We want a family and a career. Is that too much to ask for in this modern era?
Our readers don’t seem to think so. The following on the articles, far from dying off like Fiona kept telling me it would unless our relationship tanked, has exploded. More and more people are sharing our story, linking one another to it, pointing to it as a successful love story. More often than not, I see comments from people saying they want a love story like ours—or, even better, stories from other couples who married quickly and early on in their courtships, and how they’re doing better than ever now.
They share stories of the trials they went through, and their advice for getting through those trying times. They share stories of their love, too, of how it touches every aspect of their lives and enhances it. How they’re stronger together than apart.
Every comment that I read makes my heart swell, and my hope grow. Mom is right. Maybe her relationship failed, but that doesn’t mean mine is doomed.
And even Mom seems to be coming around on Charlie, after spending a few nights this week getting to know him. I knew she would. Nobody can resist his charm for long.
“So tell us all about the big day!” Anna insists, as Pat starts cutting up and serving slices of the wedding cake the team bought for us.
“Well…” I pause and glance at Charlie with a shy little smile. “It was more of a small day. But it was perfect. It was just what we wanted to—”
“To pull off your big lie?” From behind us, a voice interrupts. My heart leaps into my throat.
I turn around slowly, already expecting who I’ll see there. But to my surprise, it’s not Sammy, Charlie’s neighbor, standing behind us. It’s another girl I recognize though, one of the ones who had been in her group of friends during the intermission when Anna introduced me to the team members’ girlfriends.
This girl has an arm looped around the waist of one of Charlie’s defensemen, who looks equally pissed off. “Dude,” he says, eyes fixed on Charlie. “What gives? Is this seriously all some kind of publicity stunt?”
“What are you talking about?” Charlie frowns. I’m sure my face is doing the same. I’m not following what’s going on.
But then, as we all watch, the whole room around us gone silent, the girl holds her phone aloft, a familiar icon on it. The icon of the website I write for, the one Fi founded. Except that’s not a site link. It looks like a podcast?
“This just came out a few minutes ago,” the girl declares, glaring right at me like she’s proving something. Then she hits play. A moment later, a voice I do recognize floods the room.
Fiona.
“Tell us exactly what you overheard,” she says softly.
There’s a pause. Then, another voice. Sammy’s. “I live next door to Charlie. He and I were pretty close friends, actually, before he and Lila got together. Once they started seeing each other, I hardly ever saw him, though. He cut himself off from our friend group… that’s never a good sign. Plus, I mean, you know she’s older than him, right?” Fi makes a little sound that may or may not be disagreement, before Sammy continues. “Anyway, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I overheard voices in the hallway one night as I was getting ready to walk my dog.”
Beside me, Charlie has gone stiff and tense. Behind us, Anna and Pat look confused. I don’t blame them.
My stomach sours. Even though I know what’s coming, it still hits like a punch to the gut, hearing it.
“I heard Lila ask, loud and clear, ‘What if someone finds out this is all fake?’ Then she asked what Charlie’s family would think if they found out about her using their relationship to advance her career. It was pretty easy to put the pieces together.”
“So you think she and Charlie pretended to be in a relationship in order to write the articles she’s been publishing. In order to get more well known, attract more publicity.” On the podcast, Fiona sounds so goddamn concerned. As if doing just that hadn’t been her fucking idea in the first place.
Color drains from my face. Replaced with blinding, white hot fury. How fucking dare she.
“I mean, it happens, doesn’t it?” Sammy is asking on the podcast. “People write fake memoirs all the time because their own lives are boring, but non-fiction sells better than made-up fantasies about happily ever afters.”
“Too right,” Fi crows.
“Turn it off,” Charlie says, his voice low and dangerous.
The girl obliges, but now most of Charlie’s teammates are staring at us. Even Anna, when I turn to look at her for support, has a crease along her forehead, her eyes wide and shocked, like she doesn’t quite know how to process this information. She’s still holding a piece of cake in her hand, too, a piece with Charlie’s face on it, gazing into mine.
I bite the inside of my cheek to damp the swell of nausea I feel.
“What the hell, man?” one of the teammates barks. And then that lets loose the floodgates.
“Was that for real?”
“That was Sammy on that podcast, wasn’t it?”
“Is this all just a game?”
“Do your parents know you’re faking?”
Charlie is saying something, arguing back. But it’s all too much. The glares, the angry expressions. From the corner of the room, someone boos. The girl who played the podcast boos too, her expression twisted and furious.
But I can’t blame her. I can’t blame any of them. After all, this was all a lie to start. Maybe it was stupid of me to think we could turn it around. Make lies into truths.
The world doesn’t work like that. There are no happily ever afters. That’s the thought that keeps racing through my brain as I dodge through the angry crowd toward the exit. The second I reach the hallway outside, I run.
