Free A Beaumont Christmas Wedding by Sarah M. Anderson

his attention back to the phone, but pictures of cats and dogs and horses barely held his attention. He wanted their food to come so they could eat and get the hell out of here. He wanted to get Whitney to a place where even if people did recognize her, they had the decency not to make a huge deal out of it.
    She flicked to the last photo, which was surprisingly
not
of an animal. Instead, it was of a cowgirl wearing a straw hat and tight jeans, one foot kicked up on a fence slat. The sun was angled so that the woman in the picture was bathed in a golden glow—alone. Perfect.
    Whitney tried to grab the phone from him, but he held on to it, lifting it just out of her reach. “Is this...you?”
    “May I have that back, please?” She sounded tense.
    “It
is
you.” He studied the photo a little more. “Who took it?”
    “Jo did, when she was out last winter.” She leaned into him, reaching for the phone. “Please.”
    He did as the lady asked. “So that’s the real Whitney Maddox, then.”
    She froze, her fingertip hovering over the button that would turn the screen off. She looked down at the picture, a sense of vulnerability on her face. “Yes,” she said in a quiet voice. “That’s the real me.” The screen went black.
    He cleared his throat. “I think I like the real you.”
    Even then she didn’t look at him, but he saw the smile that curved up her lips. “So,” she said in a bright voice, “your turn.”
    Hell. What was he supposed to say? He looked away—and right at the same two women he’d seen earlier. Except now there were four of them. “Uh...”
    “Oh, don’t play coy with me,” she said as she slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket. Then she nudged him with her shoulder. “The real you. Go.”
    This time, when the women outside caught him looking, they didn’t hurry off and they sure didn’t stop pointing their cameras. One was on her phone.
    It was then that he noticed the noise. The restaurant had gone from humming to a hushed whisper. The carols over the sound system were loud and clear. He looked over his shoulder and was stunned to find that a good part of the restaurant was staring at them with wide eyes. Cell phones were out. People were snapping pictures, recording videos.
    Oh, hell. This was about to become a PR nightmare. Worse—if people figured out who he was? And put two and two together? Nightmare didn’t begin to cut what this was about to become.
    “We need to leave.”
    The women outside were headed inside.
    “Are you trying to get...out...?” Whitney saw the women, then glanced around. “Oh.” Shame flooded her cheeks. She grabbed her sunglasses out of her bag and shoved them back onto her face. “Yes.”
    Sadly, the glasses did little to hide who she was. In fact, they gave her an even more glamorous air, totally befitting a big-name star.
    Matthew fished a fifty out of his wallet and threw it on the counter, even though they weren’t going to eat anything they’d ordered.
    As they stood, the small group of women approached. “It’s really you,” one of the woman said. “It’s really Whitney Wildz!”
    The quiet bubble that had been building over the restaurant burst and suddenly people were out of their seats, crowding around him and Whitney and shoving camera phones in their faces.
    “Is this your boyfriend?” someone demanded.
    “Are you pregnant?” someone else shouted.
    “Are you ever going to clean up your act?” That insult was shouted by a man.
    Matthew was unexpectedly forced into the role of bouncer. He used his long arms to push people out of Whitney’s way as they tried to walk the twelve feet to the door. It took several minutes before they were outside, but the crowd moved with them.
    He had his arm around her shoulders, trying to shield her as he rushed for his car. With his long legs, he could have left half of these idiots behind, but Whitney was much shorter than he was. He was forced to go slow.
    Someone grabbed