by Sierra Rose
I stroked my stomach lovingly. “I thought you might want to hear that from your mama, little one. I’ve been thinking about you all the time, and I can’t wait for you to come into this world. Always know you were conceived out of perfect love. No matter what challenges we face as a family, I promise to love you more than anything. I cannot wait to meet you!”
Marcus came in and crawled in bed. “I can’t wait to meet our baby too.” He gently kissed my stomach. “Hey, there,” he said. “I’m your daddy. And I love you and your mother more than anything in this world.”
I smiled and put my hands over his. “We love you,” I said to my stomach.
Marcus and I talked and had this bonding moment with our unborn child. It was wonderful to see him so excited and so involved. He wanted to be a father more than anything. He wrapped his arms around me and I closed my eyes. I quickly fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of little fingers curling around mine and blue eyes looking up at me—as blue as his or her daddy’s.
***
February seventeenth. It was official. In all the papers. No backing out now.
And if I thought the media attention Marcus and I were getting before was crazy, it had turned into an all-out circus.
“Well, what about some kind of morning show?” Billings called over his shoulder, one hand muffling the receiver on his phone. “What about Good Morning America?”
Marcus’s famed PR wizard had actually flown out from Switzerland for the month leading up to the wedding, leaving his wife and two young children behind. I’d like to say that I’d found a friend in the strange little man, but I quickly discovered he liked me only as far as I was useful.
“What do you think, Bex?” Marcus murmured in my ear. “You want to do Good Morning America?”
I shrugged helplessly as I looked around at the swarm of people who had taken over our house. Despite their wasted efforts to keep calm so as “not to upset the bride,” the downstairs was beginning to look suspiciously like battle headquarters, and I was still a bit fuzzy as to my part.
“Are we sure I have to do anything?” I asked again quietly. “I mean, at least not by myself. Why can’t you be there with me?”
To say that I was uncomfortable with the idea of “presenting myself to the public on a national stage” was underselling it a bit.
“I told you, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of my head. “The segment is on women who are marrying rich and famous men. They want to focus on the wives. And they’re doing a taped clip of me and you together. And then they’re going to ask me a few questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like why I chose you to be my bride.”
“Then they’ll play it back when I’m on stage.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t they want to know more about you?”
“These people already know me. Over the years, I’ve given enough interviews to fill several weeks of footage. They want to know about you now. You’re the big mystery.” Now he kissed my nose. “The girl who stole my heart.”
I cringed automatically behind him as Billings snapped a “candid.”
“And where exactly do I start with that story?” I hissed under my breath. “The part where you offered to pay me twenty thousand dollars to help you lure a client, or the part where I thought you were propositioning me for sex and I kicked you in the—”
“Marcus!” Billings called again, more impatiently this time. “What’s it going to be?”
Marcus shot me a quizzical look, paired with a much fiercer version from Billings behind him. When I finally acquiesced, they both flashed identical grins and Billings began speed-talking into his phone in German. When he was finished, he sauntered over to where Marcus and I were nestled together on a sofa by the window. He reminded me a bit of Eduardo, the way he puffed out his chest while he walked. And then there was the way he hopped from foot to foot with nervous excitement.
“Okay, so we’re all set for Good Morning America.”
Marcus nodded seriously while I blinked in a daze. “Who is it with?” he asked.
Who hosts Good Morning America? I thought at the same time.
“It’s with Lara or Amy,” Billings answered quickly, “one of the blondes. So now that we know that”—he gestured my direction—“we can take her through a practice run and polish up some of her answers.”
Marcus nodded approvingly, and at some unseen signal, several of Billings’ people started repositioning the furniture and dragging two chairs into place.
“Wait,” I interjected, desperately trying to pause some of their relentless momentum, “a practice run?”
Billings turned to me for the first time. At first, I thought he was going to passively reprimand me for being so behind the times, but the next moment, he abruptly got to his feet and clapped his hands.
“Out—everybody out! Take five!”
The room cleared like it had caught fire, and a second later, it was just the three of us. I stared nervously around the suddenly empty corners before Billings gently caught my eye.
“No one knows a thing about you, Rebecca. We’re being incredibly selective about who gets to speak with you, so whatever interviewer we end up going with is going to be giving it all they’ve got. I know you’ve never done an interview before, but they’re going to be asking you some pretty hard-hitting questions.”
“Okay.” I shifted nervously and leaned against Marcus for support. “Like what?”
Billings held my gaze. “Like…you were first spotted together three months ago, you got engaged two months ago, and the wedding is in a few weeks. The question they’re going to be asking is obvious: Are you pregnant?”
“Oh…”
For whatever reason, I was a little relieved. I’d thought they’d quiz me on little factoids about Marcus’s life. Those juicy details that didn’t matter to anyone who wasn’t glued to Twitter so Marcus and I hadn’t really discussed them yet. Then, of course, there was still that brilliant, so how did you two meet again? question.
“Okay,” I said brightly, sitting up a little straighter. “I mean, I know it’s bad luck to tell people in the first twelve weeks, but I guess we can tell the world.”
