He hates being wrong. It's the first thought that crosses his mind when he sees her at the end of the aisle. Well, the second thought after holy shit.
He had all but convinced himself there was no way these supposed experts would get anything correct about what he would want in a partner.
But apparently, they've managed to get at least one thing disturbingly right.
She is beautiful. If someone had asked him to describe on paper what he found physically attractive in a mate (which is technically exactly what the "experts" had made him do), he never would have even been able to dream her up. Dark waves tumbling down over her shoulders, fully pouty lips curved into a shy smile, large expressive brown eyes practically twinkling as she moves down the aisle toward him. And she is so much better than anything he could have imagined. She is perfect.
"Wow," Angela breathes from her spot flanking his side, "You are one lucky dog, Tim."
Her words pull Tim from his reverie. He blinks.
Yes, sure, she is pretty. Beyond pretty even. But this is LA. And they are on a reality TV show. It's not a shocker that she's attractive. And there are plenty of attractive women, plenty of women he personally finds attractive. But that hardly means he wants to marry them. Physical attraction is only one part of a very complex equation.
Tim continues to observe his bride-to-be as she continues down the aisle, setting aside the intensity of his initial physical response to her to more critically evaluate the rest.
She seems… young. Or maybe it's just that her energy is youthful. Maybe late 20s or early 30s if he had to guess. And though a decade, give or take a few years, isn't a completely ridiculous age gap, it's large enough to give him pause — large enough to guarantee that they are at very different points in their lives. She's likely a few years out of grad school and he's a few years out of a decade-long marriage. It feels like an almost insurmountable distance already.
As she gets closer to him, Tim is immediately drawn to her wide brown eyes; they are broadcasting her emotional state for everyone to see — some combination of eager and excited and nervous. The polar opposite of the cool and guarded expression he is careful to keep on his own face.
Angela turns to look at him, clearly trying to gauge his reaction before she whacks him with her bouquet and hisses, "That is your soon-to-be wife, Tim, not your new Boot, so maybe chill out with the death glare. You shouldn't be trying to intimidate her."
Tim ignores her; he begs to differ. This woman is supposed to be his wife. Chosen by supposed experts to be his life partner, his perfect other half. He is sure as hell going to be assessing whether she measures up to his standards. The fact that he already knows all of this is bullshit honestly just makes him that much more inclined to prove it.
When she reaches the end of the aisle, she stops in front of him and tilts her head to smile up at him in this sweet, hopeful kind of way that he simultaneously finds both incredibly endearing and incredibly irritating. She's looking at him like he holds her fate in his hands, and she is counting on him not to fuck it up. And it makes him feel… something.
Mostly, averse to the idea that she already has expectations of him, already seems to think that he owes her something. But there's also something else — less intense, but still present — an inexplicable pulling sensation surging up through his core — a ridiculous urge to avoid disappointing this literal stranger.
Her smile falters briefly under the intensity of his gaze, but she forges onward. "Hi, I'm Lucy," she offers with a bouncy little wave.
She's so… bubbly.
He frowns and nods. "Tim," he offers simply before turning his attention to the officiant that is trying to get the ceremony underway.
When it comes time for them to recite their vows, her hands are trembling so hard that she's having difficulty unfolding the piece of paper in her hands. She laughs softly, her cheeks flushing and eyes dropping as she tries to secure her hold. He feels a strange compulsion to reach out and close his hands over hers, to steady her. He doesn't.
She stops fumbling with the paper and ultimately decides to shove it… somewhere… he's not entirely sure where… but it disappears amidst the folds of her dress. And when she looks back up at him, he has to swallow because damn she is pretty.
"I'm sorry. I'm just a little nervous. This is really crazy." She pauses as if wondering if he might say something, and, at odds with almost every single instinct in his body, a small part of him wants to reassure her. He doesn't.
He stares back at her, simply forcing a stiff nod so she'll move on and they can this whole dumb charade over with. Her face falls for a fraction of a second, but it's enough for him to notice. Enough for him to feel a twinge in his gut. And that only serves to increase his aggravation. Since when does he give a damn if he's made someone feel the teensiest bit uncomfortable?
"Okay, then," she draws the 'okay' out in a way that hints at the fact that she isn't particularly impressed. He has to stop himself from smirking in response to the glimmer of sass. But good. She shouldn't be impressed. He's not trying to impress her. Not after knowing her for all of thirty seconds.
