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Summary
He’s in too deep now. He can’t turn around and say ‘actually, sorry, I made that up. Free stuff, please?’ So he’s forced to walk himself to the gallows with a stiff smile.
Henry glances up when his shadow seems to cover his book, frowning. “Alex?”
“I need you to pretend to be my husband.”
“Excuse me?”
“I fucked up and now I’m going to look like a fucking psychopath if you don’t walk back with me to that booth covered in flowers and tell the very nice lady that we are on our honeymoon.”
Alex loves free shit. These are the lengths he's willing to go to in order to get them.