Papers for Roses

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Megan

Wade took her to an upscale restaurant on the Upper East Side after the media training from hell.

She bet her life and her peachy, little curtains that the trainer was after her blood the moment they made eye contact. Although, no matter how entertaining Ms. Meyers' catty antics were, the highlight of her day was the way her husband introduced her to the kitten. She sighed dreamily.

She shouldn't feel the flutter in her stomach. Or the goosebumps that ran through her arm. Or the way her brain gone overdrive. But what the hell. What woman wouldn't when the hottest man she'd ever known referred to her as my beautiful wife?

It was short-lived though, but it was more than enough to get her through the session.

"How was it?" Wade asked her as they sat on an elegant table for two.

She groaned. "Awful."

He snickered. "Indulge me."

Her lips puckered. "She's full of shit, you know? Like, she kept ranting about my usage of verbal fillers right on the start. I mean, she didn't even mention that we're already on tape. Then she fired questions after questions then scolded me after three seconds when I only gaped at her. Is she always like that?"

She didn't even care if she was blabbering. She was that disturbed.

Wade smirked. "Yes, she is. Although, she warms up after some time. Did you or did you not point her out on her shit?"

"Of course, I did."

He laughed. "Ms. Meyers loves to intimidate at first, then expect people to bite. However, that depends on how you bite."

The waiter approached with their food on hand before she could answer. The smell was yummy and inviting even before he lifted the cloche obscuring the soon-to-be resident of their stomach. Then she frowned, jaw slack in shock.

"Shut your mouth, wife," Wade said from her side. "I don't sweep floors."

"Har." She rolled her eyes. "Are you sure this is the five-hundred-dollar food you paid? It looks the size of food on the stick you see on the street except it's styled and not on stick..."

Wade chuckled as the waiter's eyes lit up in amusement. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

And it was delicious.

Lunch was no different from the lunch they had at their home.

Wade Simon may be a god of virile beauty and business ventures around the world but inside the four corners of their home, he was also a man who had a terrible sense of humor that matched her own, ate three times a day, drank water and shit on a white toilet. She knew. Rather, she saw.

After lunch, they drove to W Industries to go over some things with Rianna once he leaves for Chicago. Of course, the nagging concerns at the back of her mind came full force when he mentioned his departure. "What if they mauled me when you are gone?" she couldn't help but asked when the stress became too much to contain.

Wade being Wade just shrugged. "Pretty sure you weren't raised by Bonnie and Clyde, honey. You'll be fine."

His statement didn't do much to tone down the rackets going on in her nerves. But she'd take it than nothing.

As they walked through the double doors of the building, thoughts of living alone for two weeks traveled a thousand miles away from her head.

Wade held her hand as they stepped and ambled on the dark, marble floors. Huff. Wade ambled. Megan penguined, sweat and gulped as she tried to stop herself from looking around and to look like the sophisticated wife everyone expected Wade Simon's— the global (and bed) dominator— wife to be.