Just Fake It

by Pierce, Haley

  He climbs up to the podium and I’m on the edge of my seat as he takes that statue in his greedy little hands and kisses it. He holds it up for the audience, and as the applause dies down, he says, “Thank you. I’d like to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, as well as all of those people who helped me to bring this idea of mine to a reality. Each one of you plays a part, and without all of us, working together, this never would have been a reality.” He clears his throat as there is some polite applause. “And on a personal note, I want to thank my beautiful wife, Lee. I love you, Lee. You’re everything to me.”

  I can’t hide my shock, or the way the tears start to fall messily over my cheeks. I tell myself that I’m his wife. Wives are told by their husband that they love them, all the time. And yet I can’t manage my emotions. Not even one little bit. People around me are watching me, cameras are in my face, and I’m sitting there, heaving, sobbing Otto’s wonderful creation away. Thank god he used waterproof mascara.

  Someone beside me hands me a tissue. “That’s some romance you two have,” the older woman says. “You’re the talk of the town. You two are so very fortunate to have found each other. What a love for the ages!”

  I dab at my cheeks and start to bawl, all over again. A love for the ages. Which will end in March.

  No. It doesn’t have to end. It’s a love for the ages.

  And if we both want it . . . which I know we do . . . it will endure.

  I have nothing to worry about, I tell myself, sitting back in my seat and applauding along with the crowd. I tell myself to ignore that niggling worry and just enjoy.

  And I do.

  The Last Door on the Right winds up winning six Golden Globes, including Best Director, Best Screenplay, and Best Motion Picture- Drama, and ends up being the most awarded film of the year. As we climb into the limo, there is buzz all around about how it’s going to take the Oscars by storm.

  I’m so excited, I want to celebrate. “Where are we going now?” I ask him, pulling my wrap up around myself as I sit beside him and he pours me a glass of champagne. I’ve heard about the legendary awards-show after-parties, and I don’t want to miss one. Not in our moment of triumph.

  He snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me to him. His hand skims up the slit in my gown and finds its way between my legs. “I’m taking you to my bed. You want to fuck a Golden Globe winner?”

  He kisses me on the neck and I squirm, laughing. That sounds good, but . . . “You don’t want to party?”

  He reaches over and takes the flute of champagne, slipping it into my hand. “With you, I do. I don’t need anyone else.”

  I can’t argue with that. Even though I’m a little bummed, butterflies flutter through me when he looks at me, and I’m full of the anticipation of his hands on my body. We kiss like love-starved teenagers in the back of the limo, on the way home. When we get to the house, I hold the statues, and he lifts me into his arms and carries me into his room. He holds me in only one arm as he shuts the door as quietly as he can, then he stumbles us frantically to the bed, where he drops me and strips me bare in about three seconds.

  Then he strips off his bow tie, snaps off his cuff-links, and unbuttons and pushes off his shirt, all the while, his eyes roving over my ever curve.

  He’s got me naked, and he is still in his slacks, looking down at me.

  He spreads my legs open and up over his shoulders, bracing me against the wall as he buries his head between my thighs. I gasp. My fingers wildly clutching fistfuls of his hair. I want to pull him closer but at the same time I can barely take the excruciating pleasure of those deep wet flicks of his tongue. I thrust my hips up and fist his hair so hard as he groans between my thighs, only driving his tongue in for a better taste of me.

  I push him back on the bed. He falls on it, but not before he clutches my hips and brings me down with him.

  “Ride me,” he says.

  I’m straddling him, leaning down, my hair falling like a curtain down the sides of my face as I drop my head—taking from his hot, wicked and delicious lips again. He palms my ass, squeezes and massages it as he slithers out his tongue to give me a kiss to remember. A Golden Globe-winning kiss.

  He shoves his fingers up the back of my legs and works them along the fissure, caressing my ass cheeks with nothing separating us. When he slides his index finger into the fissure of my cheeks and drags it up and down my clit, I jerk with a gasp and arch back with a soft moan. “Oh god.”

