Hi. Marry Me

by Kimberley Taylor

  “Yeah. Or, you know, not.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So, Morocco,” said Diana.

  “Nice change of conversation.”

  “You were diverting the conversation.”

  “Yes, I was,” said Tony easily. He looked over at his wife. “Do you have a passport?”

  “Yes, of course I have a passport,” said Diana.

  “Well, then, what are you doing this weekend?”

  *****

  When they returned from Morocco, Diana was all too ready to sleep in her own bed again.

  “I mean, the hotels you booked us were lovely, don’t get me wrong,” said Diana. “But there’s nothing quite as nice as sleeping in your own sheets once again.”

  “It’s true,” said Tony.

  “I'm going to miss our open-air villa, though,” smiled Diana. “Sleeping under the stars with you was fantastic.”

  “We can sleep under the stars here, too,” said Tony. “Simple, we could just drag our mattress out to the backyard.”

  “That’s not it,” laughed Diana. “It just felt so—opulent. Like something we weren’t supposed to be doing, but it was wonderful that we were doing it.”

  “So is some sort of air of secrecy a bit part of luxury for you, then,” smiled Tony.

  “No,” said Diana. She reconsidered. “Maybe.”

  “I knew it,” crowed Tony. “No worries, we’ll just break the law as part of our next trip. And then when we’re spending a night in a cell, we’ll think it’s beautiful and romantic or something.”

  “I’m not quite sure that logic, if it can be called that, follows you all the way there,” laughed Diana. “But, sure.”

  Tony smirked and began to go through his mail. “Why are we so popular?” he mused. “We go out of town for a few weeks and the world acts as if we’ve disappeared forever.”

  “Invitations or bills?”

  “Both; and some of which are truly both, as they’re invitations to things which will cost us thousands of dollars to go to.”

  “Benefits?”

  “And the like. I’ll deal with these, you can head up and take care of yourself.”

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “It was a long flight.”

  Diana started to go upstairs when she heard her husband make a derisive sound.

  “What?” She walked back downstairs and put a hand on his arm.

  “Oh—it’s LoveMatches—and my board of directors.”

  “Well, that sounds ridiculously important,” said Diana, sinking down into a nearby, available chair.

  “It can be.”

  “How’s LoveMatches doing?”

  “Oh, famously,” said Tony. “After we got married and started doing public appearances as man and wife—”

  “By which you just mean that we went about doing our normal thing and cameras followed us around,” said Diana. She frowned as she remembered the few days they'd spent living in the constant gaze of paparazzi. It had been her least favorite thing so far about being vaguely famous.

  “Yes, yes—well it worked, if something so crass can be said about our marriage. People have been signing up for LoveMatches in droves, and at least one other couple has gotten married.”

  “Good for them! We should send them something. A wedding gift.”

  “Done and done—well, LoveMatches sent them something with our picture and autographs.”

  “How very creepy,” commented Diana. “But I suppose that’s our life."

  “That it is. However, they’re about to do us one creepier.”

  “How?”

  “They want us to go on TV to promote it.”

  Diana stared at him. “What? Why? If numbers are already good, why are they going to go to the trouble and expense of filming a TV spot?”

  “Because numbers are good but they can always be better. Simple enough. And because we’re young and attractive, and not using us is basically throwing away free advertising. So they’ve already set it up and booked the other talent. We’re being asked if tomorrow is okay.”

  “In a paper letter,” said Diana, gesturing back to the envelope Tony was holding.

  “Well, in their defense, this was sent a while ago, and we didn’t tell them that we were going to Morocco.”

  “The fact that anyone does anything via snail mail instead of email these days completely defies any logic,” said Diana.

  “Sometimes a real paper trail is useful,” said Tony.

  “Now you’re making it sound like someone’s going to make a morbid documentary about our life one day,” said Diana.

  “Not yet, they won’t,” said Tony. “But—anyway. Would you be okay doing this?”

  “It doesn’t sound like we’re being given much choice,” said Diana.

  “People always have a choice,” said Tony easily.

  “But in this case, the alternative is your company being very, very angry at us, and a lot of bad PR.”

  “Should be an easy choice to make, then,” said Tony.

  Diana grimaced. “So when are we going on TV?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Diana furrowed her brow at him. “Okay, then.”

  “Yeah, we’ll have to be there around nine.”

  Diana began to trudge upstairs.

  “I’ll make sure I set an alarm, then.”

  Diana had alarms set in her mind for other things. When she had reached their room, she went straight to the sink and pulled out a little box which had blue envelopes and pink envelopes in it. She grabbed one of the pink envelopes, ripped it open, and went into the small room which contained the toilet.

  After this, she went about her unpacking with a fervor and concentration which would have rivaled the most impassioned ballet dancer. She'd put the little stick which had been in the pink envelope on the sink counter, and was firmly avoiding looking at it as if it itself were staring at her.

  After three minutes, she picked it up, looked at the two lines, and then continued to look at them for several minutes. Her mind went blank, then full of contradicting and crazy-making thoughts, and then blank again.

  She didn’t ask herself how it could have happened, for it was quite obvious how it had happened.

