So I Married a Rockstar

Chapter Three

Ch.3: Flying High

Two hours later, I was on a plane, sitting in first class with one of rock's most famous frontmen. Surreal didn't begin to cover it.

My small suitcase had already been loaded into the car that Jude's PA had sent to collect us from the hotel – although there was no sign of the PA herself. She'd also included a blue cap and a pair of Ray-Bans for me, so I'd had some measure of anonymity while leaving the hotel.

I wasn't sure if that was for my sake, or if it was because Jude didn't want to attract any media attention.

We hadn't talked about whether or not we'd go public with the marriage, or our arrangement, and now that I was sitting on the plane with him, it struck me again how little I knew about the man I'd married or the life he led.

The life that I'd suddenly found myself a part of.

I peeked around the cabin. There were only eight seats in the whole space – roomy, padded things that reclined into beds and were separated from the rest of the cabin by partition walls, creating little privacy booths. Each booth had a TV, a table for food and drinks, and a well-stocked minibar.

It wasn't hard to see why people were willing to spend money flying like this. It sure as shit beat being packed into cramped seats with complete strangers, fighting over armrests, climbing over people to get to the bathroom, and trying to ignore tantruming kids.

I couldn't see who else was in each booth, but I was pretty sure the woman who'd boarded the plane before us was a supermodel from Australia or New Zealand. I was about to ask Jude if he knew, when my phone buzzed.

My sister, Tasha, had sent a photo and a text reading, Have you seen this?

I tapped on the photo and my stomach plunged.

Tasha texted again before I could respond.

That's Jude Scott, right? I know it's kind of fuzzy, and a bunch of people online are arguing about whether it's really him, but it has to be, right? He's got the star tattoos on his hand.

It was a fuzzy photo, but to me it was clear as day, because I knew when it had been taken. I knew, because I was in the photo too.

Um, not sure, I texted back. Maybe? It's hard to tell. He's not the only guy with star tattoos.

Ugh, you suck, Tasha replied. It is him. And check out the woman he's with. She looks a bit like you.

I swallowed. In the photo, Jude had his arm slung around my shoulder, and I was cuddled against his chest, one hand pressed against his pecs like I was staking a claim. My face was partly hidden by a straw hat with flowers woven into the brim, and I had no idea where I'd got it, or what had happened to it because it definitely hadn't been in the hotel room when we'd woken up.

I don't see it, I texted back, feeling like a dick.

Only two years younger than me, Tasha was my best friend as well as my sister, and I hated lying to her, but some degree of privacy was obviously important to Jude. Until I knew exactly where we stood on how public our marriage would be, I couldn't tell anyone else that it had happened.

Why hadn't we talked about this back at the hotel? Or laid down some ground rules?

Perhaps my pounding hangover, general confusion over everything, and lingering fear over the damage I'd done to the room had something to do with it.

Another text came through from Maria, a girl I used to work with.

IS THAT YOU WITH JUDE SCOTT? she said.