Chapter 22

The following morning felt like a circus show—and I was sitting in the center of it. Having barely slept no more than a few hours, I dragged myself to the vanity table where two maids were in the frantic process of getting me picture-worthy-ready for the conference.

I’d hoped that at least some of my disgruntled anger toward James would have faded by now. But no.

In fact, I was fairly certain that it all intensified the moment I’d been squeezed into a fitted, mid-length dress and my hair was roughly brushed and curled to frame my face. My makeup was applied with perfect precision and before I knew it I was being escorted out the door by James.

We spent the majority of the car ride over to the conference hall in complete silence. I think after I’d left work yesterday, James didn’t exactly know how to approach me since then. There was still a thick bout of tension around us.

James suddenly cleared his throat. “Remember, you don’t need to say much. Should someone ask you a question directly, just keep it short and try to direct it back to me if need be,” he told me.

“Fine.”

I knew that my passive attitude was doing nothing for the awkwardness between us. Again, I couldn’t bring myself to care. If all I was expected to do was sit next to him and encompass the role of his ‘perfect’ wife, then so be it.

James’ tone was deep and even. “You mustn’t let Monica’s words bother you.”

‘Really?’ I thought dryly to myself. ‘This was the opportune time he wished to talk about what happened back at the office?’

I refrained from shaking my head and rolling my eyes in contempt.

“They didn’t...Even if they are true,” I muttered.

Right as James turned his head and tried to say something else, the car came to a stop and we finally arrived at the conference hall. The very moment the doors opened, there were several cameras flashing and a horde of reporters were already trying to ask questions, regarding our sudden marriage.

James and I were swiftly directed toward a large table at the head of the room. As soon as we sat down, the sea of questions began.

“Mr. Derek! Can you explain the sudden marriage to this Miss Johnson?”

“Who is Miss Johnson?

“Our reports have it that she’s not an adamant user of social media and there’s very little record of the two of you together during recent events. Can you tell us why that is?”

“Have long have the two of you known one another?”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“Where did you two exactly meet—”

James held up a single hand and the whole room fell silent. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. I must demand that you all wait your turn to ask a question.”

Once the room resettled, the conference began in a more orderly fashion. Much to my surprise, everything seemed to be running smoothly. Nearly every question that was asked, James stepped up and answered, making sure that the attention was solely kept on him.

But, unfortunately, one of the reporters turned to glare at me with interest.

“It would appear that you have a type, Mr. Derek,” they said curtly. “If I can recall correctly, I am fairly certain that your previous wife wore a very similar dress once at an auction event you attended. I must say, Miss Johnson's features are not a far cry from your last wife’s.”

The muscles in my stomach coiled.

“Is that the reason why you’ve chosen Miss Johnson as your new wife?” they asked.

What? I’d felt as though I’d just been slapped across the face.

Suddenly, another sharp voice broke out from the crowd. The voice reminded me of Monica, but instead, it was one of her many minions that constantly crowded her.

“Is it true that you used to stalk James Derek when you were younger?” she shouted. “Is that how you got him to marry you?”

The room practically erupted into a sea of utter chaos over her salacious questions and they all demanded answers. For the first time since I sat down, I started to speak out.

“I’ve never stalked James Derek,” I claimed. “While it is true that he and I have known each other since we were younger, I never stalked him or tried to vie for his attention.”

Many of the reporters scribbled down in their little notepads, not wanting to miss a single detail of what I said.

“But isn’t it true that you wrote him several dozen love letters back in school?” She continued to press with indignation.

Had zero doubt that Monica had put this woman up to this manic attack. She probably knew that there wasn’t a good chance she would’ve been let in. So, instead, she sent another person in her place to play tormentor.

The room filled with mutters and laughter. Oh my God. It was like I’d been transported back to high school all over again.

All those horrible students gawking and openly pointing at me for having seen the private letters I’d written. I was overwhelmed with shame and humiliation, I was convinced I was going to be sick.

“You don’t need to answer that,” James whispered to me.

I ignored him. “Yes,” I admitted pointedly to the crowd. “There was a slew of those letters that were stolen from a personal journal I kept when I was younger. My personal thoughts and feelings were exploited and made into amusement for the public.”

The crowd oddly enough started to grow quiet.

“So, it’s clear to assume that you love James Derek,” one of the reporters called out.

‘You can assume whatever the hell you want,’ I wanted to snap back.

It was obvious that these people were after any information they could get their hands on. I figured why let them make up some godforsaken trashy story when I could tell them the actual truth?

A long pause went by.

“...I loved James very deeply,” I said coldly. “And...I wouldn’t be sitting here had those feelings changed.”