robin is like no other girl Royce has ever met? So genuine and generous—very au-natural. We should all strive to be more like her, shouldn’t we? And we don’t need to make-her up much. Her natural beauty is why Royce fell for her in the first place.”

“Yes, I will see what I can do,” Clara says that fake-sunny voice back in place, but as she turns she’s rolling her eyes so far to the ceiling I’m surprised the girl doesn’t spike her own blood clot up there.

The other stylist assistants and people I have not yet met (or maybe I have met them but I don’t recognize from yesterday’s chaos, have moved the mess of my torn dress off the bed, unzipped the clothing rack covers, all while others are carrying in two folding, canvas director’s type make-up chairs with what looks like cool portable, wheeled make up stations.

I can see the living room has been flooded with hotel staff pushing in covered, wheeled room service carts that appear to be loaded with food. As the crush of people coming into the room increases I grow more and more mortified, but all I can do is cower further against the wall and clutch my stupid sheet.

Everyone—has figured out where the sheet has come from, and they’ve commented on the torn and rumpled wedding dress. And once they get to me they’ve also walked past and analyzed Royce’s scattered tuxedo that’s lying all over the couch in the living room.

By their looking-not-looking glances at me, it’s obvious they’re making the wrong assumptions (or as Royce would call them the right assumptions. The ones we want) about what happened between us last night.

I suppose if I could trade places with them, I would think that it looks like the groom had undressed in the living room, or that maybe I helped him undress, and then he obviously got impatient when he undressed me, right here in the bedroom!

While everyone starts gathering up the buttons, I lean over and whisper, “Don’t worry Mrs. Felix. Royce was a gentleman and we promise, no matter how things look, this is all Royce’s calculated set up.”

She leans close and whispers to me, “Of course it is, darling, I’m sorry if I may have doubted you. I just…well…you look so flushed and rumpled, but I know my grandson, he is very good at all of this make-believe.”

I whisper back. “He’s only been sweet. Protective. And we’ve been practicing what to say all night. So maybe I’m finally coming across naturally, that’s all.”

Royce slams out of the bathroom, startling everyone into freezing. Like he doesn’t even see them, his eyes go only to mine. “You okay, Robin?”

“Yes. Great. Took you long enough, though,” I grumble out, but force on what I hope looks like a warm smile while my eyes and the rest of me goes insane, because…stop-my-heart-again. Forget how Royce looked in the wrapped-up toga before his shower. Wrapped in a towel with water droplets all over him, with his wavy hair wet and slicked back from his face, and that glistening chest and six pack of his—oh, help me.

Please God. Help me on this. Do. Not. Look. Do not stare at the water-wet-V.

I force my eyes away from him and decide to start inching towards the bathroom door for something to do besides look at him.

While I do that, Royce address everyone else in the room. “Hello people. I’m supposing your presence here means it’s go-time already? Can’t even give a guy a proper amount of time to have a honeymoon?” He grabs the crumpled wedding dress off the chair and holds it up like he’s proud of it. “And before you make up stuff, let’s be clear. It was all me—losing my head and my patience and tearing this dress. Sorry grandmother. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He points at me. “And can you blame me?”

I flush so hard as everyone glances at me with knowing and nodding looks, that I get they’re all bought in to this. No one is even questioning us. Which means that if Royce’s closest circle of friends and employees are bought in, then maybe the judge and the social workers in charge of mine and Sage’s case will believe all of it, too.

Believe in Mrs. Felix and Gregory and all of the financial support they’re offering to us—is all because Royce and I are so in love that we had to get married to save Sage. I can’t even be angry at Clara for being so snide because her surprise and subsequent jealousy is a little part of why this is working.

He stalks over to me and says, “Hold on there, beautiful wife, before you escape. Just one more kiss while you’re wearing that sheet, if you don’t mind. For the memories…” His thumbs go over my bare shoulders in this way that gives me goosebumps, and when I look up at him with a small head-shake which I hope says:

Don’t freak me out in front of all of these people—

He brushes a soft kiss lightly across my lips and escorts me the rest of the way to the bathroom door, whispering, “Make sure it’s locked or my grandmother and half of these people will have no problem coming in and bothering you while you shower. It happens to me all the time.”

“It does?” I blink back at Mrs. Felix.

“Yes.” He nods, and adds, “I’m sorry, Robin. This is the beginning of the end. You must know that?”

His eyes are so deeply bored into mine I’m thinking: the beginning of the end of my heart, of my soul and all control I have of my body? I’m so weak in the knees from his short kiss that I ask him out loud, “The beginning of the end, of what?”

“The end of your privacy. The end of who you used to be.” He shakes his head and then corrects himself. “I hope it’s not going to be too stressful for you to live like this.” He waves his arm around the crowded room.

“Wait. All of these people barging in here isn’t just because we got married yesterday and because we have a press conference? Is it going to be like this every day?” I blink up at him, analyzing his anguished face.

“For the foreseeable future, yes.”

I look around, letting that sink in, and when my eyes travel back to his I cling to him for a second answering, “As long as you’re here with me. It’s going to be fine.”

“And when I can’t be with you?” His eyes flash with panic. “What happens then? Shit. We have so much to talk about still.”

I shrug, saying only what I always say when I’m scared and unsure: “It’s going to be fine. Whatever happens we will work it out together, right?”

He plants another fast kiss on my forehead and pushes me gently into the bathroom. “Right. Together.”

I close the door, but as it shuts he starts knocking and knocking, so I quickly re-open it a crack. His face is pressed close to the crack and those eyes have grown worried again.

“Here’s the outfit Clara’s picked for you. I hope it’s okay. I’m assuming you want to put it on by yourself?” He shoves some hangers through the crack at me.

“Yes. I do.” I take what looks like dressy shorts and a cool shirt and hang it on the back of the door, as I close it.

“Remember. Lock it. Okay?” he says again, not moving out of the way. “And…could you hurry?” He makes this funny face. “I’m sort of getting addicted to having my new wife by my side.”

“Okay. Sure. Worrier.” I laugh, pushing the door closed against his weight.

I know he’s only being extra nice, but I’m not going to lie, I like how I don’t see his shadow move away from the line of light that’s showing below the door until I click the lock.