  She just wondered: How were she and Tony supposed to grow their family when it felt like they weren’t even family as of yet?

  She set an alarm for seven o’clock the next morning and went and got herself a cup of tea and sat in bed reading for about an hour while Tony finished his computer work and trudged up the stairs behind her. He looked tired. “All home maintenance and mail is now answered, paid, done, torn up, in the shredder, in the filing system, in the recycle bin, wherever it needs to be.”

  “That actually sounds horrifying. Thank you so much for taking care of all that,” said Diana.

  “You’re welcome. It’s part and parcel with being a billionaire,” Tony said wryly. “I swear for every dollar we have there are three pieces of paperwork.”

  “You survived, though,” said Diana, smiling. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” said Tony, tumbling into bed beside her. “I could eat a whale and then sleep for a million years.”

  “Two more incredible achievements,” Diana said lightly.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I could be down for a midnight snack,” said Diana. She and Tony traipsed back downstairs and examined the contents of their fridge and pantry, once again filled during their absence by their excellent staff. Diana pulled out a box of graham crackers. Tony found chocolate and marshmallows. They pulled skewers out of one of their drawers, turned on a small flame on their gas range, and set about toasting marshmallows.

  “When was the last time that you cooked s’mores?” asked Diana suddenly.

  “I don’t know,” said Tony after a moment. “Probably when I was a kid—boy scouts, or something.�
�

  “It’s been a long time, then,” said Diana.

  “True, true,” said Tony absently. Diana glanced at him. “Do you have something on your mind,” she said.

  Tony gave her a quick look. “Just thinking about this TV spot that we’re going to do tomorrow.” He paused. “What’s on your mind?”

  Diana was quiet for a moment. “I have news for you, Tony.”

  Tony went very still.

  Diana hesitated, then reached into the pocket of her robe. With a shaking hand, she pulled out the pregnancy test. She pointed out the two lines. She looked at her husband. “Congratulations.”

  Chapter 12

  After Tony had looked at her with abject shock for some twenty minutes, he'd actually turned around and been quite deliriously excited about the whole thing. Although, on the whole, Diana suspected that the delirium was more caused by late night sugar and a light case of jet lag than his excitement about presently being a father. As they were falling asleep that night, she had had to answer his numerous questions about pregnancy and childbirth every few minutes as he thought of them.

  It wasn’t that Diana wasn’t happy about being a mother; she was still halfway in shock, that was all, and her coping mechanism had been to go straight into planning mode. She was happy that Tony was showing enough enthusiasm for the both of them, however, and assumed that she would be happier about it in the morning, when she wasn’t quite so tired.

  This prediction came instantly true some eight hours later when she woke up, enjoyed the bright white light of the morning, stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then remembered that she was pregnant. Her hands automatically drifted to her belly, and she held them there for a moment, marveling at the fact that just a few inches below where her fingertips rested there was a tiny clump of cells which would grow and grow to be a son or a daughter.

  She rolled over and woke up Tony.

  “Which would you prefer, a son or a daughter?”

  “You woke me up for that?” Tony frowned, and then rolled over onto his back, and pulled the covers up over his face.

  On the whole, she couldn’t blame him for that. She rather wondered what she'd been expecting.

  Diana slipped out of bed and made a mental note to call her OBGYN later. But, for the moment, she just wanted to revel. She fixed up a pot of decaffeinated coffee—she thanked her lucky stars that she was already accustomed to decaf, and didn’t have to go through a whole withdrawal situation—and pulled out her phone and spent a few very enjoyable moments going through Pinterest, noting mom and infant things that she'd never quite noticed before.

  When Tony stumped down the stairs an hour later, he seemed as if he were a bit more open to the idea of general discussion.

  “I think I’d like a daughter,” he said meditatively. But then a moment later, he shrugged and said, “Or a son. I’m really open to the idea of either, honestly. Why do you ask? Do you have a preference? Do you think you sort of have an idea, either way?”

  “No, I think it’s too early for any sort of ‘mother’s intuition’, if that’s what you’re talking about,” said Diana. “I’ll let you know, though. And I think my only preference is—healthy?”

  “A good preference,” said Tony, dropping a kiss on her forehead. Diana smiled up at him, and then looked at the clock over the stove. “We’ve got to leave soon, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Tony. “They’ll do hair and makeup for us, though, so all we have to do is show up with a clean face on.”

  “Good, good,” said Diana. “Okay, then, so—wait. Are they also doing wardrobe?”

  “Oh, yeah, yes, they are.”

  “Good as well,” said Diana. She looked down. “I should still change out of my robe, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t complain.”

  Diana smacked him lightly on the arm, smiled, and then walked up the stairs. She came back down three minutes later wearing a t-shirt and jean shorts.

  “I could get used to other people doing my makeup and wardrobe for me wherever I go,” said Diana. “It’s really nice to go to an event just wearing whatever I want, not worrying at all about what I’m going to look like.”

  “You might just get used to it,” said Tony seriously.

  Diana smiled. She would be okay with that.

