12 His Body Weight

For the second time, I woke up curled into my husband. This time, however, I just close my eyes and go back to sleep. I’m not worried about it being right or wrong. I’m comfortable and warm and sleepy.

Sometime later, I woke to a kiss being placed lightly on my lips. Then another and another, continuing until I open my eyes to see bright blue ones shining above me.

“So I was thinking and I figure Ashton-Moore-Hill sounds better than Moore-Hill-Ashton,” my best friend’s smile is infectious. After not answering for a few seconds, he speaks again, “Although, I guess we could drop one of the two. Or we could be all new-age and keep our own names. Can you enter a name between the hyphens?”

My eyebrow arches as I stare at him. I’m not a morning person. It’s always been something we butted heads about.

He can wake up and be happy and refreshed. My day doesn’t start until after a coffee and a shower usually. Yesterday was a bit of an exception. I was up straight away when I realize what happened.

His smile widens, “You didn’t get any of that.” It wasn’t a question; he knows I hate mornings. He sits back on the folded out bed we slept on last night. Leaning closer to the table, he grabs a mug and extends it to me, “Here, I brought you this.”

I eagerly sit up to take the cup from him when I smell that it’s coffee. If there is one thing that Toph is good at, other than acting, it’s making a cup of coffee. He brews with the best of them.

He watches as I sip, “Do you want to take a shower here or did you want to go back to your place?”

“Mine,” I manage to groan. “I need to phone Riel too. I told her I would last night.”

He nods, his grin unwavering, “I figure, once you get out of bed, you can just pull on a shirt and we’ll head out.”

“Do we have plans?” I ask around a yawn.

Shaking his head, Topher gets up from where he’s sitting next to me, “No, I would like to pick up a few tabloids, though; to see what they’re saying about you.”

“Ugh,” if I didn’t have the mug in my hands I would lay back down and cover up. “You really think it’ll be in the news?”

“Oh yea,” he tells me as he walks into his room. “And, I checked online, marriage certificate are public record. If anyone knows your real name, they can find out that I’m your mystery wife.”

“Shit,” I murmur and throw the blankets off me. “That would ruin your career.”

He laughs from the other room, “I wish. To be honest, Day,” he sticks his head into the doorway, “I wouldn’t mind a little break. But, I don’t think that’s what will happen if this gets out.”

Setting my cup on the coffee table, I walk into the bedroom, “What do you think will happen?”

When I enter, he’s only in his boxers. I’m momentarily stunned at the site of his defined abs and toned legs until I mentally shake it off. I’m not gay.

“I think that we’ll get more media than either of us will know how to deal with,” he shrugs as he walks to his bathroom.

He doesn’t shut the door all the way as he turns on the shower. And although he is physically blocked out by the wooden entryway, I can see his bum in the mirror as he drops his last article of clothing. Decidedly, it’s still not a bad bum.

The curtain drawing pulls me out of my reverie, then he continue to talk, “Do you want to keep this whole thing a secret and chance that it gets revealed or just come out with it?”

“What do you mean? I thought we were going to get it annulled when we could. Wouldn’t it be better if we just kept quiet until it’s over?” I ask loudly as I walk into his closet to steal a t-shirt.

There’s a pause for a few minutes, but then he says, “Dude, won’t it look odd if you admitted to being married, kept it secret, then got a divorce quickly thereafter.”

I never really thought about it that way.

“Maybe, I just don’t admit to it?” I suggest, pulling out one of my favorites that he wears pretty often.

I hear him laugh through the cascading water, “About 20 people already heard you admit it last night and your mom knows. I don’t think you can deny it. And are we going to explain to your mom that we’re getting annulled?”

His shirt smells distinctly of him as I pull it over my head, “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“She wants us to have another ceremony when we get there,” he tells me a few minutes later as the water turns off.

“My mum?”

“When we were on the phone last night she asked if I was coming with you to your sister’s birthday thing,” my husband explains as he walks out dripping with a towel wrapped around his waist. I immediately avert my eyes, “After I told her I was, she asked if we could have a little ceremony there so your family and friends could be a part of it. Nothing official or huge, just the people you’re close to.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you would love it.”

“You didn’t,” I give him an accusing look.

His smirk is vicious, “I did.”

“Christopher!” I scold looking down quickly to see him in a fresh pair of boxers.

His grin turns to a smile, “I love when you call me that.”

Ignoring him, I shake my head and turn my back to him, “Anything else my mother said to you that you should tell me?”

“Nah, everything else was pretty much what you would expect.”

“Like?”

“Like, checking to see if I was in love with you, telling me not to hurt you, and making sure I knew how great you are,” I turn to see him shrug as he buttoned a pair of jeans. He looks up at me and scrunches his brow together, “I was going to wear that shirt.”

“Too late, it’s already on my body,” I stick my tongue out at him in a childish measure. “Do you have a jumper?”

“Give me my shirt and I’ll find you a hoodie,” he bargains.

I chuckle as I clutch the shirt to me, “No way, it’s soft and comfortable.”

A smirk plays at his lips as he shakes his head, “Give me my shirt, Day, or I’ll take it off you myself.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I challenge as I inch passed him, out of the walk-in closet, swiftly.

He grabs onto my waist before I can fully get out and lifts my feet off the ground. Once I’m in the air, and laughing, he walks into his room and practically throws me on his bed. Trying to scrabble away, he grabs my ankle and pulls me back, pinning me with his body weight.

“Get off me, you oaf,” I laugh as he tries to squeeze his hands between us to take his shirt off me.

He’s laughing too at this point as I push on his hands, “Give it up.”

“Not happening,” to both our amusement, I continue to try and wiggle out of his grip.  “I want to wear it.”

