Page 40 of The Wrong Husband

"The PR nightmare is not worth it. Later on, we can say it didn't work out."

Mom nodded. "And when you marry Bianca, we can manage the media fallout."

"Mom, I need you to get used to the idea that I will never marry Bianca."

My mother rolled her eyes. "You both keep breaking up and making up. You can't stay away from each other. But…I'll let that be for now. Oh, and are you making a statement about this clusterfuck?"

"Yeah. I was going to yesterday, but things went a little nuts. Devi put something together that I need to look through and approve."

"You have a damn fine EA, Damian."

I did. But I also knew that Devi was having trouble with my marrying Emilia. She was friends with Bianca.

"Damian, I also highly recommend not going out in public with Emilia," Mom warned me.

I arched an eyebrow in query.

"She's not suited for you, darling."

"What does that mean?"

"She just isn't, Damian. Look at how she dresses, how she behaves. She lacks sophistication."

"I'll clean her up," I assured her and felt a little sick saying that. Who the hell was I to change this woman who seemed pretty content with who she was?

"Think hard about it. The less you both are seen in public, the sooner this will die down and the faster you can get past your Vegas mistake."

Conflicted—that word summarized how I felt about Emilia. She was different to any woman I had ever dated, not just Bianca. Em was passionate about art and completely not about how she looked or what she wore. She didn't give a shit about my money or that I was an Archer. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

I didn’t think she was a mistake. She was just not the kind of woman I ever thought I'd be with. How was it that she and Bianca had been raised in the same house and were so different?

"I'm going to get paint on the rings," she told me when I took her out to lunch at the Fog Harbor Fish House on Pier 39 and asked her what kind of ring she wanted since she didn't want the ones I gave her. "I don't need or want one."

There had been a few people who had snapped pictures once we got here, and I knew by the time we stepped out of the restaurant there would be a couple of paps trying to get a photo of Damian and Emilia Archer. They'd notice she wasn't wearing an engagement ring and wedding band.

The gossip rags had been vicious—not about me but Emilia, like it was entirely her fault that she was married to me. Like she was some jezebel.

I didn't care what anyone said about me or anyone around me. But then I was used to it. I had thick skin, as did Bianca. But Emilia was not part of this world. She'd been thrust into it because I let my temper make me reckless and turn me into an imbecile.

But as I sat here, watching her eat her crab cakes, I wasn't sure if I regretted it entirely. I was attracted to my wife. Even now when she had her hair in a bun with a slender paint brush holding it up.

She was in denim overalls and had thrown a beige button down over it. She wore sneakers that were God knows what color once upon a time, right now they were splattered with paint. Her nails were not manicured, I'd noticed that in Vegas. Now there were specs of paint on her forearms even though her hands were clean.

She had no makeup on. Maybe some colored Chapstick because her lips were pink. Her dark eyes didn't need enhancement.

How had I never noticed her? Sure, she was tiny, but her face had an arresting quality about it—a faraway look as if she wasn't here and was thinking of something else.

"People will notice if you don't have a ring," I stated.

She took a sip of the Sauvignon Blanc I ordered. She had resisted, saying she was going back to work and didn't want to be drunk. I countered that one glass of white wouldn't make her drunk—but I did hope it would make her pliable. My wife was an easy mark when it came to alcohol.

"Argh. I hate people."

I smiled. "Don't like your face plastered all over page six?"

"Is it? God!"

"They still only have a photo of yours from university. But they'll probably catch one today."