Hi. Marry Me Page 7

  “Eh,” she continued, after clearing her throat. “Um, I know that I don’t really wear mustard—or maroon—”

  “Fine, fine,” said the consultant. “We’ll put you in green, I think,” she said, after spending a moment stroking her chin and staring at Diana until Diana was very uncomfortable. “Emerald,” she said, very decidedly. “Or maybe sage, if we feel like really pushing the envelope. Although, of course, it all depends on what your husband is wearing. We need the two of you to look like a matching set, particularly tonight, given the theme of the occasion.”

  “Why do I have to match him?” asked Diana petulantly.

  The consultant stared at her. “Because the theme of the evening is—”

  “No, no, I get that,” said Diana. “But why can’t he just wear something that coordinates with my gown?”

  There was a brief silence.

  “I mean, he’s got ties in every color of the rainbow, so in theory, I could just pick whatever I like, and then he’d just wear—say—a green tie.”

  “We can do that, Mrs. Miran,” said the consultant. She made huge eyes at the hairdresser, who raised her eyebrows as if to say we’ve got a difficult one over here.

  “I’m not being difficult, I just don’t want to set a precedent,” said Diana.

  “Of course not, honey,” said the hairdresser bracingly. “Let’s talk about your hair.”

  An hour later, after the aesthetician had swooped in as well, Diana had been scraped and scrubbed and plucked and waxed and painted until she hardly recognized herself. The hairdresser had snipped at her hair, blithely ignoring Diana’s protests. She’d then teased and braided Diana’s long black hair until it sat close to her head in a sleek yet voluminous knot. It made Diana’s neck look lengthy—swanlike. Accentuating the illusion was the bright white dress Diana’s stylist had eventually landed upon.

  “Bridal, you know,” she said winningly. “And your dark skin will set it off just beautifully.”

  Diana couldn't argue with the logic. When her husband came out of his consultation with the stylist sporting a black tux, she understood. It was a little over the top and obvious for her liking, but she understood.

  “Well, honey,” she said, emphasizing the word. “I suppose we didn’t look the part on our actual wedding day.”

  “So we’re doing it now,” said Tony with a wink. “Makes sense to me.”

  “Makes sense to me as well, even if it seems a little ham-fisted.”

  “Hey,” said Tony, acting playfully hurt. “We have a real marriage. It’s a thing. But…it doesn’t hurt to really ram the point home.”

  “Publicly.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “In front of the people who subscribe to your app.”

  “We wouldn’t exclude them, no.”

  “And the stockholders, of course.”

  “Are you objecting to this treatment?”

  Diana smiled. “No. But I vowed to be your wife, and part of that includes making fun of you and making your life difficult from time to time.”

  “Oh, does it?” Tony grimaced.

  “Yes. Didn’t you know what you were signing yourself up for?” Diana dimpled.

  “Apparently not.” But then he looked at her with admiration. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful today?”

  Diana stopped.

  “You’ve never told me that I look beautiful,” she said, carefully.

  “Shame on me, then,” said Tony. He took a step closer to her. “You look like a living lily,” he said.

  Diana blushed. “Well—” she said.

  She was cut off. “Your limo has arrived, said the stylist without looking up from her phone.

  “Okay, it’s game time,” said Tony briskly. “Diana, do you have your things?”

  Diana had been given an impossibly small leather clutch in which to hold her phone and chapstick. Other than that she was bringing very little. “Um—I think so.”

  “Then let’s get to the limo,” Tony said. “Ladies! Thank you so much for your services today. Your fee and a large gratuity has just been sent to each of your accounts. We look forward to working with you again,” he said, nodding in turn to the stylist, the hairdresser, and the aesthetician. They smiled and packed up their things.

  Tony and Diana left. Diana looked behind her. “You trust them to just lock up?”

