It was our first fight. We’d have to figure out how to negotiate it together, reach an agreement about how we’d go forward. How we’d handle disagreements and resolve them. It was an important step, a necessary one in the growth of our relationship from acquaintances to lovers to spouses. I had expected, naïvely perhaps, that because we were making a deal, not a real marriage, that no one would get their feelings hurt. There’d be no messy fights, no worry insomnia when things went wrong. It could be smooth sailing, like friends who got along well. Except it wasn’t as easy as all that. It felt real, and it felt kind of raw. Like the guy who curled my toes last night had pissed me off, and I didn’t know how to sort out the complicated feelings of friendship, lust, and anger.
I sat on the bed, dumb with confusion. Everything felt too messy. My conviction that this was going to solve all our problems—his image, my living situation—plus give us both companionship and me the access to an A-list network was dissolving rapidly. I lay there in silence as the shadows gathered. I didn’t even bother to turn on a lamp.
A while later, he knocked on the bedroom door. I shook my head. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to deal with drama. Sara had moved out. My job was a headache. The house burned down. Then all the upheaval with meeting, liking, and fucking Josh Mason. I didn’t know if I even had a conversation left in me, much less the strength to negotiate the peace.
He pounded on the door again. “Let me in, Abby. I’m not going to give up and leave you alone. I’m not a quitter, and I know you’re not either. I’m not giving up on this deal—this marriage.” He paused.
I got up and went to the door, laying my hand against it. His insistence that he wasn’t going away, his demand that I open up and talk about it—that was all very alpha male. Which usually turned me off. But the fact was, he had a key to this door. He could’ve just walked in and made me talk to him, but for a guy who was rude to my friend, he sure as hell seemed to respect boundaries. Like my turning down the movers. My walking out on him and locking myself in a room instead of going to the jeweler as planned. Now he knocked.
“Abby, let me in. We have to talk.”
I stood there, not knowing what to do. He knocked again. There was nothing for it. He’d never give up. I didn’t want him to give up. I wanted to let him in. So I opened the door. I expected an apology or a rehearsed speech about how right he was and how he thought I overreacted.
I didn’t expect his hands on my face, his tongue in my mouth. A breathless kiss that I felt all the way to my toes. He rocked me off my feet. I held on to his wrists as he framed my face with his hands, his tongue stroking deep, tasting me.
“Thank God,” he said into my mouth, and I kissed him back. My breath came in heavy gasps as I opened for him, taking his tongue in my mouth, stroking it with mine. I wanted this, shamelessly.
“If any man is going to take care of you, it’s going to be me,” he said, his voice harsh and ragged. I nodded enthusiastically. “I was jealous. It hit me wrong that you brought him here, and I was rude. I want to be the one you come to. You’re going to be my wife. I want to take care of anything you need, anything you want. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, Josh.” I was shaking with want. He had told me the truth, admitted he was rude, and explained why. Going forward, I’d go to him first when I needed help. He wanted to provide that for me.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” he said.
“I am, too. I should’ve told you he was coming with me so you weren’t shocked. That doesn’t give you the right to—”
“Let’s just leave it at we’re both sorry it happened, and it won’t happen again,” he said with a short laugh against my lips. I flicked my tongue against his in answer. He hauled me against him, and I could smell sweat, salty on his skin. He smelled amazing. I turned my head and licked his neck just to taste him. He tasted like the salt air, like burnt caramel, like my wildest dreams.
“I’m sorry I didn’t think about your feelings. I only thought about how I wanted to handle the move, and I guess I’m not used to being engaged. I’ll be more considerate of your feelings. I’ll come to you when I need something.”
“That’s all I ask. I will try to act like less of an entitled ass around your friends. I still don’t want him around. I want to be the only man for a hundred miles that’s had you like this,” he said, his voice thrilling me as much as his words.
Josh picked me up and put me on the bed. I sank into the mattress under his weight. His weight felt so good spread out all over my body, pressing me down. I ached for him. My fingertips, my scalp, my nipples. Between my legs throbbed most of all.
“Josh,” I said.
“I thought make-up sex would be the best way to resolve this and reconnect. Are you on board with that?” he asked, a sly grin curving his mouth that was only inches from mine.
“Yes. Yes, definitely,” I babbled.
He bore me down onto the bed, kissing me thoroughly. Then he stunned me with his gentleness, his deliberate coaxing of my body until I trembled under his touch. He cradled me in his arms and kissed me, teasing and stroking every part of me until I vibrated like a guitar string. I whimpered for him to give me release, and he was merciful, bringing me to completion with his heavenly mouth between my legs. I kicked out and screamed, sobbing into my hands as he made me come and come. Then, when I was spent and languid, he moved up my body, his mouth on my nipple, and asked if he could finish making love to me. I nodded, all out of words, because he had left me so undone.