Besides, he's always found that it's best to set expectations right from the beginning. He isn't going to fawn all over her and bend over backward to comfort her just because her pretty brown eyes seem to be pleading for exactly that. And he certainly isn't going to be all lovey-dovey and gooey-eyed toward a woman he's never met purely based on a panel of dumb reality TV hacks suggesting they belong together. And if that's what she's expecting… well, best to get the disappointment out of the way then.
She may not actually be one of his boots, but, in a way, is this really that different? Like them, she's going to have to prove to him that she is worth his time and energy.
She clasps her hands together and takes a deep breath before lifting her eyes to his. "I know I don't know you, and that this — all of this — is really freaking weird. But I want you to know that you — the idea of you — a partner to share my life with is something that I've thought a lot about…"
Oh good lord. She is really going for it. She rambles on about hope, and friendship, and the things that had led them here to take this crazy leap together. Something about being here for this journey, however it turns out. And he honestly has to force himself to tune out so he doesn't roll his eyes or vocally scoff to express his derision. He had been hoping to keep this part short and sweet.
He feels Angela digging her elbow into his side and he suddenly realizes that all eyes are on him. It must be his turn to recite his vows. He glances toward the girl — Lucy? Was that her name? And he's momentarily struck again by how expressive her large brown eyes are. Can see the unmistakable glimmer of hurt and disappointment in them before she blinks it away.
And even that flicker is enough for him to know that he really doesn't like seeing her look at him like that. Doesn't like the way it makes him feel at all. Great. Just great. Just one more annoying thing — apparently he's going to feel like he's kicked a goddamn puppy every time her feelings get hurt.
Of course, he would end up paired with possibly the most earnest woman on earth. Why couldn't she just be here for the opportunity to shill more shit on Instagram or ClopTik or whatever the hell else the youth are on these days like every other 20-something that comes on this show?
He forces out a few sentences that he vaguely hopes pass muster, but the disbelieving look on his bride's face and the aggravated sigh from Angela are likely good indicators that they don't. Genny doesn't look any happier in the first row. Whatever. He'd randomly thrown in some of the same words — hope, journey, future. Blah, blah, blah. Was he really expected to deliver some heartfelt speech to this random woman as part of this sacrilegious farce? Come on.
The officiant moves forward with the ceremony and… shit. He hadn't even thought about this part. Hell, if he'd given much thought to any of this at all — the actual tactics of wedding a stranger, he never would have made it this far.
Is he actually supposed to kiss her? This total and complete stranger that seems to be channeling actual emojis for her facial expressions — a journey from heart eyes to sad eyes that he honestly could have done without.
And at the moment it's definitely the one with the furrowed angry eyebrows — she's somehow even cuter when she's pissed — but that's neither here nor there. It's more than clear that she doesn't want him anywhere near her. This is so damn weird. He feels like he's assaulting her or something. But the officiant has said the words, and everyone is staring at them, and her cheeks are starting to color as she waits without meeting his eyes.
And there is no way he can kiss her if she's not at least looking at him. This is the absolute worst.
He takes a deep breath and then lifts his hand to tilt her chin up so that he can see her eyes. It's then that he realizes why she had stopped looking at him. Fuck. She's crying. Not in a super obvious way. Just a few gigantic tears catching in her lashes like she's some kind of Disney princess (or one of the sad crying emojis) before they roll down her cheeks.
Tim sighs; it doesn't feel great — seeing how upset she is. But it's not like he's over here having the time of his life either. And in a way, isn't it better that it happens now? She's going to have to accept that this process is nonsense reality TV garbage at some point. And, even if, by some ridiculous and unlikely turn of events, they do manage to forge some kind of connection, she needs to know who he is — needs to know that he has no interest in riding in on a white horse for anyone. Not anymore.
And yet… his thumb seems to be moving over her cheek of its accord, collecting her tears and surprising them both. It's gotta be those damn eyes of hers. Sucking him in. Begging him to take care of her.
But for whatever he thinks her eyes may be begging him to do, the rest of her is most certainly not on board. He dips his head to brush his lips against hers, intending to keep it simple and brief. But apparently, she's decided it couldn't possibly be brief enough, turning her face so that he barely even catches the corner of her mouth. Thankfully, it's at an angle where most of the room (and hopefully the cameras) will just see an awkward first kiss that ends a little abruptly.