  “Yes,” said Tony. “Miranda, the stylist, has had a key to my place for a while now. Extremely trustworthy. Lovely woman. We’ve had her team on retainer, my crew and I, ever since LoveMatches really took off.”

  Diana couldn't comprehend of such an extravagance.

  “I mean—of course, she takes on other clients,” Tony said practically. “But we pay her enough that if we have some sort of sartorial emergency—which happens more often than you’d think!—she’ll pop out of the woodwork to help it go away. We are extremely indebted to her, and she is beyond suspicion.”

  “I wasn’t suspecting her of anything,” demurred Diana. “I’m just not used to having a staff.”

  “You should probably get used to it,” said Tony. He winked.

  Diana rushed to hurry up with him. “I don’t want to get used to ordering people around.”

  “You don’t have to order people around,” Tony said. “We pay people for things. You only have to ask nicely and be polite.” He smiled and opened the limo door for her.

  Diana half-fell in. She wasn’t used to getting into cars so low to the ground, and her heels were quite tall.

  “Sorry, I suppose I should have helped you in,” said Tony.

  “We’re both getting used to this,” Diana said.

  “Agreed,” said Tony. The limo driver took them into the night.

  When they arrived at the gala some fifteen minutes later, Diana was stricken to see that there was a full, busy red carpet set up, complete with a bustling media presence.

  “Tony,” she said, turning to her husband. “I’ve never walked a red carpet before. Is there anything I need to know? Any super-specific secrets?”

  “Don’t fall,” Tony advised. Diana rolled her eyes. “Well, thanks for that,” she said. “These shoes are very tall.”

  “So take them off.”

  “I think your stylist would have a conniption.”

  “Our stylist,” Tony said, smiling. “And you shouldn’t care what anyone thinks about you.”

  “I thought that’s what tonight was all about? Public perception of us?”

  “Well, we’ve got to care what people think about us,” said Tony. “That’s business. At least, for now. And I promise you won’t fall. Just lean on me. People will just think we’re married or something.”

  Diana glared at him.

  The limo pulled up to the entrance of the red carpet. The driver fought his way to the back door and opened it for them. Instantly a roar swept over them. The crowd was screaming. Diana had had no idea that the CEO of a dating application could inspire crowds of this magnitude.

  “They all love you this much,” Diana said, marveling.

  “I’ve helped them find love,” said Tony, simply. “That’s what most men and women spend a lifetime looking for.”

  Diana supposed this was true. She looked sharply up at him.

  “We’re fortunate, then, that we took a shortcut?”

  “Many would see it that way,” said Tony.

  “It’s our job to sell it, I suppose,” said Diana.

  “Yep,” said Tony, and he grinned. They exited the limo and—without too many stumbles from Diana—made their way down the red carpet. Once they hit the media bubble, Diana began to be besieged with questions. “Diana Miran,” said one, “If that’s your name. Are you planning on changing your name to match your billionaire husbands’? Or are you keeping your own to keep some semblance of your previous identity?”

  Diana hadn't thought of this. She smiled and tried to half-nod.

  “Diana,” shouted another. “Is the rumor that you were paid to wed Ton
y true?”

  This she knew the answer to. She shook her head vehemently and moved on. Tony shot her an appreciative look. He mouthed the words “Thank you” at her. She smiled.

  The media noticed. Diana was beginning to realize that the media would always be watching; that they would always notice. Headlines for days afterward would talk of the obvious and clandestine method the Miran newlyweds had for communicating with each other. Tony and Diana would laugh over this. Clandestine? No—obvious, surely. They'd just been speaking.

  Media confrontation over with, the two entered the party and began conversing with the glitterati. Diana had previously extracted from Tony the promise that she would never be left alone to fend for herself—that he would always be at her elbow to help answer questions she might not know the answer to. He responded to this with a counterargument—mightn’t he leave her with Danny? Surely Danny was to be trusted. Diana was unable to find an issue with this, as she'd met Danny—she had met him on the second night after she and Tony had been married, to great convivial effect—and had liked him both immensely and instantly. He was certainly a trustworthy partner for the evening, if Tony had to be called away to speak with people about financial things.

