One Hot Fake: An Accidental Fake Marriage Romance

by Sarah J. Brooks

  We head to the park and talk about everything except why I wanted to see her. The park is beginning to be busy. It’s a beautiful day to be out. I park the car, and Lexi hops out to get us some lemonade from the snack stand.

  She comes back carrying two cups. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” I take a deep breath and brace myself. I experience a moment of disloyalty, but I instantly dismiss the thought. Lexi is family, and I do need some advice. I’m at a loss on how to help Marian. I tell Lexi the whole pregnancy tale and how excited Marian was. I don’t realize that my voice is cracking until Lexi places her hand on mine.

  “Drink your lemonade,” she says.

  I take a gulp. I feel empty inside, as if talking about it is soaking up all my emotions. “I thought she would be fine in a day or so, but today, I realized just how much pain she’s still in, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “That’s so sad,” Lexi says. “I wish we were closer friends. Did she tell her friends Brooke and Jason?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. She wanted to confirm with the obstetrician that all was well before breaking the news to our friends and family.”

  Lexi is silent for a moment. “You see for women, it’s different. As soon as you conceive, you fall in love with the baby.”

  “I was looking forward to the baby too,” I say, trying to grasp what Lexi is saying.

  “But it’s not the same for men. I’ll tell you something that Ace and I haven’t told anyone. We lost a pregnancy too at three weeks.”

  I turn to her. “I’m sorry, Lexi, I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, no one did, but it’s been months, and I’m good now. So, I do kind of know what Marian is going through.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “Patience and lots of love are what she needs. And don’t get tired of talking about the baby if she wants to,” Lexi says. She pats my knee. “She’ll be fine. With the kind of support you’re giving her, she’ll come through it.”

  Chapter 31

  Marian

  It’s a relief to be alone in the car on the drive to Arlen. I don’t have to keep my tears at bay or be strong. When I lost Lilly, Leonard was sorry and apologetic at first, until signs of impatience began showing up.

  I can see it even now. The hard jawline when I spoke about her. The tapping of his foot. The glazed look coming over his eyes. Repeated looks at his watch as if you can place a time limit on grief. It would break my heart to see that look on Declan’s face.

  I feel as I did then as if I’ve lost a part of me. This is worse because there was no baby. I feel like an idiot for feeling sad and lost over a baby that had never existed. Tears stream down my eyes until my eye ducts become dry.

  You don’t know how badly you wanted that baby until you lose it. I’m on the edge of a cliff and don’t know how to get off. I wish I’d told Brooke and Jason that I was pregnant. It would be nice to have someone else to lean on apart from Declan. He’s been fantastic, but I’m worried about how much of myself I can show him.

  Losing our non-baby has opened my eyes to how little we know each other. For the last week since that horrible day at the Obstetrics clinic, I’ve tried the best I can to show Declan my good side. The strong side. I even went hiking when it was the very last thing I wanted to do. What I’d wanted to do was crawl under the blankets and cry myself to sleep. But I couldn’t tell Declan that. We haven’t developed enough trust between us to be ourselves.

  Our foundation is pretty shaky. A little shake and our marriage will come crumbling down. A thought has wormed itself into my mind, and I can’t dislodge it. Do we have a marriage, or are we just fooling ourselves? The thing that held us together is no more. The baby kept us together, but it has also shaken me to the core. Are Declan and I equipped to handle adversity? I don’t think so.

  Maybe I’m just tired, hence the defeated thoughts, but that’s how I feel. Defeated. Maybe a night away will perk me up. And maybe also if I manage to fix one wrong thing in my life, I’ll be more optimistic about everything else.

  I get to Arlen at midday and drive straight to the edge of town, where Leonard said the attorney’s offices were. I grab a wet wipe from my bag, mop myself, and then put on more lipstick. More than I usually do to spite Leonard. That lifts my spirits, and I grin at my reflection in the mirror. I grab my handbag and confidently stroll up to the office entrance.