The two men shared a quick, uncomfortable glance, and I stopped mid-sentence.
“What?” The look on Marcus’s face was making me nervous. “What is it?” I asked again, a little sharper this time.
“We shouldn’t say anything yet.” Marcus met my gaze and faltered, wondering where to go next.
Billings took over, speaking in a soft but professional tone. “We don’t think it would be a good idea to reveal the pregnancy just yet.”
My eyebrows shot to the roof, but I held my tongue—reining in my fast rising temper to listen to what they had to say. Perhaps it was a privacy issue? Perhaps he was being protective?
“It’s just,” Marcus leaned forward and tried to take my hand, “with the merger—”
“Oh my gosh!” I was on my feet in an instant, staring down at the two men. “You did not just make this pregnancy about your company, Marcus.”
Marcus paled in the face of my anger, but Billings was calm and unfazed.
“The entire point of your staged relationship with Mr. Taylor was to help rejuvenate his image—in large part to win over a particular, old-fashioned client,” he said steadily. “Why would we jeopardize all of that, as well as cast doubt as to the sincerity of your mutual feelings, by unveiling a baby conceived out of wedlock?”
I was stunned. Stunned and utterly speechless. When Marcus had first proposed this crazy scheme, I had assumed it was something that had just popped into his head upon seeing me and Takahari interact together. I had no idea that it was all so…well, strategic. People I’d never meet had sat in rooms I’d never seen and talked about Marcus and my fake relationship. Billings himself had no doubt examined our press photos for chemistry somewhere all the way over in Switzerland. And now, despite the ironic “convenience” of Marcus and me act
ually falling in love and wanting to get married, my baby might screw everything up?
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I just took a seat at the far end of the sofa.
“It’s just for a while, Rebecca,” Marcus said entreatingly. “Just until things have settled down after the wedding. I don’t want you to get hounded.”
“So you want us to keep it a secret until after the wedding,” I said without inflection, cutting him off. It was Billings who answered.
“Yes. If we want to preserve the resurrected image we’ve created—Marcus Taylor and his happy, stable family—we should wait until after the wedding.”
I gave him a hard stare. “And what? Hope that no one out there can count to nine?”
Marcus leaned forward quickly. “Billings, can you give us a minute?”
The man stood up to leave, but I stopped him.
“No, Billings, you should stay. We’re talking about our unborn child, after all, and that’s apparently a PR issue.”
Billings froze uncertainly in between us, but then lowered himself into his chair, flashing Marcus a look before turning to me with condescending patience.
“Rebecca, this really is for the best,” Billings said.
“It’s Miss White, actually,” I corrected with an icy stare. “Now let’s get on with the rest of the run-through.”
Marcus reached for me tentatively. “Honey, it’s just for a few weeks. I don’t—”
“Stop.” My voice and eyes were flat, robotic. “You don’t want me to be pregnant because it’s bad for business. Fine. I’m not pregnant. Moving on.”
“Becca—”
“Moving on, Marcus.”
Again, Billings stared thoughtfully between us for a moment before pulling out a clipboard with a cursory nod. “Good. Okay, next question. Are you ever troubled by Marcus’s rather infamous past?”
My mind was still reeling, and it took me a moment to recover myself. “I’m sorry—what? What does that mean?”
“You know, his last girlfriend, Eve, was a virtual doppelgänger for you.”
“Excuse me?”
Marcus stood up. “Billings—that’s enough!”
Billings blinked in surprise. Clearly the notion of sensitivity was completely foreign to him. “Everyone’s saying it, Marcus. There are comparison shots all over the news.”
A small, semi-hysterical grin crept up the side of my face as I got once more to my feet.
“Rebecca, wait—” Marcus tried to pre-empt me leaving.
“Clearly this is going well,” I mused, more to myself than anyone else. “I’m taking a little break, alright? I’m going to get out of the house for a while…pick up a mocha.”
Marcus glanced outside nervously, as if seeing dangers that I could not. “You know, sweetie, I can just have them make that for you here.”
My eyes flashed, and I turned around halfway to the front door. “I don’t want that, Marcus. I don’t want to resign myself to live as a perpetual shut-in. Any more than I want my whole life’s narrative to be determined by some bossy, uptight guy in an overly fitted suit! No offense, Billings.”
He held up a hand. “None taken.”
“I want to be myself and have that be okay, all right? Now I’m going to go out, get a taxi, and pick up my mocha.” I stomped toward the foyer. “Decaf,” I shouted over my shoulder, “not that I’m pregnant!”
The second I was by myself on the front stoop I gave a muffled little scream, actually stamping my foot in frustration. Four days ago, my life had been perfect. I was living in a sexed-out haze with the first man I’d ever loved in a virtual palace in the Hollywood Hills.
Now…?
My house had been effectively invaded, everyone inside was blatantly encouraging me to become a shut-in lest the media trip me up, and what should have been the two happiest things in my life—my upcoming wedding and my pregnancy—had been depressingly intertwined. And while one of them was literally the talk of the town, the other had to be actively hidden from an ever-inquisitive world.
“Do you think she knows we can hear her through the open window,” I heard Billings ask from inside.