I reached for him mutely, bringing his lips to mine. He positioned himself above me. He palmed my head and kissed me softly as he rocked into me. It was so easy to open myself to him, to part my thighs so he could settle between them as if he belonged there and always had. I sighed, replete, as he entered me fully, his strokes full and tender, rocking with me into a perfect rhythm that sent us both spinning into ecstasy too quickly. I wanted it to last forever, the way he pressed his forehead to mine, the way my name tumbled from his lips as he came. I clasped him in my arms, kissed his cheek, his forehead, his eyes. I felt such a surge of affection for him that it was almost like love.
All of this was almost like love.
I didn’t want to think about that too closely. How close and confusing it might become.
Chapter 9
Josh
I covered her hand with mine. I loved holding her hand, even though it was for the cameras. I turned our hands so her engagement ring—an eight-carat pear-shaped diamond on a platinum band—was visible.
“She wouldn’t let me get the big one,” I said with a self-effacing half-smile.
“You spoil me already,” she said, her voice chiding but gleeful.
She tilted her head against my shoulder, and I took the cue to kiss the top of her head. We were adorable. It even felt adorable. It was our first joint interview following the announcement of our engagement. We’d made our first public appearance as a couple the night before at an amfAR gala. She wore a gold dress, her hair swept up artfully and pinned, adorned with a diamond necklace woven into her careful curls. She looked like a goddess. The picture on my phone was proof that she would not have been out of place on the steps of Aphrodite’s temple. Her dress was a simple column gathered just below the bust with a narrow band, the fabric a dull gold that shimmered but didn’t shout. It wasn’t Tina Turner disco gold—it was the old gold of the Etruscans, the gold you’d see on a warrior’s shield. I had been smitten with her appearance, and she’d teased me mightily about it. Even now, they projected a photo from the red carpet where I openly gazed at her.
“Josh, can you tell me what you were thinking at that moment?” the interviewer asked.
“Yeah, I was thinking I’m the luckiest bastard on this earth, and that I had better get her to the church on time before she had a chance to get away.”
“You are so full of it!” Abby laughed.
“It’s the truth!” I said, arguing playfully.
We te
ased each other and held hands. The reporter gave us easy questions about our hopes and dreams and when we first knew we were meant to be together.
“It was when I did the stupidest thing imaginable, which was borrowing a fireman’s phone to call a total stranger because I panicked and left my phone in my burning apartment. I could’ve called a cab or looked up a number. I met Josh once in an elevator for ten minutes. So instead of ignoring me, he shows up in person to rescue me. And he took me for soup. I know the soup story is a legend now because I wrote about it, but I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. How kind he was when there was nothing in it for him.”
“It may have seemed that way at the time, but as you can see, I got the girl,” I put in with a smile, kissing her hand.
“One could argue which one of us got a prize there,” she teased.
“What blows my mind is that Josh famously dated several very beautiful and clever women in the past, but they all let him slip away. So he was single when I met him. Single and clearly not someone who has a type, because I’m not exactly six feet tall and good at walking in stilettos down a runway,” Abby said.
“And what blows my mind is that you kept telling me no. No, you wouldn’t go out with me. No, we shouldn’t kiss. No, there was no way you were going to get engaged. Literally, no one in my life has told me no as much as this woman. And I’m an actor—I face a lot of professional rejection.”
“Oh, you know you like a challenge. Although I’ll admit, I was dead set against getting married. It was too fast, and we were too opposite…but he convinced me. Because, seriously, look at him. Who could tell him no?”
“You! All the time!” I laughed. She kissed me lightly, and I pulled her into my arms until the interviewer cleared his throat.
“Well, I said yes when it counted,” she said, “and I don’t regret it for a second.”
“What sort of wedding are you planning?”
“That’s a funny story. It seems like I proposed to the only woman who never fantasized about planning a lavish wedding.”
“It’s true. I just want to marry him. I want a really good cake, though.”
“So we contacted a wedding planner to sift through the details that we were particular about, and we’ve managed a really short timeline. It’s going to be intimate, just our close family and friends, because the commitment is very personal for us. But we’re doing an interview afterward, because we’ve had so many well wishes from people around the world, and we want to let them in a little bit, to let them know how much we appreciate them. We’ll also release a few still images of the ceremony taken by our photographer. A magazine has purchased an exclusive of the shots for a million dollars, which we are donating to a terrific program that brings arts to inner-city schools in the LA area. We want to make a statement with our wedding, and any well-wishers, including our guests, are asked to make donations to this or another charity of their choice instead of gifts,” I said.
“How did you hear about that organization?” the interviewer asked.
“Well,” Abby said, “my friend Sara is a school nurse. She learned about the program at one of the buildings she serves. I heard about it through her, and when we looked into it together, we were really impressed. And we thought they could do even more with an influx of funding. They already do visual arts and some dance in about eleven primary and middle schools. When we spoke to the director, she said they’re looking to expand their offerings to additional facilities and increase the dance and theatrical activities with the funding.”
“Obviously, theater is close to my heart, and my bride is hoping to work with them to incorporate creative writing,” I said, my arm around her to cuddle her near.
