Chapter 30
thirty
JAY
The set of the morning show hums with energy. Bright lights bounce off shiny surfaces, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that swirl together and send bright, rainbow-inflected glints all around us.
Calla and I are perched on a faux-leather couch. It squeaks when either of us shifts. Calla sits with perfect, almost painful, posture. Like a doll that's been propped up too rigidly.
Sliding a hand onto her knee, I give her a squeeze. Behind the camera, someone starts counting down. “We’re live in five, four, three…”
The cameras roll and the host, a perky blonde with a megawatt smile, leans in from her swivel chair.
"Welcome back to Good Afternoon Atlanta. I’m your host, Brigitte Blanc. I’m here with Jay Rustin and Calla Nikolakis, the surprise couple of the season! You might have seen video footage of their impromptu wedding. Jay, Calla, thank you for joining us."
"Thanks for having us," I say, flashing my most disarming grin.
It's the kind of smile that usually melts any lingering resistance. But Calla's expression remains as firm as granite. This is not going particularly well and it’s only ten seconds into the interview.
“You two have quite the story. An accidental marriage that took place the very same day as Jay was supposed to marry someone else! How did that even happen?"
I take a breath, ready to launch into the well-rehearsed spiel. But before I can get a word out, Calla speaks. "Tequila.”
“Ahaha!” I laugh like she’s just said something hilarious. “Calla isn’t entirely wrong. We were slightly tipsy when we got married.”
Calla shoots me a skeptical look but doesn’t say anything.
Brigitte’s eyes widen, her smile growing to cartoonish proportions. "That sounds like something out of a movie! Were you two... involved before this?"
I feel Calla bristle. She turns her head towards me, slowly, deliberately, as if to say, Well?
"We've been friends for a while," I say, trying to strike a balance between truth and the narrative we need to sell. "Calla was the pastry chef at my wedding, so we spent a decent amount of time together."
Brigitte’s expression brightens like she's just uncovered a juicy secret. "Ah, so there was already a connection!"
I can feel the weight of Calla's glare without even looking at her. She hates this. She hates all of this. And part of me hates that I'm dragging her into my world, where smiles are currency, and every word is a transaction.
"Jay, your followers were devastated when your fiancée called it off. Do you think this unexpected twist with Calla is fate?"
Fate . The word hangs in the air like a balloon, waiting for someone to pop it. I know what my followers think. I know what the public wants. They all want a happy ending, tied up with a neat little bow. I need to walk the line between delivering that and choosing my words with care.
"I believe we make our own fate. Right now, Calla and I are just trying to navigate this situation as best we can. We know that we’re in love. So, everything else is just getting comfortable, you know?"
Brigitte pivots her attention to Calla. "How has it been adjusting to life in the spotlight? Jay is a public figure. You’re not. You’re suddenly thrust into this world of social media and having every moment documented."
Calla hesitates. I can see her weighing her options, calculating the best way to answer without giving too much away.
"It's been... interesting," she says at last. Her words are careful, just like everything else about her.
I almost laugh at the understatement. Interesting is one way to put it. The truth is, she's handling it better than I expected. Better than I did when I first started out.
Brigitte glances at a stack of note cards, then back at us. "So, the big question. Are you going to stay married?"
"Absolutely,” I say immediately. “We’re committed to making it work."
Calla nods. She grabs my hand and smiles. “Definitely.”
“Thank you both! When we come back, more with these two lovebirds.”
“One minute!” someone shouts.
Brigitte turns her head, and a makeup artist scuttles over with powder. I exhale and lean back in my chair but have barely started to relax when a PA counts down again and the camera settles on us once more .
"We’ve talked about your adventures," Brigitte says. "But what do you think is the secret to making love last? Any tips you want to share?"
Calla straightens. This is a landmine of a question, the kind that can blow up a whole interview if not handled delicately. I expect her to defer to me, but she dives in.
