my friend, I have news for you. The state of Tennessee allows marriages to be performed by any current or former county executive, as well as ministers, judges and the like.” The lawyer cast his eyes to the ceiling as he spoke, as if reciting directly from Tennessee Code. “And unlike most other states, the executive doesn’t have to have served in the county where the marriage is performed.”
He brought his gaze back to Adam, a smile hovering on his lips. “For the rest of his life, your pal Dubois can legally marry anyone anywhere in Tennessee, as long as they have a marriage license.” He paused, then delivered the coup de grâce. “You did get a license, didn’t you?”
The wheezy laugh started again, and Casey knew the sound would haunt her for the rest of her days.
LEGALLY MARRIED. To a woman I don’t know.
The irony wasn’t lost on Adam as he held Casey’s hand, waiting for the press conference to start. His reluctance to rush into marriage had opened the door to his relatives’ lawsuit against him. If it was possible to laugh from beyond the grave, right now Adam’s father would be in stitches.
Sorry, Dad, but this one won’t last. The sooner Adam extricated them from this mess, and got his focus back on his real problems, the better. Sam Magill had already left to start working on an annulment.
“Keep Casey with you until you hear back from me,” he had said on his way out the door. He was probably worried she would sneak off and open a joint checking account.
Adam had agreed, mainly because he’d been forced to scrap his plan of smuggling her out of the building, which was surrounded on all sides by media. Fortunately, Dave had slipped out before the press arrived.
Casey hadn’t argued with the lawyer. She looked as if she was in shock, Adam thought. Her face, flushed with embarrassment in the studio, had paled to the same shade as her dress.
As many journalists as could fit were crammed into the Channel Eight lobby. Adam cursed the fact it was silly season—midsummer, when there wasn’t enough news to fill the papers—which meant their wedding had attracted far more attention than it should have. He’d agreed to the press conference on the condition the journalists would allow them to leave privately afterward.
“I’ll do the talking,” he told Casey. His plan was to say as little as possible, to be noncommittal about their future until they knew where they stood legally. They would lie low for the weekend, and with any luck the fuss would have died down by Monday. Hopefully, by the end of next week the announcement of their annulment would be absorbed by viewers over morning coffee, and his and Casey’s brief alliance would soon be forgotten.
“Kiss the Bride is the hottest show in the land,” the PR woman crowed to the media. “We’re expecting huge demand from networks around the country….”
When she’d finished her spiel, she read out a hastily prepared statement from New Visage, which claimed to be delighted with the show and confident its relationship with Channel Eight would be both long and mutually beneficial.
That succeeded where nothing else could in putting a smile on Adam’s face as he and Casey faced the barrage of camera flashes and the questions hurled at them.
“Mr. Carmichael, is this a ratings stunt?”
“Casey, why did you say yes?”
“Adam, how long do you give this marriage?”
“Are you in love?”
“Casey, what will your family think?”
At this last question, he felt the tremor of her fingers in his grasp. She looked imploringly at him. He held up a hand for silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “as you’ve probably realized, tonight didn’t go according to plan for either of us.” Chuckles from the crowd told him they were on his side. All he had to do was give them enough to satisfy their immediate need for a story, without exposing Casey to further humiliation and without actually lying. “We’re asking you to respect our privacy beyond what we tell you now. I can reveal that Casey and I knew each other before this evening’s show—” only an hour before, admittedly “—and that for as long as I’ve known her I’ve considered her a very special lady.”
Any grown woman who could cling to her dream of being adored had to be special.
He looked down at Casey, noting that a few tendrils of honey-colored hair had escaped her veil. Gratitude warmed her eyes, and her lips curved in a tremulous smile. He turned back to the waiting media. “Can you blame me for seizing the chance to marry her?”
Applause broke out among the journalists. Pleased at the success of his speech, Adam grinned at Casey. She smiled back, obviously relieved.
“Hey, Mr. C.” It was one of the older hacks. “How about you kiss the bride?”
Photographers readied their cameras in a flurry of motion.
Adam raised his eyebrows in silent question to Casey. She gave a barely perceptible shrug, then a nod.
Once again, their lips met.
Like last time, he intended a brief kiss, one that would allow the cameras to get their shot.
Like last time, he found himself drawn to her.
Despite the crowd around them, he couldn’t resist the temptation to test the softness of her lower lip with his tongue. Her indrawn breath told him she was just as intrigued by the exploration.
The catcalls of the journalists pulled them both back to reality.
“Okay, folks, that’s all.” Mainly with the power of his glare, but using his elbows where necessary, Adam parted the throng and ushered Casey out the front of the building and into a waiting limo. She scrambled across to the far side, gathering her skirts about her to make room for him.
“Where to now?” Casey asked. The last half hour had passed in a blur, and she couldn’t imagine what might come next. All she knew was it couldn’t be worse than what had happened in the studio.
Adam’s half smile held equal measures of cynicism and resignation. “Our honeymoon.”
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK at night—her wedding night— by the time they got to the Romeo and Juliet Suite at Memphis’s famous Peabody Hotel.
Casey—or Mrs. Carmichael, as the hotel receptionist had called her—roamed around the room, while Adam tipped the porter. The original honeymoon Channel Eight offered hadn’t included the suite, which Casey suspected went for several hundred dollars a night. But a standard hotel room wasn’t going to work for a newly married couple who had no intention of sharing a bedroom, let alone a bed.
Judging by the crowd of reporters who’d followed them from the TV station, and were now being held at bay by the Peabody’s doorman—so much for their promise to respect the newlyweds’ privacy—Casey and Adam wouldn’t be leaving the hotel in a hurry, so the bigger the suite the better. Casey climbed the curving staircase to the bedroom. The king-size bed was a sea of snowy-white covers and elaborately arranged pillows. Surely a real honeymoon couple would want something