16
At first I just start driving aimlessly. But after a while, I realize the roads look familiar. And then I realize I’ve had a destination in the back of my head this whole time. One I pull up to now, more confused and directionless than ever.
The little lake out back of Charlie’s parents’ cabin.
I slam my car door and trudge across the snow—a little less thick and pristine fluffy white than the last time we came here. It’s started to melt, and no new snow has fallen to replenish it. So now it’s all a little gray and ugly, melting in clumps and patches. Icy in spots.
Tarnished. Just like me.
I hike until I reach the lakeside. There’s no one else out here. Nobody skating or teaching their kids to skate on the lake. Even the twinkling fairy lights around the lake are dark. It’s nearing sunset, even though it’s only the late afternoon.
Winter seems like the perfect time for gloomy thoughts like mine. I plunk myself down on a bench at the lake shore and stare across the glistening ice.
I’m not sure how long I’ve sat there. But I’ve lost feeling in my toes and fingertips when I hear another set of feet crunching up the path.
Charlie takes the seat beside me without a word. When I glance over at him, I notice he has a bruise forming on one cheek. My lips part, my heart clenching with concern.
“What happened?” I raise on hand, let it hover a few inches from his skin. Then, with a huge amount of willpower, I resist the urge to touch him, and let my hand fall back to my lap.
“One of the guys said something shitty. I let him know it was shit.” He glances over at me now. “Guess I don’t have to regret never punching anybody on your behalf anymore.”
I let out a weak laugh, more a huff of air than anything. “Charlie… I’m so sorry. I should never have dragged you into this stupid mess. It’s all my fault.”
He shakes his head.
But I’m on a roll now. “It is. I ruined everything. Your teammates are angry with you; our friends and your family are going to find out and freak out.” A tear rolls down my cheek, followed by another and another. “I should never have started us down this road; it was so stupid to think love could be more important than everything else in our lives—”
“Don’t, Lila. D
on’t talk like that.” He catches my hands and squeezes them hard. “This is not your fault. Fiona took advantage of you, don’t you see that?”
I grimace, gritting my teeth at the mention of her name. Oh, I know a few words for that bitch. But now isn’t the time. I swallow thickly. “She might have suggested it, but I went along with it. I didn’t think about what it might mean for you, or your reputation, or your family’s opinion of you.”
Charlie cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “My family knows me better than to listen to some bullshit like that podcast. Besides, I already called my parents and talked to them. They know everything now. And they’re no less supportive of us than they always have been.”
I tense, my shoulders tightening. “Really?”
“Of course. Lila, they just want me to be happy.” He raises my hands between us, still clasped in his. “And don’t you get it? You make me happy. If I met you in a weird unconventional way, well then… who cares?” He grins. “We met, that’s the important part. We made it through that mess. We’ll face whatever happens next side-by-side. And at least you know now that Fiona is a lying snake who was only ever going to fuck with your head.”
“I can’t believe I trusted her,” I murmur softly.
“That’s not your fault. Trusting people who stab you in the back isn’t something to be ashamed of. It just means that you’re an open, loving person who gives others the benefit of the doubt. It’s her fault she fucked you over, no one else’s.”
I manage a wavering smile, and I lean in to kiss him, light and quick. Before another thought pops into my head and makes me draw back again, frowning once more. “What the hell am I going to do for work now? Without her magazine…”
Charlie waves a hand. “Don’t worry about that. We’re married now. I’ll support you the same as you support me.”
I frown at him. “But, you’ve got school to worry about, and hockey, and—”
“And you,” he adds firmly. “That’s what our vows meant, you know. In sickness and in health. For richer, for poorer.”
“Didn’t we skip that second part,” I murmur.
He silences me with a hard, pointed kiss. “Doesn’t matter. I’m a traditionalist, what can I say.” He winks. “Besides, it’ll be much easier for you to find newer, better writing gigs now. To write what you actually want to, rather than what other people tell you you should be writing on their behalf.”
I let out a little huff that turns into a laugh. “You’re right… It’s long past time I started taking charge of my career.”
“That’s the spirit.” He grins at me. This time when he leans in, I don’t pull away. His lips sink into mine, soft and sweet and everything I’ve ever wanted. His hands encircle my waist, and I realize I don’t have to always be the strong one. I can rely on him to hold me up too. It’s all right. He’ll be there for me.
When we pull apart, I grin at him. “I love you, Charlie Cross. For real.”
He pulls me onto his lap, until I’m straddling on him the bench. Then he smiles up at me, his eyes on fire. “And I love you, Lila Baker. For real. For good. Forever.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later
“You’re kidding,” I say, laughing along with the woman across from me.
She shakes her head. “Honest to god, that’s how he proposed. I was half-asleep in bed, dying of throwing up—well, it was morning sickness we found out later—and he just sort of… stuck the ring onto my finger while I was in a daze.”
