Page 17 of The Wrong Husband

I licked my lips. "You can write: Emilia Winters attended the Rhode Island School of Design, where she earned her bachelor's degree in art."

Her eyes shot up as did Damian's. As a surrealism painter, I had honed my skills and developed my unique style amidst the vibrant and creative environment of RISD, one of the country's most prestigious art schools.

"Oh." Devi made a note.

"I work as a buyer—"

"No, you don't," Damian barked. "No mention of Make Me Beautiful."

"Why?" I demanded.

He just raised an eyebrow and I sighed. My mother and sister would fire me as soon as they'd hear about this. Damn it! I'd lose my job. How would I pay my bills? How would I continue to save up money for a master's degree in art at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago?

I dreamed of going to SAIC, which my art teacher had told me would be the perfect environment for me to further explore and expand my surrealist style.

Maybe I could get a job as an art restorer? I had the skills and the experience. I'd done freelance work as an art restorer for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

My finest and most challenging work had been The Grand Canal, Venice by J.M.W. Turner. It was a vibrant watercolor that required careful treatment for paper acidity and pigment fading, ensuring the painting's luminous colors were preserved. I loved every minute of it.

I'd also been on the team that had restored Johannes Vermeer's View of the Delft and the amazing Portrait of a Lady by John Singer Sargent.

Art restoration didn't pay a lot, but it would be a job. It would be something. I'd send an email to Dr. Joachim De Jong, the Dutch director of art restoration at the museum and see if he had funding for another fulltime art restorer.

"Emilia? Darling?" Damian's urgent tone yanked me out of my worries and planning.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay with what we've decided? That Devi will send the announcement to you and me for approval."

"Okay." I wanted to put my head between my knees.

"Can you give her your email address?"

Devi handed me her notepad to me, and I flinched when I saw what she'd written. Spin Damian Archer Marrying The Plain Winters.

She smiled at me when she saw I'd read what she wrote. Again, I wondered what she achieved by doing this.

I jotted down my email address and handed the notepad back to her.

"There will be fallout about you marrying the…other Winters sister." Devi looked at Damian when she spoke.

My husband nodded. "Yeah, make sure you spin this as a whirlwind romance…and whatever happened between Em and me happened after Bianca and I broke up. There was no overlap, make that clear."

He seemed so clinical in how he was giving his instructions that my stomach coiled into a knot. I felt like throwing up. In Vegas it seemed so easy. Just the two of us. All my dreams coming true. Now in the harsh reality of San Francisco, the whole experience felt tawdry, ugly, manufactured.

"Sure. Do you think you should do a couple's photoshoot? Or do you have pictures from Las Vegas? The media will want something." Devi looked at me with a look that said, "We'll have to Photoshop the hell out of you, girl."

"No pictures," Damian shut that down and I felt even smaller.

A woman dressed like Marilyn Monroe who was Elvis's assistant at the chapel had used my phone to take a few pictures of us while we got married. I had looked at them on my flight back home and they were nice. We looked happy. Smiling. Giddy, like we were doing the most exciting thing in the world, like we were doing something Damian wanted as much as I did.

"You have nothing from Vegas?" Devi raised her eyebrows.

"We do but I don't want a photograph of fucking Elvis marrying us anywhere." He glanced at me. "Do you have any photos? I know they took some."

I nodded.

"Delete them," he ordered. "Completely. No cloud, no nothing."