by Sierra Rose
A ghost of a smile flitted across my face. Amanda and I waved quickly and disappeared in our respective cabs, shooting off in opposite directions before the press arrived.
When I got back to the villa, Billings’ people had all disappeared. I got the feeling that Marcus had ordered them away. The housekeepers looked as thrilled as I was. The stoic head of security even flashed me a rare smile as I headed upstairs.
“Hey,” I called softly as I knocked on our bedroom door, “you in here?”
The door opened immediately. I didn’t think I’d ever get fully used to waking up to that face. I wasn’t sure anyone could. It was almost too perfect. Startlingly perfect. You had to stare.
“Hey.” Marcus smiled tentatively and gestured me inside. “You never have to knock, you know. It’s your room now too.”
I nodded self-consciously, pondering Amanda’s advice and wondering where to begin. In the end, I dropped my purse by the door and sat down in the center of the bed, patting the spot beside me. Marcus followed my lead, shutting the door first to give us some privacy.
“How was Chinese?” he asked quietly, kissing my stomach before straightening up.
I frowned curiously. “How did you know we went for Chinese?”
He bit his lip nervously. “Saw it on the news.”
My jaw dropped open. “You’re kidding me!”
I rushed over to his open laptop, and sure enough, there was a picture of me standing in the middle of the crowd, looking frightened and alone.
“Great,” I moaned, dropping my face into my hands. “That was quick. And look how my hair is all poofy from the wind.”
“Rebecca,” he said seriously, “if you want to bring back eighties hair, I have enough money to do that. We’ll just have to draft up a memo.”
“You’re the worst,” I giggled, tossing a pencil in his general direction.
“Terrible aim too.” He shook his head disapprovingly before catching my wrist and pulling me to him on the bed with a smile. Despite my simmering anger, I snuggled against him, determined to talk it out like a grownup.
“Who’s Eve?” I asked after a while, sneaking a look at him from beneath my lashes.
His face tightened uncomfortably, and he sighed. “You want the truth?”
The answer caught me off guard, and I frowned. “Well…maybe.”
“Eve was one of two girls I was dating before I met you. And yes, now that Billings pointed it out, I guess you bear a slight resemblance—but she’s in no way your doppelgänger.”
“…oh.”
I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say. I didn’t know whether it would help or hurt me to hear it. But at a time when it seemed like everything had to be either hidden away or completely exposed, I was leaning toward honesty when at all possible.
“And that’s not the half of it.” He twisted around slightly to face me. “Rebecca…I’ve had a fucked up couple of years. I’ve passed out in a million embarrassing places—each time discovered there by the press, slept with enough girls that I couldn’t begin to tell you half their names, and taken enough drugs to kill a small whale. I’m…I’m not proud of it. I haven’t been proud of it for a long time, but I never knew how damaging it was until now.”
I absorbed it as best I could, hand on my stomach the whole time. I had figured as much. When someone’s PR firm thought it was best to continue the charade of Marcus having a fake girlfriend to stabilize their image, it wasn’t because the guy was a saint. Then again, the last thing he said confused me.
“What are you talking about?” I leaned back so I could see him better. “Until now?”
“Now it can hurt you,” he said quietly, kissing me on the forehead. “Now it can hurt our family.”
Our family.
My hand came down, and I stared up at him seriously. “I don’t like hiding this from anyone. I don’t like that the first thing we’re doing for our child…is keeping it a secret.”
He dropped his head and sighed. “I think it’s for the best…”
My chest tightened, but I let it go. The decision had been made. At least for now.
But as we lay there, side by side, I couldn’t help but wonder.
The best for who…?
Chapter 13
For the first time since I moved into Marcus’s room, I couldn’t fall asleep. Whether it was my constant irrational fear of rolling over onto my stomach and crushing the baby, fear of the impending morning show where I was absolutely not allowed to talk about the baby, or leftover prickly energy from our fight about the baby, I tossed and turned for hours. It wasn’t until the sky tinged pink with the rising sun that I was finally able to doze off a little, but by that time, morning sickness kicked in, and I found myself racing to the bathroom.
I collapsed against the side of the bathtub after a few minutes of retching and hugged my knees to my chest. Marcus didn’t have cool tiles like Amanda and I used to. There was a thick white carpet—the kind you could sink your toes into after a hot bath. On most days, I actually found this quite charming, but today, when I was sticky with nausea and bursts of sweaty chills, I would have almost preferred to be back in my old apartment.
Soft footsteps padded from the bed to the bathroom, and a second later, Marcus knocked softly on the door. “Hey, honey, you okay in there?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said with a shiver, holding on to the side of the toilet in case it started up again. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after five.”
I grimaced and shut my eyes. So much for getting a full night of beauty sleep before my blood-shot, puffy, not-pregnant mug was going to be plastered on every television screen from here to Rhode Island.
Marcus leaned against the door, so it opened a crack. When he caught my eye, he flashed a sympathetic smile. “You want some crackers or water or anything? Or maybe a blanket?”