  I love it. I can’t control myself, anymore, where he is concerned. I am absolutely one-hundred-percent, in love with this man, fallen and falling deeper every moment. “Funny, you don’t feel any different, Mr. Golden Globe winner,” I gasp.

  He rolls me to my back and pulls one of my legs, draping it around his shoulders. “Oh, I’ll make you feel different.”

  I try to sit up on my elbows. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this,” he says, pushing me to my back and thrusting in without a condom, eyes flashing with desire as he watches me take every thrust and meet him with a thirsty roll of my hips. I’ve never done it before without a condom, not since Steven, but this time, it’s different. “I’ll pull out, I’m safe. Do you trust me?”

  We stop for a moment, our breaths coming together in a hot, hard gust. I hold his gaze and feel myself nod. “Yeah,” I gasp.

  I do. I trust him. A rare thing in this city, that I could be used, and abused, and yet still find it within myself to trust. But it’s all him. All Justin’s doing. This city was all broken dreams, for me. But he’s made me believe again.

  He pulls my hair back to expose my neck and clamp his mouth down on my neck as he thrusts harder.

  He groans as if he likes my taste. I clutch his hair and count the days to my period. Which is coming soon. This could be bad. But it can’t be bad. Nothing that feels this good can be wrong. And decide that I can’t stop him. Won’t stop him. Want him, this, desperately.

  My breasts heave up and down from the force of each of those breaths. His body covers mine, all muscle and sinew, so hot that we’re both sweating from the combined heat of our bodies so close together. Draped in sweat from the absolute ideal and perfect exercise that we’re both doing as we fuck like rabbits.

  I go off with a soft cry, and Justin lifts up and smothers the tip of one of my breasts in his mouth, groaning my name as he pulls out, grabs his dick in his hand, and pulls as he comes all over my abdomen. He jerks forward, on his knees in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I groan and watch his semen fall upon me, my whole body clutching in fresh new arousal. I trusted him. And he didn’t let me down.

  And with arousal, comes that little niggling worry again, but I push it aside. I will never get enough of this. Not come March. And maybe not ever. And all I can hope and trust is that Justin, my Justin, feels the same way.

  Chapter 18

  I stumble out of bed the following morning, sore from our celebrations. The sex was wild. Frequent. And all night long. Luckily, I had Minnie come in early to take care of Brandon, anticipating a late night. When I pour myself a coffee from the Keurig and look out the window, I see him, in the pool with the instructor we hired, practicing his monkey-walks on the side of the pool.

  I smile, thinking of last night.

  Justin had said he loved me. I don’t even worry if that is part of the act, now, because I know in my heart there’s no way he can be such a good actor. He’s been so real, all this time. For weeks, he hasn’t been that party boy, that asshole that the press had made him out to be. He’s a changed man.

  And yes, he’d said he was going to do it for the statue.

  But that look on his face when he stood at the podium and told me he loved me?

  I couldn’t help thinking that he’s changed for me, too.

  I smile as I sip my coffee, then look down at my phone. I have a text from Ava. He loves you, huh? You’re his everything? Nice.

  I wrinkle my nose. I just knew Ava would hav
e something to say about that. I call her number and when she picks up, say, “Yes, he does. Do you have a problem with that?”

  She groans. “As a matter of fact!” She sighs. “So I guess you’re sleeping with him now?”

  I frown. “It’s none of your business.”

  “I’m your sister. So it is. Do you really think a leopard like him is going to change his spots so easily? He hasn’t loved anyone else but himself since he was born!”

  I sigh. “You don’t know him like I do. And yeah, maybe he’s a Hollywood type, but it doesn’t matter. He’s great around me. He’s not such a jerk like you’re thinking.”

  She snorts. “All I know is that you cried like it was the real thing, girl. I saw it in your eyes. You love him. Don’t deny it. You’re hook, line, and sinker for him.”