But for Tim and those gathered around the altar, it's absolutely clear what it is. A flat-out rejection. The officiant laughs uncomfortably.
And Tim has to admit, it stings a little bit. It's not like he was super keen on kissing her either, but he had at least expected that, like him, she would go along just to get it done. But it also kind of makes him want to laugh out loud.
Apparently, it has the same effect on Angela because he hears her snort with laughter behind him. "She is not buying what you're selling, Bradford."
Their blissful union is announced to the room and then Tim watches as his lovely new wife storms back down the aisle, her Man of Honor in tow. Apparently, she's decided the recessional is optional, too. He shrugs; at least it'll make for good TV.
Lucy makes a beeline for her dressing room after the ceremony. She needs space. And she needs her best friend.
She'd gotten used to being followed by the camera crew during the filming of the match process and pre-wedding prep, but it still really weirds her out. She tries to block it out. Reality TV or not, this is her actual life. And she really did just get married.
And suddenly it's achingly clear that all of the people that had warned her not to do this had been completely right. Her parents had been completely right. Ugh.
When she had initially seen him at the end of the aisle, she had dug her fingers into Jackson's arm in disbelief, her heart had leapt into her throat, and her entire body had begun to tingle with excitement and anticipation. He was beautiful. Absolutely one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. So good-looking she had to wonder if he might be an actor slash model looking to revive his career. A very real possibility given she had chosen to put her fate into the hands of the reality TV gods.
But the tingles gave way to a cold wave of discomfort when the intensity of his stare hadn't relented as she progressed down the aisle; he was glowering at her like she was some kind of enemy combatant. There was no shy or welcoming smile waiting for her. No kind eyes.
He'd been so… cold.
Jackson had stiffened, hissing into her ear, "I think I might know him. From work."
And she had thrown him a panicked look, needing to know more, wanting to know if she should turn on her heel and run back down the aisle. But halfway down the aisle was hardly the time or place for a conversation.
But now she is absolutely wishing she had just bolted.
He hadn't even listened to the vows she had spent literal hours working to perfect. Words were her livelihood, her love language, her chosen medium for expressing her most authentic self. So of course she had wanted to craft the perfect message for someone that she didn't know yet, but could very well change the trajectory of the rest of her life. She had shared parts of herself and her dreams and hopes for the future, and at one point she could swear that he had actually rolled his eyes.
He'd been so… dickish.
This may very well be one of the biggest mistakes of her life, and that is saying something because she is no stranger to making mistakes. God, why had she stupidly and naively let herself float away with the romantic fantasy of finally meeting who she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with?
Maybe if she'd kept herself a bit more grounded, the realization that he is a complete and total jerk wouldn't sting so much. But she had never even expected to make it into the selection process at all, even with Sterling's connections paving her way. And then when she'd gone through the matchmaking process, she had still kept her expectations on the floor. What was the chance they would actually end up finding a match for her out of the hundreds of other people that had made it that far?
But when she'd gotten the call — been told they had found a perfect partner for her, it was then that she had started to really hope. Seven out of ten couples made it out of this thing to their happily ever after. Why shouldn't she have been excited and eager to meet the man they had selected for her?
Only now… she is overwhelmed by the certainty that this can't be right. There's no way anyone could have thought that this man could possibly be the right partner for her.
She flops onto the couch in her dressing room. "He's an asshole. I married an asshole," she declares miserably to the ceiling. And sure it's a little dramatic, but it's true, and they are making a TV show — may as well milk her misery for somebody's benefit.
Tamara and Jackson exchange looks. Tamara speaks first, "Well… you know… sometimes first impressions can be wrong. I mean — look at me and you. Did you really think we'd end up here after I stole your car?"
Lucy sighs and props herself up on her elbow so she can meet Tamara's eyes. "That's completely different. Besides, aren't you one of the many people that told me this was a stupid idea? I should have listened to you."
Tamara nods, "Well, yeah… you should have, but it seems like the wrong time to say 'I told you so'."
Lucy rolls her eyes.