“It’s my shirt,” he declares as he finally gets both of his hands between the shirt and my skin.

Oddly, the contact make makes me noticeably shiver.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he suddenly stops moving. “Did I hurt you?"

I nod and swallow a little louder than normal, “I'm fine. Your hands just surprised me.”

“Are they cold?” he looks at me with a little concern.

I chuckle humorlessly as I feel my cheeks heat, “Not cold.”

At that point, he catches on. Moving his hands from my stomach to the small of my back, he scoots up toward me a bit. Our faces are level when he looks into my eyes, “So I’m not the only one?”

“What?” I’m a little winded as his minty breath tickles my cheeks.

He leans in so that our lips lightly brush, “You feel it too?”

“I don’t want to,” I admit without actually answering his question.

My eyes flutter closed as he continues our whispered conversation, “Why’s that?”

Toph’s intoxicating smell mixed with his body heat is making my train of thought less clear than it should be. That’s how he gets the answer, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Lose me?” His voice has a hint of disbelief.

My nod is slight, but our lips brush so he gets the idea, “Love is propaganda. You’ll realize you don’t love me and leave eventually.”

“Not happening,” he confirms. “Can you feel me?”

A let out a little laugh, “You’re lying on top of me. How could I not?”

“I’m not talking about physically,” he chuckles, but doesn’t move any. “I mean that feeling that’s making your breath ragged and your thoughts lucid.”

“No,” I lie, but a smile gives me away.

“I feel it too. That’s how I know I have real feelings for you.”

I don’t know how to reply to that, so I don’t.

My husband mutters, “Fine then, feel this,” before crashing our lips together forcefully.

My hands leave the bed where they have fallen and tangle into his wet hair. His hands pull my lower abdomen into his. Then, I really feel it.

No, I’m not talking about any of our body parts. I’m talking about the emotion he was on about. I feel that urge to keep him near me. I feel that sinking in the pit of my stomach caused by all the what-ifs in the world. I feel that passion that I saw in the phone video.

The kiss takes on an urgent sensation. I need him closer. I need him now. I need him forever. And I know that if I don’t pull away, my emotions will get the best of me. I’ve been holding everything in for so long and this is such a strong atmosphere, that if it last a second longer, I’m going to break.

But, I can’t stop either one; the kiss or the tears.

He pulls away abruptly and looks down at me, panicked, “What wrong? Are you okay? Do you want me to stop? I didn’t mean to force myself on you.”

“No,” I run my hands up and down his neck as I avoid eye contact. The wetness that rolling down my cheeks is embarrassing, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” I can hear the tension in his voice.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and look into his eyes. Honesty, I decide in the second that our gazes connect, is the best policy, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m right here,” he tells me.

I give him a sheepish grin, “I don’t want to lose everything we have. I’m terrified that in a few weeks you’ll realize that I’m a basket-case with too much baggage and run. Fast.”

“That won’t happen, Damian,” he reassures me as he stares into my eyes.

Neither of us moves for a few minutes, but eventually I place a small peck on his lips and untangle my hands, “Come on. I want to go take a shower and I need to see how many times Johnny has tried to call.”

“I haven’t heard your phone at all,” Toph’s brow wrinkles as he reluctantly pushes himself off me.

A smile hints at my lips, “I turned it off on our way here from Lombardi’s.”

“You’re going to be in trouble,” he chuckles as he walks into the closet and grabs a shirt off a hanger throwing over his naked chest. Stepping in further he grabs a jumper before stepping back out and handing it over, “I like my clothes better on you.”

“Is that a possessive thing?” I raise an eyebrow at him, amused.

He shrugs, “Probably.”

Rolling my eyes, I pull the item of clothing over my head, “I look like rubbish. Pajama bottoms and a jumper. If the paparazzi are out there and recognize me, they’ll have a field day.”

“You look fine,” he voice holds no conviction.

“Give me a pair of jeans. I know they’re going to be outside of my building,” I sigh. “And a hat maybe?”

“Why don’t you just take a shower here?”

Slumping a little, I nod my head and start stripping my clothes. Once I get to my boxers, I look over to see Topher checking me out, “Chris?”

It’s not like it’s the first time he’s seen me in my boxers.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head and blinks his eyes rapidly. “Towels are under the sink.”

“I know, it’s not the first time I’ve showered here,” my eyebrow scrunch together.

He nods, “Right. I left the toothbrush you used yesterday in my toothbrush holder. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”

With that, he promptly exits his room.

-----

“Shit,” I complain as we sit behind the tinted-windows of my car and look a block ahead of us where a bunch of people with cameras and microphones standd.

Toph shrugs from my passenger seat, “Might as well get it over with.”

I nod, finally pulling up to the valet, “Now or never.”

As soon as I’m out of the car, questions are being fired off along with hundreds of flashes.

“Damon, are you really married?”

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

“When did it happen?”

“Topher, did you know about this?”

“When is the public going to meet your bride?”

“Was it a small ceremony?”

“Topher, were you the best man?”

“Where was it held?”

“Topher, do you approve of your friend’s new wife?”

Covering our faces as we walk in, I only stop once I get to the entrance. The building’s security team, which is stationed here because of all the press, stands between us and the reporters. Turning to let them take a few pictures, I say, “I have no comment at this time for the allegations. Thank you for your patience, but if you don’t kindly leave, I will call the police for harassment.”

“You handled your first scandal very elegantly,” Toph comments as we ride the lift to my flat.

I chuckle, “I don’t think it’s considered a scandal if it’s true.”

The lift dings as we hit my floor and opens to my front door. For the second time this weekend, we open the door to an unexpected red-faced person clutching papers for dear life.

“Hello Johnny,” I sigh then turned to my husband. “I should have expected this.”