  I stomp across the kitchen, laying my mug down and looking toward the foyer, to make sure Justin isn’t anywhere in sight. “Stop. So what if I am. I’m happy. You don’t know him.”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, sweetie,” she mutters. “Because now it’s not just you. Now you have Brandon to think about. Don’t forget that.”

  “I can never forget Brandon for a second!” I shout, outraged that she would think that.

  “Okay, okay. How is the little nugget?”

  “Fine.” I know her heart is in the right place. But I’ll never be able to live Steven Long down in her eyes. For the rest of my life, I’ll be the Queen of Bad Decisions, someone she feels she has to look after. “We’re both fine. How were your holidays at home?”

  I can almost see her roll her eyes. “Nebraska is Nebraska,” she says with a sigh. “Everything’s the same there. I brought Tom Pain with me, and dad loves him because they have a rugby connection. He’s practically part of the family now. I think they’re hearing wedding bells. Blech.”

  I smile, imagining the whole scene, my parents falling head over heels for Ava’s dashing, successful boyfriend. I try to imagine bringing Justin home to them, too, and getting the same homecoming, with all the bells and whistles and fanfare, but I can’t. They have always treated us differently. Ava’s decisions are smart and astute and wonderful, while mine are always met with, “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” The thought sends a stab of sadness, right through my heart. “That’s nice,” I say, trying to be happy, but bitterness edges in there.

  “Oh, and guess what? Mom called me during the Golden Globes ceremony last night.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah. She says she has no idea why she thought that Molly Avignon looks anything like you. It’s clear she’s much prettier and more sophisticated.” She starts to giggle.

  I can’t bring myself to laugh. My mother doesn’t even know what I look like, anymore. My own mother. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time there. Back to the old grind?”

  “Yeah. Boring. I’m taking twenty-one credits. Kill me now.” She sighs. “But what about you? How were the Globes? You’re supposed to spill all the gory details. Did you see Meryl Streep in the restroom?”

  I frown. “No. And you know. Just a bunch of Hollywood phonies, trying to outdo each other,” I say bitterly.

  She clicks her tongue. “Don’t be angry at me that I’m just trying to protect you. Anyone else would tell you the same thing. He’s a smarmy jerk. All you have to do is look at the videos of him to see—“

  “For the last time, he’s not like that anymore! You don’t understand how good he is to me. He’s been keeping me out of the public spotlight because he wants to keep me away from all the wolves of Hollywood. He’s protecting me from being out there because he doesn’t want anyone from my life to recognize me. It’s because he cares about me.”

  “Yeah. Right. You said that.” The tone of her voice says it all. She thinks I’m the biggest idiot who ever walked the earth. I’m her older sister. There was a time she used to look up to me, but not anymore. She hasn’t looked up to me in years. In my family’s eyes, I just keep becoming more and more of a fuck-up.

  I close my fingers on the receiver and say, “Listen. I don’t care what you think. I know, you’re jealous you don’t get to go to the Golden Globes and dress up and live like I’m living. But stop putting me down every chance you get. Is it too much to ask for you to just be happy for me?”

  She gasps. “Wait. What? Jealous? I’m trying to make sure you don’t make another stupid decision.”

  “Stupid decision? That was just a second ago, when I decided to call you!” I jab the button to end the call, fuming so much that I’m shaking.

  Then I whirl to see Justin standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Shirtless again, he’s leaning casually against the jamb. “I’m not like what, anymore?”

  I shake my head, my whole-body trembling. I really want to punch something. “Nothing. I was talking about Ava. Not about you. About Brandon.”

  He comes over and puts his arms around me. “Sure, you were.”

  I smile up at him.

  “Hey,” he says. “I have this big, busy day planned. I’m going to go upstairs, get showered, and then stare at my Golden Globes a little more. Decide where in the house I should put them. Want to help me?”

  I nod. “That sounds fun.”

