Chapter 3: Tiffany, Part 3

"You think it was her?"

"I know it was her. Wait… how did you guys find out we got married, anyway?"

Quincy looks at me like I'm ridiculous. "When we saw the picture. How did you think we found out?"

"Honestly, I thought Rowen must've texted Daniel. It never occurred to me he'd be able to keep it a secret. He's not very good at that when he's excited."

She laughs. "Yeah, those guys are the biggest gossips. And they accuse us of talking too much."

"Please. We gossip at the hair salon once every six to eight weeks. They do it in the locker room every day."

"Seriously." She grabs more color on her brush and continues painting my hair. "Tell us about this wedding anyway. Do you have any more pictures?"

So I tell them the whole story. From Rowen proposing on the beach to him having wedding dresses delivered to the hotel for me to try on to saying our "I do's" at sunset. It feels nice to tell people I trust, who are genuinely interested in my wedding, and not because they're going to post it online. I briefly wonder if I'll ever fully get over the scandal.

"Okay, let's get you under the dryers," Quincy says as she throws the brushes in the now empty bowls. "Looks like Sue is here."

I look over and see an older woman wearing a hoodie and dark sunglasses.

Geni chuckles. "Oh yes. That's inconspicuous."

"Don't make fun," Quincy says as she pushes the tray of supplies to the side. "She's you in about fifty years."

"Hey!" Geni cries then stops to think. "Yeah, okay. That's accurate." She shrugs, turning to go get her own client who just arrived.

Quincy gets me situated under the dryer and leaves me with my phone for entertainment. As much as I want to look up the most recent sports scores, I need to text my mom first.

Me: Good morning, Mom. I have a question.

Mom: Hi Honey! Glad to see you're back in the land of the living.

Me: Barely. I've never had jet lag. It's worse that I imagined it would be.

Mom: Aw. I'm sorry. What's up? You and my new son-in-law getting back into the swing of things?

Me: Working on it. Hey, did you release a wedding pic to the press?

Mom: No, of course not! I put a wedding announcement in the paper. But only in Nashville and Detroit for the families to see.

I groan. My mother still doesn't seem to understand that anything related to Rowen won't stay local news. Ever. I didn't even realize how far Rowen's reach was until we went to Los Angeles last year for one of his games. As we left the restaurant where we had dinner, some European tourists recognized him. It took me a minute to finally catch the word "Ryan" as the tourists chatted back and forth while taking pictures with us. That's when I finally put it all together…

Soccer has a huge international following. It's arguably bigger than football is in the States.

Ryan Flanigan, Rowen's dad, is a legend in the European Premier League. Think David Beckham on a larger scale. Thus anything to do with Ryan is a big deal. And Rowen is his son. Therefore, he's a big, big deal in Europe.

Me: Okay. Just wanted to make sure.

Mom: No problem. I've gotten more compliments about how beautiful that picture is.

Me: Me too, Ma. I'll call you when I have more time.

Mom: Okay, sweetie. Love you.

Me: Love you too.

I look up and over at Quincy's station. The older woman no longer has a hoodie and sunglasses on. And it's easy to tell neither of them is happy about the situation. Even from here I can see those bangs are going to be really hard to fix. This is why I'm okay with not having kids for a while. Later, when I'm older and have the time and desire to monitor their every move, sure. But not now. I'm too selfish right now and not too proud to admit that.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down to see a text from Rowen.

Rowen: Babe. Apparently one of the pics from the wedding is out there. Don't freak out. I've googled everything I can think of and it's only one.

Me: I know. I was just about to text you. Apparently my mother thought it was nice for the families to have a wedding announcement in each of our hometowns.

Rowen: Thank god. I was afraid I was going to have to raise hell with the photographer or the hotel.

Me: Nope. Good ol' mom still hasn't figured out what the word "privacy" means.

Rowen: I'm sorry, babe. You okay with all this?

Me: I'm fine. Not thrilled but nothing I can do about it.

Rowen: I can do something to take your mind off it when you get home. ;)

I chuckle to myself. He's insatiable. I love it.

Me: I bet you can. I'll see you when I get done.

I spend the next several minutes scrolling through sports scores and seeing if there's anything major I missed while we were gone and make a mental note to remind Steve that the Cowboys are coming to town in a couple weeks. Before I know it, Quincy's ready for me again, has me shampooed, and is leading me back at her station.

"How'd it go with the bangs?"

She shoots me a glare as she picks up her scissors. "I told her to stand in the back row for all the pictures."

"It's not an outdoor wedding, it is?"

"Nope. And I already suggested a hat."

I smirk and watch as she combs through my hair.

"I have a favor to ask," she says, switching gears.

"Hit me."

"Do you want to come over tonight and help me pack? That one over there" - she gestures towards Geni, who holds her hands up like she's innocent - "just sits around and watches while I do everything, and I have to be out of the apartment by the end of next week."

"I keep an eye on the baby for you, and then we watch Outlander," Geni challenges.

"That's a load of crap and you know it." Quincy points her scissors Geni's direction. "Well, maybe not the Outlander part. I can't help my love for Jamie Fraser."

"Why does Tiffany need to watch Outlander with us when she has her own hot dude with a brogue at home?"

I open my mouth to speak but realize she's right.

Quincy freezes mid cut. "Rowen doesn't happen to have a kilt, does he?"

"I don't know the answer to that. Do Irish men wear kilts or is it just a Scottish thing?"

"There's a lot of debate about when Ireland adopted the tradition of wearing kilts, but it could have been several hundred years ago," Geni spits out, as she runs the clippers over her client's neck.

Quincy and I just stare at her.

"What?" Geni shrugs. "I know things."

We keep staring.

"Plus, kilts are hot, so I looked it up."

Quincy and I nod like that answer makes more sense. And I make a mental note to ask Rowen about this. Geni's right. My husband in a kilt could be seriously hot.

"Anyway," Quincy says, breaking me away from the visual images running through my brain. "I know it's short notice, but I figured with the poker game tonight, you might not have anything to do."

So much for staying in and letting my new husband ravish me all over again. "Poker night is tonight?"

"Yeah, Christian made this big deal about Daniel never having another one once the baby and I move in, so they're doing it tonight."

"I'll double check with Rowen, but I'm guessing I can come over."

"Yay! Maybe I'll actually get something done now."

"I heard that," Geni complains.

"I wasn't hiding it from you," Quincy retorts.

I unravel my arms from behind the cape and text Rowen.

Me: Apparently poker night is tonight.

Rowen: I just heard.

Me: I take it you're going?

Rowen: Under duress.

Me: Okay. I'll hang out at Quincy's while you're there.

Rowen: Sounds like a plan. Not a fun one, but a plan, anyway.

I snigger. I'm really happy with the friends we've ended up with. But I wish we could have stayed in that newlywed bubble for a little longer.