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After signing the check, Alexander stood and pulled out my chair. His hand found the small of my back as we navigated through the restaurant, and I was acutely aware of the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of my dress.
Outside, the valet promptly brought Alexander’s car around. The cool night air was a refreshing change from the restaurant’s warmth, and I took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of night–blooming jasmine from nearby planters.
“Successful evening?” Alexander asked as we settled into the car.
“Very. I think we showed whoever was watching that we’re completely unbothered by their petty gossip.”
“And we ate extremely well in the process.”
“A win–win situation.”
As we drove through the quiet streets of Beverly Hills, I found myself reflecting on the day, from the triumph of securing the Thompson Hotels account to the unexpected confrontation with Penelope and the nasty gossip article.
“Alexander?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for handling the legal side of things today. With the article, I mean.”
He glanced over. “No need to thank me. It’s what any husband would do.”
The word “husband” still felt strange to hear, even after our weeks together. Strange, but not unpleasant.
“Still, I appreciate it. I’ve never had to deal with public gossip before.”
“Welcome to life as a Carter,” he said, echoing his earlier words. “It won’t be the last time.”
“Great. Something to look forward to.”
“You’ll get used to it. And for what it’s worth, you handled yourself brilliantly with Penelope today.”
“I did?”
“You were poised, professional, and you didn’t take any of her bait.”
“I wanted to dump my coffee on her head.”
“The fact that you didn’t is exactly what I mean.”
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We pulled into the garage beneath the estate, the security gate closing behind us with a soft mechanical whir. Alexander parked in his usual spot and turned off the engine, but neither of us moved to get out immediately. “You know,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, “this whole marriage thing isn’t as terrible as I expected.
Alexander turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “High praise indeed. I’m flattered.”
“You should be. I had very low expectations.”
“Well, I’m glad I’ve exceeded your very low bar.”
“Seriously,” I said, “I thought this would be awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s been… I don’t know. Not awful.”
“Not awful. I’ll add that to my resume.”
I swatted his arm playfully. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he admitted, his expression softening. “And for what it’s worth, I feel the same way.”
We sat there for a moment, looking at each other in the dim light of the garage. There was something intimate about the moment, not sexual, exactly, but private. A quiet acknowledgment that whatever this was between us, it was evolving into something neither of us had anticipated.
Alexander broke the silence first. “We should head inside. It’s been a long day.”
I nodded, gathering my purse. “I’m exhausted. Who knew fighting off gossip columnists and evil exes would be so draining?”
“Welcome to my world.” Alexander climbed out of the car and came around to open my door. “The glamorous life of a Carter.”
“I’m not sure ‘glamorous‘ is the word I’d use.” I stepped out, my heels clicking on the concrete floor. “More like ‘exhausting‘ or ‘slightly terrifying.”
As we entered, the house was quiet, most of the staff having retired for the evening. Alexander flicked on the lights as we moved through the expansive main floor.
“Want a nightcap?” he asked, heading toward the bar in the corner of the living room.
“I’d better not. Any more alcohol and I might start drunk–texting Victoria to tell her exactly what I think of her.”
Alexander laughed. “Now that I’d pay to see.”
I kicked off my heels with a sigh of relief. “I’m going to change.”
“Take your time,” Alexander called after me as I padded down the hallway toward our bedroom.
The master suite was dimly lit, just the way I’d left it this morning. I flicked on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow across the king–sized bed. The sight of it was too tempting to resist. 1 flopped face–first onto the
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plush duvet, letting out a dramatic groan of exhaustion.
“What a day,” I mumbled into the pillow.
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I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The events of the day replayed in my mind: securing the Thompson Hotels account, the confrontation with Penelope, those nasty gossip articles. Despite the victory, I
felt drained.
My purse lay beside me where I’d dropped it. I reached for it, fishing out my phone. I hadn’t checked it since dinner began.
“Holy notifications, Batman,” I muttered, seeing the screen light up with messages, emails, and social media alerts.
I scrolled through them quickly. Most were shopping promotional messages, but one message from Emilia caught my eye.
Emilia: OMG, Olivia! I saw the news that my best friend is officially a GOLD DIGGER!! Should I start charging you for friendship now that you’ve made it big time?
I snorted and typed back:
Me: If I’m a gold digger, then you’re the queen of gold diggers. Remember when you dated that guy just because he had courtside Lakers tickets?
Her reply came almost immediately:
Emilia: HEY! He had other qualities too… I just can’t remember them right now. But seriously, you okay? Those articles were BRUTAL.
Me: I’m fine. Just another day in the fabulous life of Mrs. Carter.
Emilia: Don’t let it get to you. Being called a gold digger is practically a rite of passage for wives of rich husbands. It means you’ve arrived, darling!
Me: Great. Do I get a membership card to the Gold Diggers Club?
Emilia: It’s platinum, actually. Very exclusive. Comes with a complimentary shovel.
I laughed out loud at that one, feeling some of the tension from the day dissipate. Emilia always knew how to
cheer me up.
The sound of the bedroom door opening made me look up. Alexander stood in the doorway, and his tie loosened.
“Something funny?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Just Emilia being Emilia,” I replied, setting my phone aside. “She says I’ve officially ‘arrived now that I’ve been called a gold digger in the press.”
Alexander chuckled as he crossed to the walk–in closet. “She’s not entirely wrong. It’s practically a Carter
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family tradition.”
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I sat up and stretched, feeling my muscles protest after the long day. “In that case, I should get a t–shirt made. ‘Official Carter Gold Digger‘ in sparkly letters.”
“I’d wear one that says ‘I’m With Gold Digger‘ with an arrow pointing to you,” Alexander called from the closet.
“You’re ridiculous,” I laughed, standing up to unzip my dress.
I slipped out of the sapphire blue fabric, letting it pool at my feet before kicking it aside. The cool air raised goosebumps on my skin as I padded to my dresser, pulling out a silky nightgown. With a gentle tug, I pulled off my panties and thong, casting them aside before slipping the smooth nightgown over my head. The cool, silky fabric enveloped my skin, bringing a pleasant sense of comfort.
AD