Chapter 14

The press release went out on Tuesday morning at precisely nine o'clock.

I was at the bookstore when it happened, restocking the romance section and trying not to obsess over my phone. Christopher had texted me earlier to let me know the statement would be released within the hour, that his PR team had crafted something tasteful and straightforward.

"Billionaire CEO Christopher Zane confirms marriage to Anastasia Reed, owner of Chapter & Verse Books. The couple wed in a private ceremony and are looking forward to building their life together. They request privacy during this time."

Short. Professional. Completely inadequate for describing the complicated reality of our relationship.

My phone started buzzing almost immediately. Claire grabbed it from my hands before I could see the notifications piling up.

"No," she said firmly, holding it out of reach. "You are not reading comments and articles and social media posts for the next eight hours. We have a bookstore to run, and you spiraling into anxiety isn't going to help anyone."

"I need to know what people are saying," I protested, reaching for my phone.

Claire held it higher, her expression implacable. "What you need is to breathe and remember that other people's opinions don't define your marriage. Now, Mrs. Billionaire, there's a customer waiting at the register who wants to buy that cookbook you recommended last week."

I wanted to argue, but she was right. Obsessing over public reaction wouldn't change anything. So I forced myself to focus on work, helping customers and processing orders and pretending my entire life wasn't being dissected by strangers on the internet.

By lunchtime, the story had apparently blown up. Claire's phone kept buzzing with notifications, and she kept shooting me worried looks that she tried to hide.

"Just tell me," I finally said during a rare lull in customers. "How bad is it?"

Claire hesitated, then sighed and pulled up her phone. "It's not all bad. Some people think it's romantic that a billionaire married a normal woman. But there are also," she paused, scrolling, "a lot of people questioning why someone like Christopher would marry a nobody bookstore owner."

The word "nobody" stung more than I wanted to admit.

"Let me see," I said, holding out my hand.

Claire reluctantly handed over her phone, and I scrolled through article after article. Some were neutral, just reporting the facts. Others were more speculative, questioning my motives, my background, whether this was a publicity stunt or a business arrangement.

And then there were the social media comments.

"Gold digger." "She must be pregnant." "He'll cheat on her within a year with someone from his own class." "I give this marriage six months, max."

Each comment was a small cut, death by a thousand tiny opinions from people who knew nothing about me or Christopher or what we'd built together.

"Ana, stop reading," Claire said gently, taking her phone back. "These people don't matter. They don't know you."

"But they think they do." I slumped against the counter, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming me. "They've decided who I am based on a press release, and nothing I do will change their minds."

"Then don't try to change their minds. Just live your life and prove them wrong by being happy." Claire squeezed my shoulder. "Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Like the charity gala in four days."

Right. The gala. Where I'd have to face all those judgmental strangers in person, wearing a dress that probably cost more than my monthly revenue, pretending I belonged in a world that clearly didn't think I did.

My phone buzzed with a new message, and Claire handed it back with a warning look.

Christopher: I'm seeing the coverage. Are you okay?

The concern in those five words made my chest tight. He was in back-to-back meetings but still checking on me, still making sure I wasn't drowning.

Anastasia: I'm fine. Some of it's harsh, but I expected that.

Christopher: I'm sorry you have to deal with this. For what it's worth, anyone who thinks you're a nobody isn't worth your time.

Anastasia: Easy for you to say. You're not the one being called a gold digger.

Christopher: No, I'm being called a fool who's being taken advantage of. We're both getting it from different angles.

That stopped me. I'd been so focused on my own hurt feelings that I hadn't considered what people might be saying about Christopher. That he was being manipulated, that I was using him, that his judgment was compromised.

Anastasia: I'm sorry. This affects both of us.

Christopher: We knew it would be hard. We face it together, remember? Partners.

The reminder steadied me. I wasn't alone in this. Whatever the public threw at us, we'd handle it together.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of customers who either didn't know who I was or were too polite to mention it. By closing time, I was emotionally exhausted, ready to go home and hide under a blanket for the next twelve hours.

Instead, I found Eleanor Zane waiting outside my bookstore, her driver standing beside a sleek black car.

"Mrs. Zane," she greeted me with a warm smile. "I hope you don't mind me stopping by unannounced. I thought you might need a friendly face today."

Relief flooded through me. "That's exactly what I need."

Eleanor linked her arm through mine, guiding me toward the car. "Come. We're having dinner, just the two of us. Christopher is still at the office, and you look like you could use someone to talk to who isn't going to judge or pity you."

I climbed into the car, grateful for her perceptiveness. The driver pulled smoothly into traffic, and Eleanor poured us both sparkling water from a crystal decanter.

"I've seen the coverage," she said without preamble. "Most of it is exactly what I expected. The public loves a scandal, and a billionaire marrying a bookstore owner is scandalous enough to fuel weeks of speculation."

"It's worse than I thought it would be," I admitted. "The comments, the assumptions about who I am and why I married Christopher. They've decided I'm either a gold digger or incredibly naive."

"And what does Christopher think?" Eleanor asked shrewdly.

"That none of them matter. That we know the truth and that's enough."

"He's right, of course. But that doesn't make their words hurt any less." Eleanor studied me carefully. "Tell me, Anastasia, why did you marry my grandson? The real reason."