"But… on the bright side," Tamara continues, "At least he's hot. I mean — a total Zaddy. If I were your age, I would totally —"
"Tamara!" Lucy and Jackson snap in horrified unison.
Tamara laughs.
"A total what?" Lucy mutters glancing toward Jackson who just shrugs.
"Lucy," he offers softly. "I'm so sorry. I know that didn't go how you were hoping it would."
She arches an eyebrow as if to say 'no shit' and he laughs.
"Okay, I know that objectively kind of sucked and he does, indeed, appear to be kind of an asshole."
He reaches over to squeeze her arm, "But… let me do some digging at work and see what I can find out about him for you. And Tamara's right." Jackson sighs, looking conflicted, "Look, Lucy, on one hand, you're in this and I think it probably is worth keeping an open mind for a little bit longer. This whole thing is pretty extreme and weird; maybe it'll be different when you guys spend time together one-on-one. I'd love for you to get something positive out of this experience, even if it's not the love of your life.
"On the other hand, I know you. I know you always see the good in people, and this guy is clearly capable of being a massive dick. So maybe just keep your guard up for a while. I don't want to see you get hurt."
Lucy nods just as someone knocks on the door. A production assistant informs Lucy that as much as they've enjoyed this theatrical detour, it is time for her to go where she was supposed to go after the ceremony — to film a private toast with her new husband in their hotel room. Lucy feels her stomach drop — obviously, the film crew will be in attendance for their "private" toast, but she's not loving the idea of having to spend the night alone with this man after the reception.
She steels herself. Jackson's right; she can't turn back time so she may well attempt to keep an open mind. And she's a lot of things, but she is most definitely not a quitter.
Tim gazes out over the city from the balcony of the honeymoon suite he is theoretically supposed to be sharing with his new bride. He can't help but think if she had run off just a little sooner, this whole debacle could be over for them both.
Angela and Genny had been none too happy with him after the ceremony.
He had tried to be antagonistic, shrugging and asking what they had expected after they had practically forced them into this. But of course, he had been called on his bullshit, neither quite believing he was idiotic or stubborn enough to go this far just to prove them wrong, insisting that part of him had to believe there was a possibility this could work. That maybe even a small part of him wanted it to work.
And then they had piled on the guilt — what about that poor girl? She put her life on hold for this experience, hoping to fall in love. How could he possibly be so selfish?
Why did it seem like everyone kept doing that — why was he suddenly responsible for this girl's emotional well-being? He can't do anything about what she had hoped for. It's not his fault she had unrealistic expectations and ended up disappointed. He sighs, trying to block out the image of her sad eyes in his head. Those damn eyes.
He shakes himself. Besides, she's gorgeous and young and he has no doubt she'll have no problem meeting someone on her own if (or, more likely, when) this whole thing doesn't work out.
"Isn't it better that she's disappointed now rather than me faking it for eight weeks only to dump her at the end?" he had tried.
"No, Tim. It would be better if you would get your head out of your ass and actually give this a real try." Angela had insisted.
"She's not some random gir— woman, Tim." Genny had corrected pointedly, clearly attempting to shift how Tim was talking about her. "She was selected specifically for you via a process that has been proven to work — aren't you even the slightest bit curious as to why?"
And though he hadn't been willing to admit it, yes, of course, he's a little bit curious. Who wouldn't be?
He feels muddled.
The further into the ceremony they had gotten, the more the bad taste in his mouth around this whole thing had grown. Going through the motions of a ritual and traditions that are supposed to mean something — rituals and traditions that had meant something to him felt even more wrong than he had anticipated it would. Like he was disrespecting the very real love and commitment that had existed when he and Isabel had gotten married. The whole thing was actually kind of disgusting when he really thought about it.
But then there was his bride — unquestionably there for the right reasons. Looking up at him with a genuine hopefulness and excitement that, while maybe a little (or a lot) naive, could not have been further from disrespectful or disgusting. He's not entirely sure how he should be feeling about any of this. He thinks again how much easier this would have been if he had just been paired up with a damn influencer.
The door to the hotel room slams shut and Tim turns so he can see into the room. A PA who appears to be in his early 30s is trailing Lucy into the suite, and Tim almost laughs out loud at just how obviously enamored with her the man is. Not that he can blame him. She says something and starts to laugh and Tim blinks, realizing that the PA is not the only one looking at her like she's the prettiest thing he's ever seen.
