MY HUSBAND DEMANDED I LET HIS SECRETARY JOIN OUR HONEYMOON — HE DIDN’T REALIZE I NEVER BOARDED THE PLANE UNTIL IT LANDED, AND WHAT WAS WAITING FOR HIM AT THE GATE
Three hours before our honeymoon flight, my husband set his phone down on the hotel breakfast table and told me, in the same casual tone he’d use to mention a change in dinner reservations, that Priscilla would be joining us in Santorini.
“Just for the first few days,” Desmond said, not looking up from his coffee. “She’s finalizing the Hartwell acquisition remotely, and honestly, Wren, it’s easier if she’s nearby in case anything urgent comes up.”
I set down my fork. “Your secretary is joining our honeymoon.”
“Executive assistant. And it’s not joining, exactly. She’ll have her own room.”
“At the villa we booked for our honeymoon.”
“You’re being dramatic. It’s business.”
I looked at my husband of eighteen hours — a man I’d married the day before in a small ceremony at my mother’s church in Millbrook, who now sat across a hotel breakfast table informing me that the woman he’d been quietly texting throughout our own rehearsal dinner would be accompanying us to Greece.
