Chapter 3: Bunny Slips and Blushing Hearts

He wanted to say more, but Evan suddenly called out, “Bunny, come help me wash these veggies.” Evan’s voice rang out, gentle but firm. I jumped, nearly dropping the plate of cherries. The nickname caught me off guard.

I got up and walked over. “Which ones?” I kept my tone casual, but my heart raced. Evan rarely slipped up in public, and I could feel the cameras zooming in.

He slowly handed me some cilantro. As I took it, something clicked—Bunny? Bunny? Bunny? That’s what he calls me at home. He’s a year older than me, and at some point, he just started using that nickname. I love it and never stopped him.

I stared at the cilantro, trying not to blush. The chat was already going wild, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

The chat scrolled like mad:

[Did I hear that right?]

[Bunny? I’m shipping this from every angle!]

[Is Evan marking his territory?]

[The moment someone chats her up, he needs help?]

[Wow, so sneaky.]

[Why isn’t Savannah smiling? Is she just not the type?]

I froze, my brain whirring. After a long pause, I forced a laugh: “Evan is so method. That drama ended ages ago, and he’s still calling me that.”

I tried to play it off, but my voice was a little too high, a little too fast. I shot Evan a pleading look, hoping he’d bail me out.

He glanced at me. “What’s wrong—something in your eye?”

He played dumb, his expression innocent. I wanted to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

Before I could answer, the chat went wild again:

[Oh, that drama again.]

[That show was wild—I won’t even say how wild.]

[Drama: I’m so unlucky to be involved with you two.]

I ducked my head, praying for the ground to swallow me whole. Evan just kept cooking, oblivious to the chaos he’d unleashed.

I ate dinner on pins and needles. Evan, like a man possessed, kept peeling shrimp for me. Under the table, I frantically gestured for him to stop, but he just didn’t get it. Halfway through, I made an excuse to escape.

I pushed my plate away, mumbling something about needing a bathroom break. Evan’s eyes followed me, full of concern. I could feel the weight of the cameras even as I slipped out of sight.

I hid under the covers, freaking out, when suddenly someone scooped me up—Evan, pulling me out of the blankets and into his arms, looking so wronged.

He held me tight, his arms warm and steady. I peeked up at him, heart pounding. He looked like a kicked puppy, all big eyes and furrowed brow.

“Why’d you stop eating? You always said my cooking was good.”

His voice was soft, almost hurt. I reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, guilt gnawing at me.

I reached out and pinched his cheek. “You really have to ask? Why did you keep peeling shrimp for me?”

I tried to sound stern, but my heart melted at the sight of his pout. He was impossible to stay mad at.

“I’m used to it. Haven’t I always done it?”

He shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I smiled, despite myself. He really was too good to me.

He wasn’t wrong—whenever we ate together, he always waited on me. “But we’re filming a show right now. If you keep this up, everyone will know.”

I poked him in the chest, trying to drive the point home. Evan just looked confused, as if the idea of hiding his affection was foreign to him.

“I didn’t say anything,” he insisted.

His voice was earnest, almost pleading. I sighed, knowing I’d never win this argument.

I sighed. You didn’t say anything? Why not just wave our marriage license in their faces?

I flopped back on the bed, arms spread wide. Evan sat beside me, rubbing my back in slow circles. He was stubborn, but his heart was always in the right place.

He looked at me with puppy eyes. “Can’t we go public now? The fans seem fine with it. Besides, everyone’s asking. If we don’t explain, isn’t that lying?”

His words were soft, but they hit hard. I stared at the ceiling, torn between fear and hope. Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

I slumped in defeat. “Fine, let’s go public.”

I let the words hang in the air, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders. Evan’s face lit up, and he pulled me into a tight hug.

Evan grabbed his phone, typed something, and hit send. I glanced at it and nearly blacked out. Who taught you to announce things like this? Have some mercy.

I lunged for his phone, but it was too late. The post was already live, and my notifications were blowing up. I buried my face in my hands, groaning.

Evan’s Instagram post was front and center:

[Just married-couple antics—thanks for understanding.]

