AISHE

I stare at the magazine in front of me, clamp a hand over my mouth, and choke my gasp. The love of my life’s beautiful face covers part of it. His head is tipped backward, safari-green stare beaming up at me as he presses me tighter than he ever has. In his brand new, stupid expensive suit, he clutches me close, and my breasts almost spill over the cream of my silk! When will we ever learn?

I bump my shopping cart into the customer ahead me in my haste to grab the top magazine. The cashier sends me a side-glance. It freezes on me, eyes going wide as she swallows a gulp.

“Exclusive shots from Clown Irruption nuptials!”

I wrench my shopping cart out of the line. Mumble apologies in response to under-your-breath expletives when I almost run over someone’s foot. An aisle over, I abandon my cart and stalk to the restrooms.

The door swings shut behind me as I try to calm my breath.

I need to get used to this.

It’s no big deal!

The ladies’ room has only two stalls. I’m alone, practicing measured breathing, while I flip to the twelve-page center of the biggest gossip magazine in the United States. Lots of greenery and bushes splay across the spread. Most images are blurry, but some are too good to be by paparazzi, leaving all the details out there for millions of Americans to enjoy.

The door flies open. “Are you okay?”

“Hey.” I let out a timorous breath. “I freaked out a little.”

“Let me see.” Troy’s hand goes around my middle, pulling my back against him while he takes the magazine with the other.

“They were there. The paparazzi we’d expected, but someone else took pictures too. Maybe one of the guests sold them?”

For some reason, he’s trying to fight a smile. I don’t find this funny. I find this to be a serious invasion of privacy.

“What’s your problem?” I mutter as my brows get too heavy to remain high.

“Baby mine. Have you read it?”

“No, I was just looking at the picture, and they— I hate that people do this to us when we wanted it to be secret and pretty and just for us. We wanted it to be something to remember forever!”

“And isn’t it?” He leans down to me, lips pressing against my hair in his slow, hundred-percent way. “I’ll never forget it.”

“No, me neither, but they shouldn’t have dragged it down by posting it everywhere.”

“But look, Aishe. You’re beautiful. In every single one of them, you’re a priestess.”

“You and your priestess.”

“Check this one out.” He straightens the two-page photo smack at the middle of the magazine so I can see myself. In the picture, he’s threading a golden family heirloom onto my ring finger, and we’re glowing with happiness.

“Hell, I’d like to see this one spread everywhere so every damn dude out there can see I’m the luckiest bastard alive and that Aishe Xodyar Armstrong is mine forever.”

I lean the back of my head against his chest and shut my eyes. Slowly, my heart downshifts. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“It’s how it’ll be. Can’t trust the media worth shit. They’ll always find ways of posting about us before we’re ready.”

It happened last weekend. Now, this beautiful husband of mine, my obsession, my forever, smiles and tips my head back against his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Speaking of...” Under the glaring, fluorescent lights of a random supermarket bathroom in Pasadena, my moixcho kisses my lips and purrs out, “How do you feel about a little mirror sex?”