  An hour later they arrived at the studio. Diana was immediately whisked off to hair and makeup. A very nice lady in a red dress began to paint makeup onto Diana’s face, doing everything just a bit darker than Diana might have done herself. She talked about the weather and politics and her own family before looking down at Diana fondly.

  “Of course, we’re all rooting for you two, as well,” she said.

  “Mmm?” Diana had fresh lipstick on her lips.

  “Well, yes, of course,” said the makeup artist. “If you two kids stay happily married, well, that’s such a tick in the pro column for bringing arranged marriages back. And I know they sound like they’d be a horrible idea, but studies show they work really well. Which is why you’re doing what you’re doing, of course,” she said, after a moment. “Okay, I’m ready to move onto your hair—which means that we’ll get you in wardrobe first, really quick.”

  Diana was passed off to another aesthetics expert.

  “We’re going for a casual look today,” said the next woman, looking Diana up and down with a critical eye. “Jeans or dress?”

  “Dress, I think,” said Diana. She didn’t want to try on a pair of jeans. She thought, on the whole, a dress would be easier.

  The wardrobe specialist called around the corner. “What colors are we putting him in?”

  “Black. Groom-like,” Diana heard called around the corner.

  “Ah, so we’re still going for that matrimonial vibe,” said the stylist.

  “Makes sense,” said Diana.

  “Are you getting sick of it,” whispered the stylist.

  “What? My marriage?”

  “No, no,” said the stylist. “Getting fussed over, getting called a bride, stuff like that…”

  “On the whole, not really,” said Diana, after she'd thought about it for a moment. “See, many women do the whole bride thing for months before the wedding. I didn’t know I was going to get married until the day before, so, we’re just doing the bride-thing for months afterward, instead.”

  “That’s a good sound byte, remember that for the interview,” the stylist advised. Diana filed it away, but then realized she was definitely going to forget it in the heat of the moment.

  The stylist noticed her cringe. “Ever done an interview before?” she said curiously.

  “No,” said Diana.

  “It’s not bad, just talk to the host as if they’re a real person and you are, too,” said the stylist. “Forget that the camera’s there.”

  Diana had never quite heard such impossible advice, but she thanked the stylist anyway. She pulled her white dress over her head, and then went back to the hair stylist. The hair stylist looked at her critically, took one spray and wafted it over her head, and then proclaimed Diana to be finished. “You’re lovely just the way you are, dear,” said the stylist. “I mean, in life, I’m sure, but here, you look natural. We don’t want you to look incredibly done-up.

  Diana found it ironic that she'd just spent an hour and a half trying her best not to look done up, but she supposed that came with the territory.

  It was time for their interview. She went on set and sat in a very red chair. “The better to set off our outfits, I suppose,” Tony said when he came on set a moment later. He was done up very nicely. Diana looked at him fondly.

  “You look great,” she said.

  “As do you,” he said.

  Diana paused, and then looked at him intently. “Have you done one of these before?” she asked. “An interview like this?”

  “Oh, yeah, loads,” said Tony.

  “Great,” said Diana. “Because you’re going to carry the brunt of this one.�
�

  “Am I?”

  “Absolutely,” said Diana. “I’ve never done one before. And I’m pregnant. So.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly unless you want it to become the focus of the entire interview,” warned Tony.

  “Right, right,” said Diana. “Sorry.”

  “No big deal.”

  Their interviewers came to join them on stage. The lights went up. Diana began to feel very hot. The male interviewer flashed very white, very shiny teeth at Diana. “First time?”

  “Yes,” said Diana. She wondered how obvious it was that this was the case.

  The interview went swimmingly. Mostly, Diana decided, because she was true to her word and allowed (forced) Tony to answer the vast majority of the questions. At the end, both of the hosts shook both of their hands, and Tony and Diana both smiled and slipped into their limo to head home.

  “Aagh,” said Tony, as he looked at his phone after giving instructions to the driver. It pinged mercilessly several times.

  “What is it?”

  “My vice president and best friend, Danny, wants us to host a small soiree tonight to watch the TV spot and promote LoveMatches 2.0,” said Tony.

  “Well, that could be fun,” Diana said reasonably.

  “Or it could be horrid,” said Tony.

  “You’re no fun,” said Diana. “Come on, we’ll get home and figure out how to use our home. It’ll be a good day.”

  “Sure, sure,” said Tony.

  “Who’ll be on the guest list?”

  “Well,” thought Tony, “It'll be mostly for the reporters and for the company, so, them, certainly.”

  “Lovely,” said Diana. “Can I invite a friend or two?”

  “Yeah, that’ll actually make the event look way more organic,” Tony said thoughtfully.

  “As well as making it actually more enjoyable,” Diana said.

  “Well, yeah,” said Tony. “That, too.”

  “And we should reach out to that other couple that got married through LoveMatches as well,” Diana prompted.

  “Okay,” said Tony. “I’ll have Danny reach out to them for us.”

  “Sounds good,” said Diana. “Let Danny know that we’ve got this covered.”

  “Okay,” said Tony. He looked at Diana. “Thanks for being on board with this. And actually planning most of it, in the last few minutes.”