Now it’s my turn to throw my head back and laugh. “Lady town is fully covered.” I kiss his chin, his beard tickling me. “Now shall we go, or you’ll be late.” He grabs my hand, and as we walk through the lobby, I’m aware of all the eyes on us. The truck is waiting for us, and he helps me in and then slides in. He sits there and closes his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“My cock feels like it’s being choked to death,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at me. “Watching your ass get into the truck did not fucking help!” he says, rearranging his cock.

“Do you want help?” I ask him, trying not to laugh when he just looks at me. When we finally get to the store, I’m shocked by how different it is today. There are purple and white balloons outside with a red carpet leading inside. The driver opens the door, and Mark walks out and then holds his hand out for me. He walks inside holding my hand, and then I let it go when I see Tracy coming to him. She’s dressed in her own outfit, and I smile, seeing that her dress matches his tie color. I swallow down instead of laughing out loud. It’s a tight little lace number that shows off her body, her blond hair tied up at the nape of her neck.

“You’re here,” she says to Mark with a huge smile on her face. “See, I told you that tie matched.” And my stomach suddenly burns, and I wonder if I’m hungry or maybe I need a drink.

“You were right,” he tells her, and I have to wonder if he really doesn’t see it, or he’s just ignoring the fact she wants him. I look at how easy they are with each other and wonder if they ever dated. I never really asked him about his other women because frankly, I didn’t care. It had nothing to do with me or with us. Or whatever it is we’re doing. As long as we are exclusive while we are together, I don’t really care.

“The press is already starting to arrive, and I’d love to introduce you to the staff members,” she says, and I stand here, and he looks at me.

“I’ll be here,” I say to him with a smile, and then he nods, following Tracy. I look around and see that there are high tables now with purple flowers on them. A waiter who comes over with a tray of champagne.

“Merci,” I say, my French slipping out.

“Èske ou pale fransè.” He asks me if I speak French, but in creole, which is really different.