“We decided against traveling for a honeymoon. We’re making a charitable donation in the amount we would’ve spent on the trip to Fiji that Josh originally suggested. He is so generous, and he wants to spoil me. I didn’t say no—ladies, do not think I turned down a trip to Fiji with Josh Mason! I’m not stupid!” she laughed, and the interviewer laughed too. “We discussed it, and how lucky we are to work in jobs we love in this incredible, creative industry, and how giving back would make us feel better than a trip would.”
“It’s going to be a very intimate wedding, nothing extravagant. My friend Max, who’s been my publicist for years, is letting us have the ceremony in his backyard. My house is up in the hills, a great view but not a lot of level ground for a wedding. We’re going to Carmel for a couple of nights, and then back to work for us both.”
“We’re having local flowers, farm to table food. We’re trying to make it as sustainable as possible. My dress, rather than having a bespoke gown from a designer—and I’ll be honest, it was pretty flattering to me to have people offer to make something just for me—a stylist found a vintage dress in a consignment shop that’s being remade for me from that fabric and lace, that’s my something old. The extra material will make ribbons for the bouquets. I’m borrowing shoes from a friend who has a pair of Manolos she got on eBay—light blue, so it’s my something blue and my something borrowed.”
“So what’s your something new?” the interviewer asked.
“My wedding ring. My husband. Our new life together,” she beamed.
I kissed her cheek. “Isn’t she the best? I have no idea how I got so lucky, stepping into that elevator when I did.”
“Karma,” Abby said. “You’ve been giving to charities for years without taking any credit for it, so you build up all these good deeds and then cash them in for a semi-hysterical woman whose house burns down.”
“I never said it was your lucky day then. I said it was mine,” I said.
“Oh, my,” Abby said, leaning in and kissing my lips lightly. “It was lucky for us both. Because you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for. Smart and funny, thoughtful, protective, and fun. You’re so much more than people know. Because you’ve never let them in. I think if all of America saw you the way I do, then they’d realize—”
“That this interview should be R-rated? Because if they saw me like you do…” I chuckled.
“Honey, they’ve already seen you like I do. All of you. In three different movies,” she deadpanned, and we all laughed.
“Would you say that you both push each other to be better?” the interviewer continued.
“Yes, definitely. I get a lot of the writer’s perspective on story and character from Abby, and she’s encouraged me to look at a variety of projects that are out of my comfort zone. I’m excited about looking for a more mature role, with some depth and conflict to explore. Abby’s brilliant, and I want her to get to work on the kind of stories she loves to tell. I’m also hoping she’ll break down and tell me what’s going to happen on the midseason cliffhanger on Ancient Crowns, but she won’t breathe a word!” I said, grinning. She smiled back at me.
The interview wrapped up with more love birding and a few more hints about our wedding plans. Afterward, she told me it was genius mentioning Ancient Crowns in the interview and trying to whip up interest in the midseason episode. I nodded, doing my bit to be supportive. In turn, I thanked Abby for making it look like I had to be urged to try dramatic roles instead of exposing my naked ambition. Plus, her confidence in me was sexy as hell.
By eleven that night, I had snared two magazine covers and been invited to read for a role as a recovering alcoholic crusading for a cure for his kid. In other words, I had a shot at the part of my dreams, helmed by an award-winning director. I woke Abby, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching a cooking show.
“This is incredible. Read this,” I said, handing her my phone. She rubbed her eyes and skimmed the words.
“That’s amazing, Josh! I’m so happy for you!” she said, throwing her arms around me.
“This is working like a charm. Plan the wedding as soon as possible. We already know the venue, and the dress is underway. Find out how quickly it can all be ready.”
“Did you talk to the photographer? What’s his name
?”
“Nathaniel Baker. When I dated Mimi, he was the only one she’d work with. She’d been modeling since she was fourteen, and said he was the best.”
“We’re taking your ex-girlfriend’s recommendation?” she asked, scrunching up her nose.
“I was going to. But if you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll have my assistant find someone else. No problem,” I said.
“No, it’s fine. I just don’t like to think of all the famous people you’ve slept with.”
“There aren’t as many as all that, but anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell me. We’ll take care of it. And anything you want to know about my past, I’m an open book.”
“I’ll take you up on that sometime when I’m not grouchy and half asleep. I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll be up later. I want to read through this script. Will you take a look at it tomorrow?”
“Love to. Goodnight,” she pressed a kiss to my cheek and went upstairs.
Chapter 10
Abby
In three weeks, we’d managed to organize a ceremony and reception that was exquisite, simple, and full of personal touches. I carried yellow poppies harvested locally, and my dress was a drapey, slightly bohemian affair made of satin with a lace capelet over my freckled shoulders. I had tiny blue flowers woven into a circlet on my hair, and the borrowed shoes didn’t pinch at all. I felt good about it all, and about how we’d pulled it off in an environmentally friendly way. Even the cake was made with local eggs, decorated with swirling webs of sugar work over the ‘naked’ white frosting, and surrounded by a ring of blue blossoms.
Pretend Wife Page 10