The PA, whose name is apparently Brad, gives Lucy the same spiel Tim had gotten about the stationary cameras and markings on the floor indicating where they need to be to stay in frame. The crew won't be there for their toast; they want things to be more "organic" for their first post-ceremony interaction. But of course, there's also a sheet of prompts affixed to the cocktail table, should they be unclear on what they are expected to talk about.
Brad holds up a mic pack, says something Tim can't hear, and then circles around her to attach it low on Lucy's hips, his hands brushing over the curve of her ass as he adjusts its placement.
He clenches his jaw, eyes narrowing. His PA had let him put his mic pack on himself, though, to be fair, it was easier to clip it onto the back of his pants under his jacket than to do the weird loopy belt thing they are having to do to attach it around Lucy's dress. And Lucy doesn't appear to be bothered. This guy has likely been her PA for a few weeks now, through the match process and pre-wedding stuff. He relaxes. It's probably fine. And she's a big girl. She can handle herself.
But he continues to watch them closely. The PA walks around to her front with the actual mic in his hand and he moves to clip it onto the front of her dress.
Lucy seems surprised when he reaches toward her chest, a tiny yelp of protest escaping her as she steps back out of his reach, and her reflexes are fast, arm coming up to deflect his advance midway through the air.
She laughs, but this time it's more uncomfortable than genuine and she's still smiling, but it's a little tighter now. She holds out her palm, "I think I can do that part myself." Her demeanor is still pleasant, but her tone is firm and her eyes are steely. Huh. Tim thinks. Maybe she can handle herself.
Tim steps into the room and clears his throat when Brad doesn't immediately drop the mic into Lucy's waiting palm. They both startle, swiveling to look at him. "Everything okay?" He stares directly at the PA, and it seems to jar him into motion.
He places the mic into Lucy's palm and nods at Tim. "Everything's great. Just gotta test the mic, and I'll leave you to it."
Lucy turns away from them both as she works to attach the mic to the neckline of her dress
When Brad finally leaves the room, Tim turns to Lucy. "I think you should request a new PA."
Her eyes look momentarily troubled, but then she simply nods.
"Think I can request a new husband, too?" she deadpans.
He arches an eyebrow. "Be my guest," he sweeps his arm in a grand gesture toward the door. Though, if he's honest, he's not hating the small glimpses of fire he's getting amidst the sweet hair twirling and giant tears.
She sighs, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't — that was rude." She takes a deep breath and flashes him a big smile, holding her hand out to him. "Maybe we should just start over? Hi! I'm Lucy."
And apparently, she's back to channeling sunshine and rainbows.
The rest of the evening passes about as awkwardly as one would expect. And though he's hardly being warm and fuzzy, Lucy is grateful that Tim appears to be making an effort to be less of an asshole.
They take their wedding photos and even though Lucy's heart just about hammers out of her chest every time Tim is instructed to place a hand on her hip or his fingers press gently against her lower back to guide her closer or even anytime they are forced to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes, it is pretty much impossible for either of them to relax enough to take any photos that aren't completely stiff and obviously staged. And she is mortified at the fact that there is no way he isn't noticing the way her breath catches or her skin prickles every time he gets close to her.
It's infuriating, really. She doesn't even actually like him. But her body, apparently, has decided otherwise.
During the reception, she chats with Tim's family and friends and they honestly all seem quite lovely — it kind of makes her wonder what they must see in Tim.
And to his credit, she does see Tim with Jackson and her Aunt Amy and a few other friends from grad school and work, so at least he seems to be making some level of effort.
The first dance is pretty much as painful as the photo shoot, if not a little worse because of the sheer volume of witnesses. He's a decent dancer, but they aren't quite in sync with each other. Probably because they've started to make avoiding direct eye contact an art form. They unabashedly scramble back from each other as soon as the song is over.
But, for some reason, by the time they are cutting the cake, Tim is flat-out scowling. He breaks for the terrace the minute they set the knife down, clearly ready to film their required nightcap so they can finally bring the night to an end. And she doesn't disagree — she's tired and feeling a bit on edge too, but she's not entirely sure why he seems so angry and tense again.
She gives grateful (and slightly desperate) hugs goodbye to Jackson and Tamara and her Aunt before heading to the bar to grab a glass of champagne.