  “Hey, guys,” Danny said, circling round to meet them as they walked into the gigantic ballroom serving as the venue for the party. “Glad you’re here. It’s been very boring what with the guests of honor being late, and all.”

  “We weren’t late,” said Diana, in her most regal voice.

  “Oh, I know, ‘the queen is never late’ and all that,” said Danny, smirking. “Forgive me. While the rest of us were early—it was very boring. They did open the bar, though, which is why the rest of the board is completely smashed.”

  “Already,” said Tony, bemused.

  “What else did you expect,” said Danny, smiling. “Can I get either of you guys anything?”

  “Gin and tonic,” said Diana.

  “Amaretto sour,” said Tony.

  Danny whisked away.

  Diana turned to Tony. “So, we’re here,” she said.

  “You know, one of the reasons I was attracted to you in the first place was your keen sense of observation,” Tony said.

  “You’re a moron,” said Diana primly.

  “Likely true,” said Tony. “What with your observational skills and all—”

  “So, now that we’re here,” said Diana, talking over him, “what do we have to do?”

  “Well,” said Tony, “we’re going to mingle for a bit—make sure that everyone in this room knows that we’re happily married.”

  At this point in time a gigantic banner with their faces Photoshopped onto it was unfurled over one of the walls. In very large text right next to their faces was written: TONY AND DIANA. HAPPILY MARRIED SINCE 2019.

  “I think they’ll get that,” Diana said, trying her very best not to laugh.

  Tony looked up at the banner ruefully. “I definitely didn’t okay that,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” said Diana, who was flushing from her attempts not to snicker. “It’ll save us some conversation. Whenever people ask what we’re doing here, we can just—point.”

  “Fine, fine,” Tony said. “So—mingling. I’ll give a toast at some point. We’ll pose for the cameras.”

  “Is there a specific time for that?”

  “All night is for posing,” said Tony. To make his point, he threw an arm over her shoulders and pointed them towards a cluster of cameras. “Smile,” he said, through his teeth.

  Diana manufactured a grin.

  Three hours later, their cheeks were hurting from smiling so much.

  “You know, one note that I do remember from my friends who have actually gotten married is that their receptions were a lot like this,” Diana said.

  “You seem to be implying that we haven’t actually gotten married,” said Tony, in a hurt tone of voice.

  “No—I just mean—fancy church wedding, huge reception with guests and champagne and all. And when the couple goes to their reception—it’s all mingling and grinning for cameras and talking to everyone and barely getting a chance to eat. And I know brides definitely have cheek problems for days.”

  “The little known sacrifices of being a bride.”

  Diana snorted.

  Tony studied her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous. But I don’t want to eat—every time I pass a waiter, I just think about getting stuff on my dress.”

  “Fair,” he said. He looked around, and then took a phone out of his pocket. “So,” Tony said, typing quickly, “Do you think you can hold out for fifteen more minutes?”

  “I mean, I was planning on surviving at least that long,” Diana said seriously.

  Tony smirked. “Good to know. In fifteen, meet me out in the limo.”

  Diana looked at her phone. It was getting close to midnight. She gasped. “Wow, it’s almost tomorrow.”

  “You know how time flies when you’re attending an obligatory party thrown in your honor.”

  “When all the attendees are strangers? Sure,” said Diana.

  “Let’s head out there and make the rounds—split up for efficiency—and then meet me at the front, actually, not the limo. It’s probably a good idea if we very publicly leave with each other.”

  Diana laughed at this. “Oh, my gosh, think of the scandal if we didn’t.”

  “I literally just thought of that,” said Tony. “We’ll avoid scandal where we can.”

  “But it’s so much fun.”

  “Not for the stockholders,” said Tony. “Come on. Fourteen more minutes of smalltalk.”