"Love is like baking," she says, and I raise an eyebrow. Baking? "You need the right ingredients, and you have to follow the recipe. But even then, it takes time and patience. You can't rush it. You have to be willing to put in the effort, even when it's not turning out the way you hoped."
The crew nods, and I hear a few murmurs of approval.
I clear my throat and add, "And sometimes you have to be willing to throw the whole thing out and start over." All eyes turn to me, and I shrug. "Love is messy. It’s not always going to follow a recipe. You have to be passionate and adaptable. Sometimes the best relationships come from the biggest mistakes. Without my first wedding falling apart, I wouldn’t have married Calla."
Calla looks at me, her hazel eyes searching for something. Understanding, maybe?
Brigitte leans back in her chair, trying to smooth over the differing views. "It sounds like you both have a lot of experience. Jay, what makes this relationship different from your last one?"
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The cameras feel like they’re closing in, their lenses shrinking the room to a pinpoint. This was supposed to be easy. Predictable. We had a script.
I take a breath, stalling for time. How do I explain that this marriage, fake as it is, already feels more real than the one I’d planned with Blake? That with Calla, every moment is charged with a tension that makes me feel alive, whereas with Blake it was just routine?
"Well," I start. I clear my throat again. "This time, I?—"
"—have a partner who understands him," Calla interjects smoothly. "Someone who knows what it’s like to balance work and personal life. We’re both figuring it out as we go. But the important thing is that we’re moving forward."
I look at her, grateful and confused. She’s saved me, but why? Her answer is perfect. Almost too perfect. It’s the kind of response Blake would have given, crafted to deflect and reassure without actually revealing anything.
Brigitte smiles widely. Clearly, she’s pleased with Calla’s diplomacy. "That makes a lot of sense. It’s all about growth, isn’t it?"
"Exactly," Calla says.
I let her words sink in. Growth. Moving forward. She makes it sound so simple, so attainable. But is it? Can we really grow from this, or are we just treading water, waiting for the inevitable sinking?
“It sounds like we should expect great things from you two. Jay, Calla, where can we find you both online?”
I give my handle and the one that I helped Calla start for her business. Brigitte gives the camera a strange, frozen smile and wraps up the segment. The cameras turn off, signaling the end of the interview and the usual post-segment chaos filling the studio.
Calla starts to gather her things with the precision of someone who knows exactly what comes next.I watch her, noting how composed she is, how seamlessly she handled the situation. I reach out to touch her arm, leaning my head close to whisper in her ear. "You did great. Thanks for agreeing to do it. "
She smiles. “Of course. I’d do almost anything for you, Jay.”
My mouth goes dry. I stare at Calla. “Do… do you really mean that? Or is it just a bluff?”
“Why would it be a bluff? It’s just us two here.” She smiles, crinkling her nose.
Before I can answer, I’m interrupted. The PA, sensing some weirdness, pops into view. “Excuse me, Calla? Would you mind giving us your website and social media info?”
“Of course.” Calla heads off into the busy set.
I let her go, my mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
I think about what she said during the interview, about love being like baking. About following the recipe and putting in the effort. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either.
Love isn’t something you can measure out with cups and spoons. It’s a force, a hurricane that sweeps you up, whether you’re ready for it or not.
When you get down to it, we’re on different wavelengths. She sees love as a calculated risk. Like it’s something you can plan for and manage. I see it as a leap, a blind jump into the unknown.
What if she’s as bad for me as Blake was? Calla might be nicer to look at and easier to laugh with, but I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.
Blake had been safe. Predictable. We’d followed the script, played our parts. In the end, there was no passion, no fire. Just two people going through the motions. With Calla, there’s a spark, an underlying tension that promises something more. But is that enough?
This was supposed to be easy. A few months of pretending, a quick annulment, and we’d both be free from the media circus. But nothing about this is easy. The hardest part is knowing that, deep down, I don’t want it to be over.
Not yet.