“Obviously,” Billie says from behind the camera.
“And you know how I’ve told you all repeatedly that we’re just colleagues?”
“Repeatedly,” Marlowe adds.
“I lied.” Collette looks at me and then back at the girls. “Fishette is real. But we aren’t dating.” She pauses. “We’re married.”
She holds up her left hand, and the massive diamond catches the light.
Nothing happens for about two seconds.
Then Billie drops the mic pack she’s holding, and Marlowe’s jaw hits the floor. Zara steps out from behind the camera.
“I’m sorry, what?” Billie shrieks.
“Married.” Collette wiggles her ring finger.
“Married?” Marlowe screams.
“Since Christmas. The night of the Christmas party actually, it’s a long story,” I add.
Billie rushes forward and grabs Collette’s hand, pulling it toward her face. “Oh my god. That ring is huge.”
“That’s what she said,” I mutter. Collette elbows me.
“You’ve been married this whole time?” Zara stares at us like we’ve just told her the earth is flat. “This whole time? While we were filming content together? While I was editing #Fishette compilations? While Billie was reading fan fiction out loud in the office?”
“You read fan fiction out loud?” I ask Billie.
“That’s not the point right now!” Billie is crying. Actual tears. “You two are married. #Fishette is real.”
Marlowe has her hands over her face. “I knew it. I knew something was going on. That day at the game when you blushed on camera, I knew.”
“You said you were fine!” Zara accuses Collette.
“I was lying.”
“Obviously!” Zara throws her hands up, but she’s laughing. “Oh my god, we have to post this. We have to post something. The fans are going to die. They are going to actually die.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Collette grins. “I want to announce it, on our channels, today, before anyone else breaks the story.” She turns and looks at me. “You go get changed and get camera ready.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Oh, and girls, we have more news.”
“You’re pregnant.” Billie gasps.
“No,” Collette answers quickly.
“Not yet,” I add, which makes the girls swoon.
“Emmett and Jo are a thing,” she declares, and I leave the girls shrieking.
Later that night,we’re in bed, my bed, our bed. She’s in my shirt, legs tangled with mine, her phone propped between us. The video went live hours ago, and we’ve been reading comments ever since.
“Read me another one,” I say, pulling her closer.
“Okay.” She scrolls. “This one says …”