  “Let’s do it.” Diana swept back out into the middle of the room and put on a brave smiling face.

  Precisely fourteen minutes later, the two newlyweds met at the front of the hall.

  “We’ll try to do this as quietly as we can,” said Tony.

  He opened the door and they swept out. Instantly they were tailed by ten cameramen. Diana waved and held on as Tony pulled them both toward the car. Flashbulbs went off all around them. Finally they were both in the limo. Diana relaxed and felt the car pull away from the curb. Then she noticed something.

  The smell of hot pizza.

  “I sent the limo driver for a late night snack,” said Tony lightly. “Want some?” He proffered a box.

  “You know, I think this marriage might work out,” Diana said.

  Chapter 7

  They woke early on Saturday morning. The light was streaming through the windows in both the living room, where Tony was sleeping, and the bedroom, where Diana slept. Diana padded out, wearing a short nightgown and quietly began to put the kettle on for coffee. She drank decaffeinated coffee, and he drank the real version; so, so that they could enjoy their morning beverage at the same time, she pulled out both the coppery French press and the Chem ex. She boiled the water, poured the grounds in the press and over the Chemex filter, and watched the coffee bloom. The apartment began to be filled with the sharp, sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  Diana rummaged through the refrigerator and found some muffins for them to eat with their coffee.

  After this, she hesitantly went over to the couch and leaned over Tony. He was wrapped up in blankets, so just his face was showing. He looked, Diana imagined, as he'd looked when he was a very small boy—vulnerable, relaxed. She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  Tony rolled over. He looked up. In a very sleepy voice, he said, “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey, yourself, sir,” she said, grinning. “Get up.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I made us breakfast and coffee,” she said. “If by ‘making breakfast’, I can say that I took some muffins out of the fridge.”

  “You can say that.”

  “And now, I want to drink coffee and watch the news on the couch. Which is where you are. So. Get up.”

  Tony wrestled himself into a seated position and looked up at her, picking the sleep-crusts out of his eyes.
“Go get the food and coffee and things, I’ll pull up the TV.”

  “Sure, sure,” said Diana. She skipped back to the kitchen, arranged the foodstuffs and the coffee on a tray, and brought it back out to the couch area. She put the tray on the coffee table.

  Tony looked up at her. “Thanks. That smells amazing.”

  “Do you take cream or sugar?” Diana felt oddly formal. She then remembered that she wasn’t wearing any pants.

  “Nah. Do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good, I don’t think there’s any in the fridge. You look like you’re freezing,” Tony said, nodding at her legs. “Come on, the blankets are warm.”

  Diana hesitated for a minute, and then she sank down onto the couch, onto the cushion next to Tony. She pulled the blankets around her and sat with her knees against her chest. Tony handed her one steaming mug of coffee, and she drank.

  As the caffeine coursed through her system, she paradoxically began to relax. Tony’s residual body heat warmed the blankets and made her feel impossibly cozy. They watched and laughed at the news together. It wasn't an awful way to begin the new day.

  When the news program was over, Tony turned to Diana. It felt like such a wonderfully warm and cozy moment—she didn't want it to end. “Hey,” he said, sleepily.

  “Hey yourself,” Diana replied. She finished her coffee.

  “So, as much as I would love to do this all day, I think we have an agenda,” said Tony.

  “Oh,” said Diana. “And what is that?” She thought privately that any plans that they had should probably be cancelled, as they had doubtless been made by previous versions of themselves who had been wildly optimistic and entirely incorrect about their projected levels of energy on a Saturday morning.

  “Well,” said Tony deliberately. “I propose that we go get brunch.”

  “We’ll get dressed first.”

  “If we must,” he said, smiling. “Brunch—and more coffee.”

  “I suppose I can deal with that,” said Diana, yawning deliciously.

  “I suppose you could, probably,” said Tony. “And then—we go house hunting.”