He levels me with a look. “If I didn’t like you or think you were gorgeous, if I didn’t think you were sane and intelligent and would make my life easier, I wouldn’t have asked for you . . . so stop with whatever I can see going through those eyes of yours.”

Am I that transparent?

“Yes. You wear your emotions on your sleeve,” he says, answering my own question, startling me.

“It’s just a lot to be thrust into. Self-doubt is normal. Self-doubt when I know how cruel women are to other women, especially when they’re anonymous behind keyboards and are even harsher.”

“Well, raise up your hand and point to your wedding ring if they question it. That’s all that needs to be said.”

“Until we divorce and they say I told you so.” He looks at me like I’m unhinged . . . and he’s right. I am being just that. But it’s been an absolute whirlwind of a week, that I’m surprised my head is even screwed on the right way. It’s only natural for me to question, to wonder, and to feel a little unsteady.

I wouldn’t have asked for you . . .

He’s right. I’m here because he picked me, because he wanted me to be here. I just have to learn to accept it and stop comparing myself to others.

Easier said than done.

But if there’s one thing I know about men, they hate a whiny woman and that’s exactly what I’m being.

I rest my hand on his arm and squeeze. “I’m being ridiculous. I apologize. I’ll work on it.”

“It’s understandable, you’ve stepped into a huge role and I’m extremely appreciative. Yeah?” He waits for me to nod. “Okay. Good. We’ll probably leak the photos soon too. Just so you know.”

“I assumed as much. I planned on heading back to the bakery in the morning, if that’s okay? I know the plan was to make it look like we were on a honeymoon, but people know you’re out and about on your own so that kind of negates that. Plus, someone had to have seen you in Las Vegas and is bound to say something soon.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Regardless, we have a plan. So that big order is coming up?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you hire someone to help you? So you’re not so stressed about it? I can help out if you need it.”

I barely hold back my snort of humor. If the women, young and old, who were awestruck by him in Josie’s are any indication, there wouldn’t be much help happening. Imagine that in my tiny bakery.

“I’m fine. I’ve got it handled.”

“You should hire someone. To man the counter up front at least while you work in back?”