“No,” I said with more confidence than I actually felt. “I think that was the worst of it.” I got up, and he led me gingerly back to bed. But one glance and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any more (that is any) sleep tonight. “Actually, I think I’m just going to get up. They start filming pretty early and Amanda’s going to be here at six to help me get ready.”
“Are you sure?” He looked concerned. “You’re a sleep hoarder. Usually, you can’t get enough.”
“Not today.” I flashed a queasy smile and headed back to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower—go back to sleep.”
He rubbed his eyes wearily. “Nah, you’re up—I’m up. Care for a shower buddy?”
I paused. “Actually…not today, if that’s all right? I’m still feeling like I might be sick.”
“Of course,” he said quickly, slipping into his bathrobe and going to fire up his computer.
I rolled my eyes and grinned as I headed back for the bathroom. He had habit of checking the Japanese stock exchange every morning before breakfast. Different folks, different strokes.
Increasingly confident that the worst of the queasiness was behind me, I fired up the jets and took a step into the warm steam. A million goose bumps popped up all over my arms, and I shivered with belated chills. A second later, a pair of warm arms circled around me. I leaned back automatically as Marcus kissed the part of my neck just below my ear.
“Becca…” he murmured, “you don’t have to do the show if you don’t want to. I can call Billings right now and have him cancel—you just say the word.”
Any warm stirrings I might have been starting to feel dissipated immediately in the steamy fog. I took a step away and shook my head with a tight smile.
“We need this, right? It’s good for…you know—it’s good for everything?”
I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “business.” If anyone were to ask me directly, I could honestly say that at this moment, I didn’t give a flying fuck about Marcus’s business.
His face tightened, and he watched helplessly as I began to lather my hair. “Well…I me
an, yes—it would be good. But that doesn’t mean that you have to.”
“Then I’ll do it,” I said simply.
I didn’t want to dwell. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to make it through the next few hours without throwing up on anybody.
He nodded mutely and paused uncertainly in the doorway, as if wondering what to do next. “Well…are you sure you don’t want some company in there? I could—”
“Already done.”
I flicked off the water and stepped out into the steam, wrapping myself in a towel and hovering casually just out of his reach. I was really not in the mood to be coddled right now, but I could never bring myself to do anything to actively hurt his feelings.
“Do you think you could bring up some fruit for breakfast?” I asked helpfully. Maybe giving him a task would distract him from some of his well-deserved guilt about the morning’s agenda.
“Of course,” he replied instantly, relieved, as I knew he would be. “Peppermint tea?”
“That actually sounds wonderful,” I admitted. “Thanks, babe.”
He disappeared the next moment, and I heaved a silent sigh of relief. Since when was I uncomfortable around Marcus? Since when did I wait to take my guard down until he left?
Since he decided to force me to hide my shameful “out-of-wedlock” baby.
I gritted my teeth but stared determinedly into the mirror. I had agreed to this. I had committed. I picked up my brush and began tugging it fiercely through each of my tangled curls. With any luck, they wouldn’t even ask about the baby.
Chapter 14
“And why the quick wedding, Miss White? You aren’t pregnant, are you?”
My heart pounded guiltily away in my chest, and I lowered my head with a sigh. Mental note: don’t sign up for the polygraph. I wouldn’t make it past the first question.
“Why don’t I just say: take the Fifth?”
Amanda laughed, holding up my practice note cards in front of her face. “I’m pretty sure that’s an admission of guilt right there.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I threw up my hands in frustration. “It’s like we can’t talk about my baby without using words like ‘hide’ and ‘guilt.’ There’s nothing wrong here. This is supposed to be something wonderful. How would you feel?”
She shrugged but met my anger with steady sincerity. “I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
My stomach dropped straight to the floor, and I stared down at my hands, fighting back frustrated tears. Her face softened sympathetically, and she clapped me on the shoulder.
“But you did, and I understand why you did—really, Bex, I do. So let’s just…move on to an easier question.” She flipped hastily through the cards. “Like…where did you two meet?” She glanced up with a quirky frown. “Gosh—you guys just can’t catch a break, can you?”
I shook my head and stared glumly into the mirror. “We met on vacation in Bermuda. His room was just across the hall from mine, and we were in the same scuba class. For the next few days we just…kept running into each other. Finally, he came over and introduced himself.”
“Like you would ever scuba.” She snorted at the thought. But when she met my exasperated stare, she quickly transformed her face into a serious frown. “No, that was good, very believable. I liked the thoughtful pause.” She looked at me. “And since when can you afford a trip to Bermuda?”
“I never could. They got these facts all wrong.”
“Just tell everyone the truth.”
“You know I can’t!”
“Not that! That you met Marcus on your way to work at the coffee shop.”
“Because that would make me too ordinary.”
She laughed. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
I dropped my head into my hands. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“Who wrote these anyway?” she asked, browsing through the questions. “It was love at first sight? You know…that feeling you get in your stomach that just never quite goes away?” She stopped quoting and lowered the cards to her lap. “I feel like I’m reading a Judy Bloom book here.”