She finds Tim standing at the balcony on the terrace of the reception hall with a glass of whiskey. He eyes her wearily as the crew sets up to film their final conversation of the night, but joins her on the balcony swing when directed. They make meaningless small talk and then have a generally pleasant, but boring conversation about where they grew up, what parts of LA they live in, where they went to school, and so on.
When the crew finally packs up, they both heave sighs of relief and take long swigs of their drinks. At least the made-for-TV part of their day is finally over.
For whatever reason, neither makes a move to leave the swing after the crew departs. They sit quietly together staring out at the view and sipping their drinks, both attempting to process the reality of what had happened today.
Tim's eyes lazily drift over her. He'd been so mesmerized by her earlier, that he hadn't paid much attention to her dress. A simplicity that suits her, that doesn't do anything to pull attention away from the woman that is actually wearing the gown. A slit that has been pulling his eye to her shapely leg all night. A cut that isn't particularly revealing but leaves no doubt that she has curves in all of the right places. His eyes linger probably just a moment too long at the neckline, where the swell of her breasts peeking out make it difficult for him to look away.
When his eyes finally meet hers and she flushes, he realizes he's been pretty unabashed in his perusal of her body. Oh well. He lifts the glass of whiskey to his lips, not breaking eye contact as he takes a long, slow sip. He's admittedly curious to see how she'll respond — if she feels the physical chemistry between them as much as he does. And for a moment when she steadily holds his gaze and her own eyes darken just the slightest bit to reflect her own interest, there's a spark.
But then, just as quickly, she shyly drops her eyes and begins fidgeting in her seat as she switches the position she is sitting in. His eyes widen when the slit of the dress follows her movement and exposes practically the entire length of her perfect leg, and Tim is sucked right back in. Fuck.
"Shit," Lucy gasps, moving to shift herself and the fabric of the dress back into a less indecent position. She giggles nervously, "Sorry. I — uh, I haven't worn this dress before." Her eyes are sparkling with her laughter when she looks up at him expectantly, as if she is waiting for him to join her.
A crease forms on Tim's forehead and he stares at her for a moment like he's trying to puzzle something out. But then he just shakes his head and sighs, turning his gaze away from her and out toward the skyline. He's been back and forth all night on whether she is the sexiest woman he's ever seen or whether she is just far too sweet and silly and all around Little Miss Sunshine for his taste, regardless of the level of physical attraction he feels toward her. He's starting to get a pretty solid gut feeling about where the pendulum is going to end up.
"You live with a teenager?" he asks incredulously.
Lucy frowns, "Lived with, and it's a little more complicated than that, but yes."
For a little bit, Tim had been looking at her in a way that had made her think this night may finally be making a turn in a different direction. But now, as she watches him nod slowly, she can practically see him filing the judgment away for later. What a pompous, arrogant… She doesn't even feel compelled to try and correct the misunderstanding.
Tim gets up from the swing and moves to stand at the balcony, again lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips as he looks out over the city. And for a moment, Lucy is transfixed by his profile, eyes following the perfect cut of his jawline.
And he's also a massive dick, she reminds herself. She's trying to keep an open mind and give him the benefit of the doubt. There has to be some reason they were paired together, some reason someone thought he was right for her. But the superior way he keeps looking at her — like he's somehow evaluating her and has already decided that she can't possibly be good enough — it's really making it hard to suppress her urge to punch him in the face and instead keep a sweet smile plastered to her face.
He turns to face her, leaning back against the balcony. And even his posture is cocky.
"So what made you want to do this?"
It's blunt. To the point. And a question that Lucy absolutely knew she would have to answer. They'd even had a bland version of this conversation earlier on camera where neither had been particularly forthcoming. And though she had never intended to reveal her real reasons on camera, she had thought that maybe it would be something she might share with her partner one-on-one. At least some of it. But she isn't ready. She doesn't actually know this man, and the little she does know has done nothing to make her want to open up. It's done the complete opposite.
She shrugs, looking away from him out toward the city before she responds. "Just got tired of trying to date in LA, I guess; I had a pretty terrible date that kind of put me off of dating for a bit and realized I might have to take some drastic measures if I didn't want to be alone forever." She forces a laugh.
