Purposefully Accidental

Chapter Forty-three

"They'll photograph us together coming out of the limo," Freddie tells me as we're on our way to the gala. "That okay with you?"

All these years, we've been using the "camera-shy, non-famous wife" angle as an excuse for me to stay out of the cameras as much as possible, while also still keeping me on the radar to maintain Freddie's Family Man/Loving Husband image. There were only a few times that Freddie ever brought me to red carpet events, and I was always wearing a mask back then. Once inside the venue, it's always a private event, and I can always opt out of pictures if I want to.

"I mean, I guess," I answer. "But will it complicate things, once we—" I pause, glancing at the driver's side of the car up front, then mime a knife-across-throat gesture. "You know?"

Freddie chuckles, then says in a low voice, "Didn't you know? 2023 is the year of Hollywood divorces and breakups, Hannah. It'll be fine."

"You keep up with that stuff?" I ask, surprised.

He gives me a deadpan stare. "It's kinda part of my job, don't you think?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean—" I make a face, which makes him laugh. "Okay, whatever."

"But it's okay, if you don't want to. We'll... find a way to get you in from the back door?"

"Oh, it's fine. This is a big day for you. I'll just be doing my job and stay attached to your side."

He glowers at me. "Don't say it like that. It makes me feel weird. It's not a job. I enjoy having you here."

"Well," I give him an apologetic smile, "I enjoy being here for you as well, Freddie. Just as long as you're positive that I'm camera-ready."

"You look hot. As usual." At my glare, he shrugs. "You want me to lie to you?"

"Okay, gee, thanks." Self-consciously, I look at my reflection in the tinted windows. My hair has been curled and put up in a low bun that took two hours to style, and I'm wearing a deep wine-red silk-satin gown, with a set of loaned diamond jewelry hanging on my neck and my ears. The make-up feels heavy on my face, even though the end result gives my face the soft glam, woke-up-with-glowy-skin effect. My eyelids shimmer and my lips are painted with glossy, dark red that matches my dress. I feel expensive, like I always do after being styled by the team Freddie hired to doll me up.

I mean, Freddie is right. I do look hot.

I also don't look like myself. Which... was why Jazmine and her people were hired in the first place. They even expertly covered any visible scars I have on my face and the exposed parts of my body in this off-shoulder dress I'm wearing. I know it's because I need to look like my government name suits me. I'm Jo Archer, the woman attached to the arms of the man of the night. Wife of Fred Archer, son of late media mogul Connor Archer, soon to be Head of FlixGo. Not Hannah Taylors, the flailing student-teacher who can barely move in these tight strappy stilettos. These motherfuckers can probably kill someone at the wrong angle.

"You look incredible, Han," he says, nudging my side. "Just hold on to my arm and smile to the cameras, but also ignore them. They're not here."

"I'm gonna trip in these stupid 57-inch heels," I mutter as I carefully fix a mask on my face, praying that my lipstick won't get smudged on the fabric.

"You'll be fine." He smiles at me. "You must be so excited for tonight."

That gets a confused scrunch of my forehead. "Sure." I guess I'm a little excited—I always am. I do enjoy fancy dinner events and getting to taste experimental dishes by famous chefs. And even though the dresses and heavy makeup and expensive jewelries can get intimidating, I love the rare occasions that I get to look hot as hell. The socializing can get exhausting, though. I'm not really looking forward to it.