“That’s all Billings,” I said wryly. “Some of his finest work, I’m assured.”
“Billings,” Amanda mused as she continued reading. “I still want to meet him.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
“Did I hear my name?”
We both looked up in surprise as Billings himself swept into the room, followed by a team of hairdressers and stylists. Marcus trailed along at the end, but stopped in the doorframe, leaning on it nervously as he watched the situation unfold.
I forced my face into a sweet smile. “Just singing your praises, old friend.”
Amanda held up the cards and attempted politeness. “This is some quality stuff.”
He rewarded each of us with a bitchy smile. “Well, when your clients met each other under fraudulent circumstances, proceeded to dupe stockholders with a paid relationship, and then got immediately pregnant—you work with what you’ve got.”
“I happen to like their story.” Amanda jutted up her chin loyally, refusing to budge and forcing the frazzled hairdressers to work around her. “One of those fairytales, ‘but they fell in love, and it all came together in the end’ sort of deals.”
“You, my dear,” Billings muttered as he gazed critically at my reflection, “would never have a successful career in public relations.”
She kicked up her heels and grinned. “No, I’m far too concerned with fulfilling my own life goals to professionally dedicate myself to the perceptions of others. You know, as profound as that may be.”
For the first time all morning, I flashed her a genuine smile. Even Marcus stifled a little grin as Billings glanced back his way.
“This is your friend Amanda I’ve been hearing so much about?” he asked flatly. His eyes narrowed when I nodded happily, and he looked her up and down. “That fits.”
“Why don’t we just get on with it?” Marcus suggested peaceably from the doorway. “We need to have her at the studio within the hour.”
“Right you are.” Billings straightened up, suddenly all business. “Rebecca, did you go over the cards last night?”
“Sure did. Loved them.”
“Good. Then let’s focus on wardrobe. I’ve pulled out three different dresses for you to choose from. Each one modest but stylish—we want to downplay the gold-digger accusations as much as possible. And each one cinches at the waist to dissuade the notion that you might be—”
“Pregnant?” I asked loudly, ignoring the darting gazes from the hairdressers as they buzzed around my head.
Marcus met my eyes in the mirror, but Billings stepped inadvertently in between. “Yes, pregnant. We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
We stared each other down for a minute before I flashed a fleeting smile.
“Of course not.”
Still watching me warily, he turned his head to the side. “Katia, can you bring in the dresses for me? Now, Rebecca, whichever one you choose has its own style.”
“You choose,” I interrupted.
He paused mid-sentence. “I’m sorry?”
I lifted my head as my newly styled curls fell down my back. “I said, you choose. This is what you’re best at, right? And this is our story?” I glanced down at the cards.
The hairdressers scattered as the makeup girls rushed in.
“Yes,” Billings said slowly, “that is your story.”
I smiled sweetly. “Then I don’t see the need for me to have any input at all. There’s clearly nothing of me in here. And I’m nothing if not a sticker for consistency.”
There was a slight pause.
“We’re going with the white. Makes her seem more bridal. And get rid of the heavy jewelry—we’re going with classic tear-drop pearls. Think Jackie O, you know, before the death and bloodshed. I want you three over here directing—”
I tuned out as Billings’ voice became a low hum and looked instead
at Marcus. He was watching the proceedings with a very odd look on his face. Eyes following the movements as the publicity people rushed this way and that—painting, styling, and creating a whole new image. A brand new Rebecca. A brand—I should have stopped at that. Something perfect. Something unfamiliar. Something that wouldn’t make any waves.
I stared him down until he left the room, mumbling something about taking a quick conference call before meeting us at the studio.
Twenty minutes later, we were in the limo and speeding across the freeway. I was told that normally the show taped in New York, but they’d sent someone out special to Los Angeles just for me. I wished I could have felt flattered. But all I felt was dread.
Amanda sat by my side, laced arm in arm, viciously staring down Billings who sat across from us with the senior members of his team. Marcus was coming along later but promised to be there for the actual interview.
By the time we pulled up at the studio, tensions were running a bit high. But that couldn’t have mattered less in this profession. The second our feet hit the pavement; we were all smiles. I waved courteously to the little crowd that had gathered outside the doors, holding onto Amanda in a deceptively vise-like grip until we were swept inside and rushed to a dressing room.
As soon as the door closed, she yanked her wrist away from me. “For fuck’s sake, woman!” She rubbed at the red finger lines indented in her skin. “I almost lost a hand out there!”
“This is war,” I replied dismissively. “Be grateful it wasn’t your entire arm.”
We giggled nervously but stopped the second the door opened back up again. A nine-foot tall blonde Amazon walked inside. Despite her striking features, she had the most suburban face I had ever seen, a face I’d seen on the cover of a dozen magazines, posing with a serious smile.
“Rebecca?” she asked sweetly, extending a hand.
I gulped nervously and shook it quickly. “Hi, thanks for having me.”
“Well, thank you for coming!” She flashed a triumphant smile. “Between you and me, this was actually quite the coveted talk. Now I understand that this is your first ever interview?”