There — it's not a total lie. Not the total truth either, but it's good enough for now.
Unsurprisingly, he doesn't look particularly impressed with her answer. "What did you say you do again? A reporter?"
And maybe if he'd asked the question a little less snidely, Lucy would feel hopeful about the idea that he's actually asking her questions in an attempt to get to know her. Instead, she is pretty certain he's just attempting to validate his assessment that she couldn't possibly be right for him. And it hurts a little more than she's willing to admit.
She exhales an annoyed sigh. "No. I'm a journalist, an investigative journalist," she corrects tersely.
He looks skeptical, as if questioning whether there's actually a difference. "Have you worked on anything I'd know?"
And she has to dig her nails into her palm as she forms a fist to resist smacking the smug superiority right off of his face. How on earth had she been paired with this shithole?
"Well… that depends… do you read?" She tilts her head and smiles so sweetly at him it's practically saccharine. Maybe Pollyanna does have a bit of bite to her, after all.
He gives her a forced sarcastic smile back, "Only when I have to."
Her lips twitch the slightest bit and again his eyes are drawn to her perfect pout. He'd overheard Nyla and Angela gushing about how they would kill for her lips during the reception and had promptly rolled his eyes and tuned it out. But now he's thinking that maybe they had a point.
"I worked on a piece a few years ago that got a bit of attention; an investigation into one of the cartels responsible for a lot of the drug trade here in LA."
Tim stiffens. "You're the reporter that went undercover in the Solanga cartel?"
Lucy nods. "So you know it then?"
Oh, he knows it, all right. The article in question had generated a public outcry that rained a shitstorm of upheaval on the department. How exactly had a 20-something woman from the Times single-handedly done more to curb the drug trade in LA in eight weeks than the LAPD and DEA had done jointly over years and at the expense of millions in funding? The people had a right to know apparently.
If that wasn't bad enough, her takedown may have been great for flashy headlines and some pointless medals and plaques, but it had also destabilized the entire underbelly of the drug trade in LA, giving rise to a violent drug war that had cost countless lives and had almost gotten his best friend and soon-to-be godson killed.
And sure, maybe she wasn't technically to blame for everything that happened in the aftermath. And maybe there was some validity to the cry for accountability and results that had finally forced the brass to cut through the bureaucratic bullshit that had stalled the progress of the joint LAPD DEA task force.
But she had still been the lead domino. It was her story that had put into motion the perfect storm that had led to one of the worst periods in his life.
The destabilization of the cartels had put many of the LAPD's undercover operations at risk. And though he's not entirely sure when Isabel started using, he has to believe that the stress had only done more to push her over the edge. Their relationship had begun to crumble. And even though Tim has mostly accepted that the path he and Isabel ended up on was probably inevitable, he'd be lying if he said there hasn't always been a vague whisper in the back of his head that has questioned whether things could have turned out differently. If maybe just one of those things had lined up differently — if Isabel hadn't been put under so much additional strain and if he just hadn't been so fucking wrapped up with the political shitstorm at work, the drug war, and then ultimately the search for Angela after her abduction, maybe he would have been able to be there for his wife when she needed him.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
He grits his teeth. "Yeah. You could say that."
Confusion fills her eyes and Tim can't help but think again how he can read every damn emotion she's feeling with just a glance.
And, at the moment, it's infuriating. He doesn't want to be concerned about whether she's confused or whether her feelings are hurt right now. He wants to be fucking angry. Angry that she wrote that stupid article when she did probably just so she could win some stupid award and bask in the spotlight and glory of her success. Angry that he's here at all and not living the life he had dreamed of for himself and Isabel. And angry that he'd somehow ended up married to this woman, of all people.
"Do you always have to fucking do that?" he snaps, eyes boring into hers, willing her to just stop looking at him like that.
Lucy swallows and now she looks a little scared, too. "Do what?"
Dammit. He turns and strides across the terrace and sucks in a breath of fresh air. He needs to not be looking at her for a second. His shoulders tense when he hears her approaching from behind him. She pauses a few feet away.
"I'm confused. Did I say or do something that made you angry?" her voice is uncertain.
He swipes his hand over his face and takes another deep inhale before turning to face her, eyes blazing with his fury. "That article had some pretty serious repercussions for people that I care about."