  “Hi, I believe I have an appointment with Mr. Watson,” I say to the brown-haired receptionist.

  She smiles at me without moving, and that’s when I realize she looks familiar. She’s plump with a pretty face. “Marian,” she cries. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  No matter how hard I try, I can’t for the life of me get her name. “I’m sorry, no, but you look so familiar.”

  She laughs, but her laugh is devoid of humor. “I’ve changed, I know. It’s Alexa, remember, the—”

  “Homecoming queen,” I yell and then stare at her in morbid fascination. “Alexa Williams.”

  “This is what babies do to you,” she says, looking at her arms as though seeing them for the first time. She narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t have any kids yet, do you?”

  Her words are like a punch in my belly, rendering me breathless. I take a few seconds to recover and plaster a smile on my face. “Not yet, no. Has Leonard arrived yet?”

  “Oh yes,” Alexa says and sits up. She adopts a professional aura. “Mr. Watson asked me to show you right in when you arrived.”

  She walks around her desk and knocks lightly on the door leading to the inner office. A muted voice comes from inside, and she opens the door. “You can go in. All the best.” She winks.

  I don’t know how much she knows about Leonard’s and my issue, but I hope that attorney’s confidentiality applies to her too. Leonard and Mr. Watson stand up when I enter.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ward,” the balding attorney says.

  I ignore his outstretched hand for a moment. “My name is Marian Stevens.” I shake his hand then.

  A look of confusion comes over his features. “I’m sorry, but I believe that Mr. Ward here implied that the two of you were back together.”

  I swing my gaze to Leonard. “Is that true?”

  He smiles.

  Nausea rises up my throat. “Don’t tell me this trip is a waste of time. I came here to finalize the divorce. That’s what you implied.”

  “Miss Stevens, please keep your voice down and do sit down. I’m sure we can work something out.”

  I’m fuming, but I do as he says. I almost feel sorry for him. He runs his finger through the remaining hair on his head and adjusts his glasses. I turn my attention to Leonard. “Start talking.”

  “I want us to try again,” Leonard says.

  I shake my head. I must be hearing my own things. He cannot be fucking serious. “Try what?” My experience with difficult brides and their families kicks in. My tone is calm but inside, I’m on fire.

  “Us, Marian. I want us to try, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll be happy to go along with that motion for judgment nunc pro tunc,” he says.

  “No.”

  That confuses Leonard as well as Mr. Watson.

  I stand up. “The day you want to sign the papers, let me know. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Watson, and I hope the next time we meet will be under more pleasant circumstances.” I march out with Leonard hot on my heels.

  “It was nice to see you again, Marian,” Alexa calls after me.

  “Likewise,” I throw over my shoulder.

  Walking fast in heels is my hidden talent. Leonard has to jog to catch up with me. I unlock the car door, intending to drive off without speaking to him. Instead, Leonard outsmarts me and goes to the passenger side, and before I can step on the gas, he enters the car.

  “Get out,” I hiss.

  “Please, Marian. Why so much hostility? We meant something to each other once, and I believe we still do. I’m not the same guy, and I know
all the mistakes I made with you.”

  All fight goes out of me. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted.

  “Just come with me to my mom’s and meet Samantha,” Leonard pleads.

  “Fine,” I say, and even as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s a mistake. I shouldn’t get involved, but I don’t have the energy to fight with Leonard.

  He reads victory in my eyes and starts giving me directions.

  “I know where your mother lives,” I say in a dry tone.

  Leonard chatters endlessly on the way to his mother’s house. I’ve never seen him as nervous as he is. When we get there, he jumps out of the car and comes around to my side to open the car door. Why couldn’t he have been this gentlemanly when we were married? Despite myself, I’m a little impressed. He does seem to have changed for the better.

  I follow him into the house.

  “Mom, Samantha, I have a guest,” he calls out from the foyer.

  “Coming,” Fiona’s voice calls from the kitchen before she appears, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Marian, is that you?” she says, her face wreathed in smiles. She comes and takes my hands into hers.

