Behind The Cameras

"I see late coming is something you find most appealing," Montserrat remarked dryly, her hands folded as she walked up to him, her hair and makeup already perfectly in place.

Aaron barely looked up as he adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, an almost bored expression settling on his face. "I might've signed the contract, Mon, but I never had any intention of following any of your rules. That is for me to decide. Besides, this is the least of my concern."

"Then I suggest you start treating it like one. Whether you like this marriage or not, we're about to become the center of public attention."

"Why?" he questioned sharply before answering himself. "I suppose because this marriage is far more to the interest of your family than it is mine."

"A—"

"Lovebirds, can we get on with the photos? The press conference is in thirty minutes," the photographer called out, clapping his hands together to get their attention.

They both went ahead to stand at the backdrop, five feet apart from each other.

The photographer lifted his camera, only to lower it again. He sighed deeply before motioning impatiently with his hand. "Mr. Martinez, stand a little closer."

Aaron took one step.

"No, closer."

Another step.

"I will need you to put your hand on her waist."

Aaron hesitated, Rule Six still imprinted on his mind. Certainly touching her was off limits.

You will not touch me without permission.

Both their eyes met in that instant. She too had remembered, but she hated being touched, especially if it was going to be him.

She gave the tiniest nod — not because she wanted him to, but because there were people around waiting to record any wrong move.

Slowly, Aaron placed his arm around her waist and brought her much closer to him. In that moment, camera flashes erupted into a frenzy.

"You seem... tense," Aaron said quietly into her ear, his arm gripping her gently.

"You also seem very nervous. Your hands are shaking," she lied. There was nothing unsteady about Aaron. If anything, it felt firm around her.

"Hey, I promise you, this is not my first fake relationship. I am very much experienced," Aaron murmured with a smug grin. "I should coach you. Lesson one: smile a little. The press would think I'm holding you hostage, and you know very well that isn't true. I very much would like out of this."

The photographer spoke again.

"Perfect! Now look at each other like you're in love."

Silence fell between them. Neither could deny the awkwardness, so they stiffened, unable to make any move.

The photographer laughed awkwardly.

"Pretend your families aren't watching."

Aaron reached up and gently tilted her chin until she was looking directly at him. Then he leaned in, closing the distance between them until only inches remained.

"I'm impressed," Aaron whispered, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "You're selling this surprisingly well."

"A kiss would be perfect," the photographer called excitedly.

Neither of them moved.

One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The room was quiet except for the shutters clicking. Everyone was watching.

Aaron's hand was still firm on her waist. He could feel how rigid she was.

"Relax," he whispered, so quietly only she could hear.

"Don't," she whispered back without moving her lips, her eyes still locked on the camera.

The photographer hesitated, his smile faltering. "Just... just a small one? For the cover?"

Aaron didn't look away from Montserrat. He held her gaze for a second longer, then finally turned, flashing the cameras that easy, practiced smile.

"Maybe save that for the wedding," he said smoothly. "My fiancée's a little shy."

The room laughed. The tension broke. Only Montserrat knew his thumb had just brushed lightly against her waist as he said it.

---

A few minutes later, they made their way into the conference hall, cameras already flashing as they took their seats side by side.

A female journalist from The New York Times stood first.

"First, I want to say congratulations to you two. You make such a beautiful couple."

"Thank you," Montserrat offered a tight smile.

Aaron lifted her hand and kissed it for the cameras before Montserrat swiftly pulled it back onto her lap.

"My question is for you, Mr. Martinez. When did you know Ms. De Armas was the one?" the female journalist asked with a smile.

Aaron smiled.

He looked into Montserrat's eyes as though she were the only woman in the world. So convincingly that, had they not known the truth themselves, it would have looked real.

"It was the moment she insulted me," Aaron answered without missing a beat.

The room erupted into laughter, except for Montserrat, who managed to maintain her smile.

"What was the insult?"

"I think Mon called me a clown," Aaron said with a mock look of offense.

"He's exaggerating," Montserrat replied politely. "...Barely," she added under her breath.

The laughter slowly faded as the next journalist from the Insider Scoop blog took the microphone.

Aaron's face immediately soured as he turned away.

"Oh God... who invited him?" he muttered beneath his breath.

"Why? What's wrong?" Montserrat asked quietly.

"He hates my guts," Aaron replied flatly.

The male journalist finally spoke.

"Mr. Martinez, with your long list of failed relationships and multiple scandals, are you sure you aren't doing a great disservice by settling down with Ms. De Armas? It's almost like she is your redemption project."

The entire room gasped.

"Not so long ago, you were on the news for your affair with the wife of Blackstone Corporation's CEO," the journalist continued. "Were any of them true?"

Aaron remained silent, his jaw tightening. Montserrat watched him from the corner of her eye.

For a moment it looked like he would walk out. Then he leaned forward and pulled the microphone toward him.

"Some were," he said evenly. His voice was calm, but his eyes were cold. "I'm not going to sit here and pretend I've been a saint. I haven't. But this engagement is not a PR stunt."

The room froze. No one had expected honesty.

Before the journalist could fire another question, Montserrat calmly reached for her own microphone.

"And I feel this question should be directed at me, because I'm the one choosing to marry him," she said, her tone light but final. "Aaron and I have been together for six months, and during that time I've gotten to know a side of him that has been misrepresented by the media. And I'm very confident in my judgment."

She turned slightly toward Aaron, offering him a small, private smile for the cameras.

"Six months isn't enough to know a person. This is a PR stunt to cover up Mr. Martinez's image," the journalist pressed.

Montserrat's smile didn't waver.

"Like I said, I trust my own judgment on a person's character rather than that of a gossip site. Thank you."

The journalist reluctantly lowered himself back into his seat as the moderator called on someone else. The remaining questions were directed mostly toward Montserrat about the wedding and the future of both families.

Nearly an hour later, the press conference finally came to an end.

"I didn't need you to stand up for me earlier, Mon. If you're expecting a thank you..." Aaron said as they walked toward the exit.

"Stop calling me Mon."

"Well, Montserrat is far too long to memorize," Aaron replied with a grin.

She breathed out finally, deciding he simply wasn't worth arguing with.

"Our home. You'll be moving in tomorrow, as I'm told. I have a couple of things we should be clear on, especially boundaries. I don't want you coming into my room. We'll sleep in separate bedrooms. We'll only see each other when there's an appearance to maintain. Rebecca will be living with us. I hope you don't snore or sleepwalk," Aaron listed casually.

"You are listing these things out like I'm supposed to care," Montserrat said with an unimpressed look.

"It's three years. Anything can happen. Even a baby."

"Having your baby is the last thing that can ever happen between us. Straighten up. Remember, the cameras are still on us."

"What could be so bad about having my baby?"

"You say that as though you're hurt. Are you?"

"Absolutely not, Mon. But I'm a handsome man. Our babies, if brought into this world, would be beautiful."

She sighed.

"Not so sure about that with your ego and your questionable height."

"Questionable? Mon, I'm six-two."

"In what? Heels?" she deadpanned.

"Talking about kids when we aren't supposed to be falling in love is certainly... a choice. I shall see you at your house."

She pulled out the contract.

"This is your copy, as well as my commandments."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked away with Carson following closely behind.

Aaron stood there.

He opened the contract absently.

Below Rule Nine, he noticed a sentence written underneath his signature. The handwriting was elegant and certainly hadn't been there before.

I wasn't planning to.

He read it aloud, his eyes lifting toward the door she had disappeared through.

For the first time that day, Aaron smiled — not because she had won, but because he could already tell she would challenge him.

And Aaron Martinez had always enjoyed a challenge.