"Oh." It's all she says for a moment and she drops her gaze to the ground. And when she looks up, she looks genuinely sad. "I'm sorry."
And it is maybe the last thing he had expected her to say. Because who even does that? Just apologizes without any questions or defense or qualification? Seems to be actually sad for people and reasons she doesn't know anything about. This girl is something else.
He watches as she turns away from him and walks back into the ballroom. He turns to look out at the skyline, his anger already beginning to fade. On some level, he knows she was just doing her job. That it's actually absurd to blame her for any of what had happened between him and Isabel. But it doesn't make him feel any less resentful in this moment.
And on some other level, he's also a bit stunned — he had pretty much written this woman off as someone whose biggest problem was getting a brunch reservation. And now he's trying to reconcile the tiny, bubbly woman he had just married to a woman that had spent months successfully infiltrating and taking down a violent cartel. Clearly, there's more to her than meets the eye.
He's less angry but still frustrated by the time they both ultimately end up back in the suite. She hasn't said a word to him and is clearly attempting to keep her distance (or at least as much distance as she can, given this ridiculous situation), and for that, at least, he is grateful.
She wanders out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still fully dressed and chewing on her bottom lip, her uncertainty evident in her eyes.
Tim feels yet another flare of annoyance rise up, hating that her mannerisms suddenly seem so meek and insecure to him.
He waits, his irritation only growing as she hovers awkwardly for a few more moments. He rolls his eyes, "Do you need something?"
Her gaze drops and Tim immediately feels regret; he thinks back to what had happened with the PA that afternoon. She's clearly uncomfortable around him and in this situation and he's doing the absolute least to put her at ease. He presses his eyes closed and takes a deep breath, reminding himself that it's not her fault he's here. And that it can't be easy for any woman to step into a situation like this without some level of apprehension. He's a literal stranger and she's alone in this hotel room with him.
He tries again, voice a little softer this time, "Are you okay?"
She nods, lifting her gaze to his again, "Sorry — I'm not trying to be weird. This is all just —" She swallows and for a minute Tim thinks she might cry. For the love of God.
But she doesn't, instead sucking in a breath and standing up a little bit straighter. "I can't undo the back of this dress by myself — could you help me, please?"
Tim's eyes widen briefly, but he nods, "Uh yeah. Yes. Of course."
He crosses over to her and she turns so her back is to him, pulling her hair to one side over her shoulder. His eyes are automatically drawn to the ink on her neck. He's never gotten a tattoo; has never found them particularly appealing. But somehow on her…
His fingers brush against the skin of her back as begins to undo the top button, and he swears that she shivers in response to the touch, goosebumps prickling up over her skin.
And there must be a million buttons all the way down to the curve of her ass.
But he works diligently, trying to ignore the sensation that there is suddenly less oxygen in the room with every inch of additional bare skin that he exposes.
The dress starts to fold open the further down he goes and his eyes flit to another tattoo on her side when it is exposed. This one is different from the ones on her neck and wrist, not artistic or beautiful, but instead very basic, even maybe a little ugly. He can't see it all, but as far as he can tell, it seems to be some random combination of letters and numbers.
He turns his attention back to the task at hand, eyes following the curve of her lower back until he finally reaches the final button. His fingers linger against her skin for maybe just a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he pulls back.
"All done," he croaks, face flushing at the unexpected crack in his voice.
She releases her hair, hands shifting to clutch the front of her dress in place as she glances over her shoulder at him. "Thank you," she says softly, gazing up at him through her lashes as she turns to face him. And this time when she bites her lip, he isn't thinking about how childish or awkward it makes her seem, he's thinking about how unbelievably sexy this woman is and how soft her lips might feel against his own.
Her eyes are still locked on his, and they both know it's been too long. Too long for them to both be standing here like this staring at each other without any words.
Tim shakes himself, swallowing before offering, "Uh — let me know if you need anything else."
She nods and then turns away from him to head back into the bathroom.
He tears his gaze from her, knowing that seeing any more of her as she moves is only going to make him want things that would make this situation even more complicated than it already is. It is absolutely not an option.
He flops back onto the bed. No matter how complicated his feelings are toward her right now, he can't deny that, like it or not, there is some kind of pull between them. He heaves a deep sigh, wondering again just what the fuck he has gotten himself into.