  Fiona is a good woman but not strong enough to stand up to her son. She kept away during the worst years of our marriage. I never blamed her for her personality. She’s a peace-loving woman, and she’ll do anything, including burying her head in the sand to keep the peace.

  “Hi Fiona, it’s lovely to see you,” I say and kiss her cheek.

  She flushes with pleasure. She moves to the side to make way for Leonard. In front of him is the cutest, prettiest blonde little girl. She has a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She looks up at me and smiles. My heart melts.

  I drop to my knees so that I’m at eye level with her. “Hi, my name is Marian, and you must be the pretty Samantha.”

  Her smile widens. “My daddy told me about you. Are you going to be my new mommy?”

  It takes everything I have to keep smiling. “Oh, Samantha, you’ll be fine here with your nana and daddy.”

  Her little face falls.

  “Hey, it’s okay, we’ll have a good time together while I’m visiting. How’s that?”

  She nods, her smile restored. She takes my hand and doesn’t let go for the hour that I’m there. I’m furious at Leonard for putting me in a spot. How could he raise Samantha’s hopes like that, knowing that we couldn’t turn back the clock?

  We don’t get a chance to talk as Samantha is there constantly, as is Fiona. When I leave, Samantha makes me promise to come by the following day.

  It’s four when I visit the florist shop on Main Street. I’m drawn by their beautiful arrangements in vases dotted around the shop. I look at framed pictures on the walls of their work at wedding venues.

  “Hi, I’m Betty, how can I help you?” a smiling ageless woman says to me.

  I like her instantly. I get into it right away, and she leads to a back office where we can talk uninterrupted. Having interviewed vendors more times than I can count, I rattle off questions and weigh the answers. I do it automatically as I’m distracted. My mind keeps going back to Samantha. I feel drawn to her as if she can fill the gaping hole in my chest. I’m happy with Betty and her ideas for the floral designs.

  My phone rings just as I enter my car. I grab it and glance at the screen. Brooke.

  Chapter 32

  Declan

  Ace, a few of the guys, and I are having lunch at the First Bar when my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a text message from Stewart, the manager at the pizza shop in Santa Monica.

  Something’s come up. Can you come down this afternoon?

  Be there in an hour, I text back.

  I slip my phone back into my pocket as I try to figure out what the problem could be. There’s very little that Stewart cannot handle.

  “Is Marian okay?” Ace says, leaning to whisper into my ear so that the other guys don’t hear.

  “Marian’s fine,” I tell him. “She’s driving down from Arlen today.” I hope whatever it is will be fast, so that I can come back to LA in time for Marian’s arrival back home. “That was Stewart. He needs me to go to Santa Monica.”

  “Is it serious?” Ace asks.

  I shake my head. “If it were serious, he’d have called, not sent a text.”

  Ace grins. “Good reasoning.”

  In five minutes, I’m on my way to Santa Monica. I’m wound up with tension, and I inhale air into my lungs to dispel some of it. I’m worried about the shop. This is not the right time for a crisis when we’re kicking up the final preparations until the opening of the LA shop.

  Then there’s Marian. We spoke once this morning, but she sounded distracted and distant. Unlike herself. I can’t wait for her to come back, and I can see for myself that she’s fine.

  I reach Santa Monica in half an hour and park at my usual spot behind the shop. I ignore the staff entrance at the back and go round to the street entrance. Everything looks normal.

  I push the doors open, and I’m immediately reassured by the normal buzz of activity. I wave at the waiters and waitresses rushing about, carrying orders and clearing tables.

  To reassure myself further, I go to the kitchen and peer in. The usual organized chaos. Bins of meats and vegetables line the assembly table. The scent of cooking pizza emanates from the ovens. Even now, the scent of melting cheese and crusty pie makes my stomach rumble.

  With a wave at the kitchen staff, I make my way to the back offices and straight to Stewart’s office. I knock lightly and push the door open. We exchange greetings, and I plop down on the extra chair.

