Chapter 18: A United Front
Julian
The next forty-eight hours were a masterclass in organized chaos.
Madison’s threat had accelerated our timeline. If she leaked the existence of the twins, the media would swarm the inn with a ferocity we couldn't contain. We had to beat her to the punch and control the narrative.
Marcus arrived via helicopter the next morning, bringing a team of elite PR specialists, a wardrobe stylist, and a hand-picked, trusted journalist from Vanity Fair who was bound by an airtight NDA.
Audrey's inn was temporarily closed to new guests. Security formed a physical ring around the property.
"Mr. Meridian, we need you to look at her like she is the only oxygen left on earth," the photographer instructed, adjusting the lighting reflector on the back patio of the inn.
I looked down at my wife.
Audrey was wearing a simple, elegant emerald-green sweater that made her hazel eyes pop. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. The stylist had tried to put heavy makeup on her, but Audrey had firmly refused, allowing only a touch of lip gloss. She looked breathtakingly beautiful. She looked real.
"That isn't hard to do," I murmured, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Audrey flinched slightly at the contact but quickly caught herself, softening her expression for the camera. She placed her hands flat against my chest. I could feel the rapid beating of her heart through my cashmere sweater.
"Smile, Audrey," I whispered, leaning in closer so my lips were mere inches from hers. "You're supposed to be madly in love with me, remember?"
"I'm an innkeeper, Julian, not an Oscar-winning actress," she muttered under her breath, though a tiny, genuine smile broke through.
Click. Click. Click.
"Perfect!" the photographer called out. "The chemistry is off the charts."
If he only knew the truth. Every touch, every lingering glance was a dagger to my chest. It felt like I was holding a ghost. I wanted this to be real so badly it was physically tearing me apart.
Once the photoshoot was wrapped, we moved into the parlor for the interview. The journalist, a sharp-eyed woman named Elena, sat opposite us with a voice recorder.
I sat close to Audrey on the loveseat, wrapping my arm securely around her waist. She tensed for a moment before leaning into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. It was a calculated move for the camera, but the warmth of her body against mine felt like coming home.
"So, Julian, Audrey," Elena began, clicking her pen. "The world has been buzzing with rumors. A massive scandal involving your former assistant, Madison Carter. Allegations of a toxic marriage. And yet, here you are, looking like honeymooners in upstate New York. Care to clear the air?"
I squeezed Audrey’s waist gently, taking the lead just as we had practiced.
"The air is quite clear, Elena," I said smoothly, exuding total confidence. "My wife and I have always valued our privacy. Four years ago, the pressures of running Foster Meridian took a toll on our work-life balance. We made a mutual decision to step back, to reevaluate what mattered. Audrey wanted to pursue her passion for hospitality, and I supported her fully."
"And Madison Carter's claims?" Elena pressed.
"Are the desperate fictions of an employee who was terminated for gross misconduct," I stated coldly. "My wife and I are, and always have been, deeply committed to one another. There is no scandal. Only a family choosing peace over the Manhattan rat race."
Elena turned her piercing gaze to Audrey. "And you, Audrey? You don't feel entirely abandoned?"
Audrey looked up at me. For a moment, the rehearsed PR lines vanished from her eyes, replaced by a raw, profound sadness that only I could read.
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"Julian and I have had our dark days," Audrey said softly, her voice steady. "But true love isn't about never breaking. It's about how you rebuild the pieces. We are rebuilding."
I stared at her, my heart skipping a beat. It wasn't in the script. It was real.