I stared at the screen, mortified. Of all the ways to go public, this was not what I’d envisioned. Still, a part of me was relieved—it was out there, and there was no going back.

The comments were chaos:

[You two are so wild—aren’t you afraid for your lives?]

[Got any other tricks? Share with the girls!]

[Savannah is fierce—quietly bagged the A-lister.]

I scrolled through the comments, half laughing, half crying. The fans were having a field day, and I couldn’t even be mad.

Evan replied to one comment:

[She bagged me long before I was an A-lister.]

I stared at his reply, heart swelling. He always knew how to make me feel special, even in the middle of a social media firestorm.

Looking at that, I frowned in thought. The first time I met Evan was in the industry, but he was already an A-lister then. In that chaotic world, he stood alone at the top, untainted, always gentle and considerate.

I remembered our first meeting—how he’d stood apart from the crowd, radiating quiet confidence. I’d been drawn to him from the start, even before I knew his name.

Later, our families set up a match (a family-arranged marriage). When I saw his photo, I agreed without thinking. My parents were shocked—they thought they were just joking.

I laughed at the memory. My mom had nearly dropped her wine glass. I’d never been impulsive before, but something about Evan just felt right.

I nudged Evan. “When did you start liking me?”

I watched his face, searching for a hint of embarrassment. He just smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

He just smiled and said nothing.

His silence spoke volumes. I nudged him again, but he just pulled me closer, his smile soft and secret.

Turns out, news of our marriage didn’t spark a bloody war—our fans just shook hands and made peace:

[The show hasn’t even aired, but you two already gave us a sneak peek.]

[Should I really be getting this content for free?]

[Savannah, can you give us fan service more often? I’m dying here.]

The chat was a lovefest, and I felt a surge of gratitude. Maybe the world wasn’t as scary as I thought.

Jackie jabbed a finger at me, scolding, “You really kept this from me for so long? Unbelievable.”

She wagged her finger, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. I knew she was secretly thrilled for us.

Evan shielded me. “It was my idea to keep it secret. Don’t blame her.”

He stepped between us, arms crossed, looking every inch the protective husband. I grinned, feeling safe and loved.

Jackie just stared at us.

She just shook her head, muttering something about hopeless romantics. I stuck my tongue out behind Evan’s back.

Later, when the show’s masquerade ball was filmed, everyone who’d begged to see my sexy dance was stunned. I danced seriously to the music, and the room was dead silent. The chat begged for mercy:

[Please, sis, stop.]

[Did you just grow those limbs yesterday?]

[You’re so good at this—are you trying to die?]

[Ever thought about joining a girl group? If so, I’m calling the cops.]

[Not only are you pretty, but you can dance too.]

I twirled across the floor, giving it my all. The silence was deafening, but I refused to back down. I’d promised a show, and I was going to deliver.

Only Evan smiled at me. When the director asked, he answered seriously, “She dances great. She’s adorable.”

His words made my heart flutter. I shot him a grateful smile, and he winked back. The chat exploded with praise for his unwavering support.

[Respect.]

[This guy’s really in love.]

[Husband material right there.]

[Is he totally whipped?]

[Can hype anything.]

[Bro, I can’t be fan-club president anymore—you take over.]

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Evan’s love was the best hype I could ask for.

When it was Evan’s turn to dance, the mood totally changed. As soon as he took off his jacket to stand up, I quickly blocked him, smiling awkwardly: “Uh, he can’t dance. How about I do another one instead?”

I jumped in front of him, arms outstretched. The others booed, but I just grinned, determined to protect his dignity.

Everyone else waved me off, but Evan just laughed behind his hand. I breathed a sigh of relief.

His laughter was soft and genuine. I shot him a grateful look, mouthing a silent thank you. He always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it.

He’s actually a great dancer—I know, because I always make him dance for me at home, and he never refuses. Now that I think about it, Evan has never said no to anything I ask.

I thought back to our living room dance parties, the way he’d spin me around until we both collapsed in a heap, breathless and happy. Those were the moments I cherished most.