  “What’s up?” I ask him.

  He turns his computer screen around to face me, walks around the desk, and comes to sit next to me. I peer at the screen. The website on the screen belongs to a third-party delivery service.

  Stewart moves the cursor lower on the page to the food joints they deliver from. My heart stops when I see Did you say Pizza? listed on the page.

  “We don’t deliver,” I say to Stewart.

  He nods grimly. “I tested it before calling you.” He stands and reaches for a brown nondescript bag on a side table. He hands it to me.

  I pull out a pizza box. Ours. With all our colors. Definitely ours.

  “Open it,” Stewart says.

  Inside is one of our specialty pizzas. The most expensive one that we sell for twenty-six dollars.

  “They bought it here all right, but guess how much it’s listed for?” Stewart says. “Twenty dollars.”

  “So they are operating at a loss?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around it. “What sort of business model is that?”

  “An unsustainable one, but it’s probably to make a name for themselves before upping their prices,” Stewart says.

  “Did they reach out to ask if they could do this? List us as one of their partners?” I ask even though I know the answer to that question. It’s a big thing, and Stewart would let me know immediately.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  I look down at the pizza. It’s unsightly because it’s cold, and the brown bag does nothing to the presentation.

  “That was how the pizza was delivered,” Stewart says. “I dashed home to get it. It was cold, and it came with that bag.”

  “Is this legal?” I ask.

  “It is. They’re doing nothing wrong. They are paying us the full price and delivering to their customers,” Stewart says.

  “Except that they’re delivering a poor product and conditioning our customers to buy our pizzas cheaply,” I say, my blood beginning to boil.

  These guys are preparing to earn money off our backs. No way. “It’s crazy the things people think they can get away with.”

  “Yes, but luckily, it hasn’t gone on for long,” Stewart says. “Maybe a week or so. We realized because of the avalanche of customer complaints, both by email and in person.”

  “We need a strategy,” I say, my mind busy at work coming up with ide
as and discarding them.

  Stewart and I brainstorm, and at the end of an hour, we have a way forward. As much as I’ve resisted doing deliveries, it looks like the way to go. That and a marketing campaign. We’ve even come up with a byline:

  If it isn’t in our bag, it isn’t from us.

  “We can utilize Zoe to set up a social media campaign as well,” Stewart says.

  I have to spend the day and night in Santa Monica. We have a lot of work to do if we’re to get the delivery service going in a few weeks. We had done most of the groundwork a year ago when we’d been considering it.

  The rest of the afternoon is spent making calls and researching. Nearly five in the evening, my cell phone vibrates with a text message. It’s from Marian.

  Hey. I won’t make it home today. Lots to do. See you tomorrow.

  I frown at the message that has no explanation or information. There’s no time to think about it, and I shoot off a message telling her to be safe.

  Stewart and I sit down again to go over what we need to do in the coming weeks. We’ll need to upgrade our point of sale system, connect with the app developer we had spoken with the previous year, train drivers, buy motorbikes … the list is endless.

  Rather than feel overwhelmed, my energy levels skyrocket. I’m made for a crisis, and I go into work mode. We get a lot done in the next few hours. The only other interruption is from my mother, and when I tell her that I’m in Santa Monica, she invites me for dinner.

  I notice that she doesn’t ask about Marian or extend the invitation. Maybe over time, she’ll come around. The shop officially closes at nine. I leave at seven, knowing that I’ll be late for dinner at my mother’s, but she’ll have to understand.

  On the way, I call Marian, but the phone goes unanswered. A text comes in later, and she says she’ll call me the following day. She’s already in bed. I’m puzzled by the vibe that she’s throwing. What is going on down there? If I weren’t so swamped with work, I’d have driven there myself.

  I’m surprised to find an unfamiliar car parked outside my parents’ driveway. A pink Hyundai, clearly belonging to a female. I have no idea whom it belongs to. I’m a little put out at having to make polite conversation with a stranger when I’m dead tired.