  He squints out the doorway, where Brandon is still playing, then swoops down and kisses me. Just a little more of that, a little more touching, a little more kissing, a little more of him saying my name like he can’t get enough of me, and all the tension melts away. By then, I’m like, “Ava who?”

  Chapter 19

  I don’t care what Ava thinks. This can work.

  She’ll see.

  Weeks go by after the tiff with my sister. Though I keep her warnings in my head, eventually, they fade. How can they not? It’s been just blissful day on top of blissful day.

  At first, I’d kept reminding myself that this was all an act. But eventually, that fell away. After a while, I started thinking that this could be real. It’s so easy. Every day, he’s with me, treating me like a princess, searching after me with those hungry eyes that make so much need coil low in my abdomen, and every night he fulfills that need, again and again. We can’t get enough, no matter how we try.

  I just don’t see how what we share can possibly be, in any way, bad or wrong. Our connection is too strong.

  It’s February, now, a day after Oscar nominations. He was, as anticipated, nominated for Best Director, and the film was nominated under six other categories as well. We’re sitting on the patio, eating breakfast after fucking all night in celebration, our legs tangled underneath the table. Now, when Brandon comes in, I forget to move away. He’s not yet five, so I don’t know if he’s noticed. But I do notice the way he looks at Justin.

  Justin may not have started liking kids, and maybe he still doesn’t, but there’s one thing I am absolutely sure of, now.

  Brandon adores him.

  I’d tried to keep that connection from happening, so as not to confuse him. But gradually, over the months, Brandon has just started to depend on Justin. It might be that he’s the first male influence he’s ever had. But now, Brandon doesn’t come to me when he needs help tying his shoes. Or when he wants a swim lesson. Or when he wants someone to play with. It’s always Justin.

  And Justin never lets him down.

  Part of me wonders if that is because he’s trying to please me, or if he really does care about Brandon. I haven’t had the nerve to ask. Because everything, right now, is so perfect, I can’t bear the thought of what will happen in a month, when the Oscars come around.

  There’s also the matter of the money.

  It feels wrong, taking money from Justin, when I’ve barely done anything. He says just for the world to know he has a wife has been enough, and the Oscar nomination is all but in the bag. He keeps me at home while he goes to all the industry dinners with the Academy. It feels like I haven’t done the job I’ve set out to do. I know Justin would say otherwise, but it still feels wrong.

  But
I don’t want to talk about money. Not when everything feels so right. Not when for the first time, I feel like a part of a family.

  As I’m sitting with him, trading eyes with him over the table, my phone starts to ring.

  It’s Ava.

  I haven’t spoken to Ava since shortly after the Golden Globes, when she freaked out about Justin telling me he loved me, and asked if that was part of the act. As far as I was concerned, I really didn’t have anything left to talk to Ava about.

  But I still missed her, a little. After all, she’s my sister, and the only person left in my family I had any sort of relationship with. Even if all she’s going to do is second-guess my relationship with Justin, a little part of me still wants to hear from her.

  I look up and wrinkle my nose at Justin. “Ugh. Ava.”

  “Answer it,” he says to me. “You know you should.”

  Frowning, I take the call and lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “I know you’re angry at me, I know you don’t want to hear anything of what I have to say, but listen to me.”

  I groan. “What?”

  “I was talking to Tom a little about how the Academy works. You know, his job is working with PricewaterhouseCoopers, the accounting firm that tallies the votes? And you know there are like, thousands of members of the Academy who vote on the winners of the Oscars, right?”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “Well, did you know that only the other Directors who are members of the Academy are responsible for choosing the nominees in the Director category? That means that only a Spielberg or a Spike Lee can nominate your boy. And they’re all very chummy, in the Academy. So it’s entirely possible, if you’re not popular among a group of directors, to be blackballed from nominations?”

  I sigh. “Yes, I know that.” I look over at Justin and make a cuckoo face. I mean, hello, this is why he hired me to begin with. So he wouldn’t be blackballed. “So?”