“What did you say?” I pause and switch off my mic to take a long gulp of water, because my guest today has been hilarious, and I feel dehydrated just from all the laughing I’ve been doing.
“When I woke up properly, I took it back off, threw it at him, and demanded he do it properly when I didn’t look like something that had just crawled out of a cave to die,” she replies, and we both snort. “But,” she sighs, “his re-do was pretty damn epic, I have to grant him that. He asked me again at the top of the incline that overlooks our hometown, when we were home visiting our family for a holiday weekend…”
I grin, and prop my chin in my hand, watching her talk.
It’s been six months since my own wedding. Fiona screwed me over on a podcast, pretending the series of articles I’d written were all bullshit, and throwing me under the bus to try and bring up her own ratings. Ever since that day, besides writing that manipulative backstabber out of my life for good, I’ve been working on my own project.
I started a podcast called Fake True Love, and the very first story I told was our own. I never mentioned the part about Fiona talking us into doing the article series. I figured karma would be a big enough bitch without any help from me in that department.
But I did tell the rest of the story completely truthfully, from messy start to even messier finish.
The series must have struck a nerve, because my podcast took off, even though Fiona did everything within her power to try and denounce me, claiming I’d quit writing for her because she was being honest and trying to uphold journalistic integrity.
It didn’t matter. Ratings for my show soared, more and more listeners spilled in. And as the comments, interactions and ratings grew, I realized: this could be a series.
A podcast where women came on and talked about real life things. Relationships, careers. The trouble we have navigating both at once. How we want to have it all, despite the world constantly telling us that we can’t. And how, a lot of times, we manage to build ourselves pretty cool lives, despite whatever the naysayers have to say about it.
As my guest of the week’s story wraps up, I thank her for coming on the show, and offer a little bio at the end, talking about the Etsy shop she runs on the side, while raising her kids and working from home. Then we officially wrap, and I shake her hand, thanking her again off-air this time.
She actually hugs me. “It was so nice to talk to someone so genuine,” she says. “And to get to share our love story. I never really thought I could share it somewhere like this, because we’re just two normal people, you know?”
“That’s what’s so inspiring about it,” I insist, grinning at her. “Because we’re all just normal people. We all want to know love is possible for us too, not just princes and princesses or whatnot.”
“Fair point.” She grins and hugs me one last time before she heads out of my office.
Yep, that’s right. I have my own office now. Screw Fiona and her rental space shared with those tech bros. After I moved in with Charlie shortly after our wedding, I was able to save up enough money to rent a private office of my own, in one of the nicer office buildings in town. There’s even free coffee and tea included, nice stuff, not the crap that Fi’s rental used to share.
I shut the door behind my guest, then recline my chair, and tap open my recording studio screen to start editing the podcast. I try to use as few effects as possible. Just some intro effects, and fine-tuning to make sure the audio is, well, audible throughout the episode. I also add in a few commercials from sponsors at the opening of each episode.
A lot of the sponsors are the very same local businesses who supported mine and Charlie’s wedding in the first place. After I explained the truth about our relationship—how it had been fake, and then become real at the last second—I offered to pay for the items they had donated to our wedding.
All of them refused. In addition, they all bought ads on my new podcast, a boost that really helped me get up and running.
But all in all, I really couldn’t have done this without Charlie. He insisted I move into his place, and he’s been an incredible sounding board for all of my ideas. He supports all of my endeavors, lifts me up wherever he can, and has been a rock whenever I run into struggles—as seems inevitable with any new business venture, even this one.
It’s funny. I always thought that love would get in the way of my career. Instead, the love I found has enhanced my career, and made it more possible than ever to achieve my lifelong goals.
Someone knocks on the door. I startle. Thinking it’s my guest, back for something she forgot, I rise at once. “Come in!”
But the door swings inward, and it’s Charlie standing there, framed in the doorway, grinning at me.
“I thought you had practice tonight,” I say, already striding toward him.
He wraps me in his arms the second I reach him, our bodies pressed close together, his hands tight around the small of my back. “I did. It’s already past seven. Did you lose track of time again?” He leans down to kiss the tip of my nose lightly.
I chew on my lower lip. “Um… Maybe. I was thinking.”
He arches an eyebrow, eyes fixed on might. “Something naughty, I hope.”
As if in response, my whole face flares red. “Well… no actually, but now that you mention it…”
Charlie kicks the door shut behind him. “Hmm. It sounds like I’ve been slacking in my husbandly duties. If you don’t have enough fodder for that filthy imagination of yours, we might have to do something about that.”
“Mr. Cross.” I fake a shocked tone. “To think you would dare barge into my office and talk filth…”
“Oh, I’d dare a lot more than that.” With that, he takes another step forward, and suddenly I realize he has me pinned against the desk. His hands catch my hips, trace my curves. Before I can say another word, he lifts me up, plants my ass firmly on the desk and pushes my knees wide, sliding between them.
The Husband Game Page 15