I stamped my foot again, cursed like a sailor, and took off marching toward the gate at the base of the hill. Never mind the fact that some freakish zombie peacock was prowling the grounds, or that the walk down to the gate was a good half mile; I was in such a state, I felt like I could handle just about anything.
Anything except an utter betrayal from my only recently not-fake fiancé.
About ten minutes later, I finally made it to the other side of the property. I probably would have gotten there a lot sooner, but I was still unfortunately wearing the ludicrous heels that Billings’ people were having me practice in before the interview tomorrow morning. The second I was outside, I dialed for a taxi, then promptly called Amanda, asking her to meet me for an incredibly late lunch.
“Definitely,” she instantly agreed. I could hear her grabbing her car keys. “Ooh—let’s go to the Chateau Marmont!”
Unlike me, Amanda was taking full advantage of our newfound group entry into places that were previously out of our reach due to either price or prestige.
“I think I got an unofficial ban after I basically gave Marcus a lap dance the last time,” I confessed. “What about…sushi?”
“Raw fish, Bex. Honestly, don’t go killing my godchild.”
“Shit, of course. Um…Chinese?”
“Perfect—see you there.”
“Marcus is being a dick, by the way.”
She laughed. “We’ll talk in ten.”
Precisely ten minutes later, I was pulling up in front of Mr. Chow’s. I thanked my taxi driver and hopped out onto the sidewalk, scanning the crowds for Amanda. For a moment, everything seemed fine. I was just another slightly over-dressed won-ton enthusiast ready to chow down with her friend.
Then, very slowly, I began to realize that something had gone quite wrong.
The crowd began to shift their gaze, like some master puppeteer had maneuvered them all at the same time. Excited to see someone famous, I turned in the same direction, only to see the other side looking back at me. There was a bizarre hush—the kind of silence a horde of people shouldn’t be capable of—then came the explosion.
“Rebecca! Look over here!”
“Rebecca White!”
“Are you excited about the wedding, Rebecca?”
“What does it take to keep a man like Marcus Taylor in bed!”
My eyes squinted up automatically to protect themselves from the sudden array of flashbulbs and light. Whether it was a group of hipsters with their smartphones, or the actual paparazzi—drawn to the commotion faster than sharks and blood—everyone wanted to take a small piece of me.
I whirled around automatically to see if my taxi driver was by chance still here—maybe it wasn’t too late to make a run for it? But no such luck. One hand came up instinctively to my belly to protect the baby before I remembered the part I was playing and forced it back down.
“Is he insisting on a prenup?”
“Have the two of you ever had a threesome!”
“When are you going to start a family?”
“Bex!”
Somehow, Amanda’s voice stood out above the chaos. I turned around just as she swept in and took my hand, towing me into the restaurant like a person drowning—confused and disoriented. The moment we were safely inside, the manager greeted us and led us upstairs to a prime table—one with a view of the entire street.
…which was full of people still screaming after me.
My hands were literally shaking as I took a calming sip of tea. They were jumping up and down now—like there was any chance I’d go back outside in that mess.
“This…this is what Marcus was worried about,” I said suddenly, remembering the wary look he’d cast out the window when I said I wanted to go out alone.
“This might be something you have to get used to,” Amanda said sympathe
tically. “This would’ve happened with fame anyway. Didn’t we both want to be famous movie stars at one time?”
“I don’t mind getting recognized for my acting abilities, but I’m only getting recognized as Marcus Taylor’s fiancé.”
We sat there for a while, browsing distractedly through the menu, but the crowd didn’t lessen. In fact, it only got bigger. Before long, a news van arrived, followed soon after by two more. The sky had already begun to darken, but it only made the menace seem more real. Shrill screams echoed back in the shadows, punctuated far too often with a flash of light as a cameraman set up a location shot for whatever story this was supposed to be.
Rebecca White goes to Lunch?
Rebecca White Freezes like a Stunned Animal When Asked About her Fiancé?
Rebecca White – Deer in the Headlights
Fascinating stuff, really. But Marcus was right. The public already knew every piece of information he was willing to share. It was my turn now. And the press was hungry.
“Mandi, I’m sorry. I can’t eat like this.”
She peered out the window, looking worried. “No, me neither. This is insane!”
The waiter came by and we quietly asked for the bill for our tea—leaving an incredibly generous amount of money on the table for all the trouble.
“It’s no trouble,” he assured us repeatedly. “It’s actually great for business whenever a celebrity arrives.”
“I’m not a celebrity,” I said automatically, gripping my coat tighter around me.
“Mmm-hmm.” He looked doubtful, but smiled gratefully at the tip and escorted us out a side entrance where two taxis had already been called.
I gave Amanda a quick goodbye hug, nervous that people would spot us if we stayed outside too long. “Sorry about lunch,” I said glumly. “Try again soon?”
She squeezed my hand and smiled. “Next time, we’ll go out in wigs. No one will recognize you.” I brightened slightly at this and turned to leave, but she caught my wrist once more. “Bex…talk to Marcus. I’m sure there’s a reason behind whatever he’s doing.”