I met her eyes, seeing the sharpness beneath the kindness. This was a test, I realized. Eleanor wanted to make sure I could handle what was coming, that I had the strength to stand beside Christopher.

"I married him because I needed a way out of my sister's apartment without her worrying about me," I said honestly. "It was practical and convenient, and I didn't expect anything beyond that."

"And now?" Eleanor pressed.

"Now it's complicated." I took a breath. "Now I've seen who he is beneath the cold exterior. Now I cook him dinner and fill his apartment with plants and make him laugh even though he tries not to. Now I'm falling in love with him, and it terrifies me because I never planned for this to be real."

Eleanor's expression softened. "Love is always terrifying when it's real. The question is whether you're brave enough to embrace it anyway."

"I'm trying to be," I said quietly. "But days like today make me wonder if I'm strong enough for his world. If I can handle the scrutiny and the judgment and the constant feeling that I don't belong."

"Do you know why I chose you for Christopher?" Eleanor asked suddenly. "It wasn't just because you saved me. It was because you didn't care who I was. You saw an elderly woman who needed help, and you helped without expecting anything in return. That kind of character is rare, Anastasia. Especially in the circles my family moves in."

"But character doesn't prepare me for charity galas and social obligations and people like Victoria," I pointed out.

"No, it doesn't. But it gives you something far more valuable—authenticity." Eleanor leaned forward, her expression intense. "Christopher has spent his entire life surrounded by people who want something from him. Power, money, connections, status. You're the first person who wanted him for himself. That's why you belong with him, regardless of what society thinks."

The conviction in her voice made something loosen in my chest.

"The gala will be difficult," Eleanor continued. "People will stare, whisper, judge. Victoria will be there, looking for any weakness she can exploit. But Anastasia, you have an advantage they don't expect."

"What's that?" I asked.

Eleanor smiled. "You have Christopher's heart. And once a Zane man gives his heart, he's loyal to the end. Trust in that, and you'll be fine."

We had dinner at an intimate French restaurant, just the two of us, and Eleanor spent the evening sharing stories about Christopher's childhood. How he'd been a serious boy even then, taking everything too seriously, trying to be perfect to win his father's approval.

"He never learned how to just be," Eleanor said over dessert. "His father treated him like a business heir from the moment he could walk. There was no room for softness or vulnerability. And then his mother died, and he locked away whatever gentleness he had left."

"That's why he struggles with emotions," I realized. "He was taught they were weaknesses."

"Exactly. But you're teaching him differently. You're showing him that vulnerability can be strength, that letting someone in doesn't make him weak." Eleanor reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "That's a gift, Anastasia. Don't underestimate its value."

By the time Eleanor's driver dropped me off at the apartment, I felt steadier, more grounded. The public scrutiny still stung, but Eleanor's words had reminded me why I was doing this. Not for the approval of strangers, but for Christopher and the life we were building together.

Christopher was already home when I walked in, his jacket and tie discarded, his sleeves rolled up. He looked up from his laptop the moment I entered, relief washing over his features.

"How are you?" he asked, closing the laptop and giving me his full attention.

"Better now." I set down my purse and moved to sit beside him on the couch. "Your grandmother took me to dinner. She gave me a pep talk about not caring what other people think."

Christopher's lips quirked. "That sounds like her. What else did she say?"

"That once a Zane man gives his heart, he's loyal to the end." I studied his face. "Is that true?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no doubt. "When I commit to something, I don't do it halfway. And I've committed to you, Anastasia. To us."

The certainty in his voice made my throat tight. "Even when it's hard? Even when people are calling me a gold digger and you a fool?"

"Especially then." Christopher pulled me closer, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. "I don't care what they call us. I care about what we are to each other. Everything else is just noise."

I leaned into him, letting his warmth and solidity ground me. "The gala is in four days."

"I know." His hand rubbed slow circles on my arm. "Are you ready?"

"No. But I'm going anyway." I tilted my head to look at him. "Your grandmother said it would be difficult. That Victoria would be looking for weaknesses to exploit."

"Victoria is always looking for weaknesses. It's what she does." Christopher's jaw tightened. "But she won't find any, because we're not going to give her anything to work with. We'll arrive together, leave together, and spend the evening showing everyone that their opinions don't matter to us."

"Sounds simple when you say it like that," I said wryly.

"It won't be simple. But it will be worth it." Christopher turned to face me fully, his expression serious. "Anastasia, if at any point during the gala you want to leave, we leave. No questions, no judgment. Your comfort matters more than any social obligation."

The offer made my heart squeeze. "You can't just leave your own foundation's gala."

"Watch me." His tone left no room for argument. "You're my priority. Everything else comes second."

I kissed him then, unable to help myself. It was soft and sweet and full of gratitude for this complicated man who was trying so hard to be what I needed.

When we broke apart, Christopher rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.

"We're going to be okay," he murmured. "Whatever happens at the gala, whatever people say, we're going to be okay."

I wanted to believe him. And as I sat there in his arms, the city lights twinkling beyond our windows, I almost did.

Because maybe surviving his world wasn't about being perfect or fitting in seamlessly.

Maybe it was just about holding onto each other when everything else tried to tear us apart.

And if that was the test, we were already passing.