17. Millie
MILLIE
Three days after the wedding, my publicist sends me a link to our spread in Vogue. Twelve pages of Duncan and me looking like we invented love. The headline reads: "From Rivalry to Romance: How Millie Harris and Duncan Ellington Rewrote Their Story."
The way Duncan looked at me when I walked down the aisle. How his hands shook slightly when he put the ring on my finger. The kiss that lasted three seconds too long and felt like he was trying to memorize something before it disappeared.
I close the script and pull up my calendar instead.
The Actors Guild event is tonight, a fundraiser for emerging artists that I committed to months ago.
LaToya confirmed Duncan is coming as my date because apparently we're contractually obligated to be seen together at every major industry function for the next four months.
Four months. Then we can quietly split and everyone will move on to the next celebrity scandal.
I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready.
Hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, makeup dramatic enough for cameras, a black gown that LaToya picked out.
The dress fits like it was made for me because it was, custom Vera Wang with a neckline that dips low and a slit that shows leg when I walk.
Duncan picks me up at seven in a car that's too expensive to be practical. He's wearing a black tuxedo that makes him look like he stepped out of a magazine, and when I slide into the back seat he doesn't say anything for a full five seconds, just looks at me.
"What?" I ask.
"You're stunning."
"I know."
He almost smiles. "Of course you do."
The drive to the venue takes twenty minutes through traffic that barely moves. We sit in silence broken only by the sound of horns and the driver's GPS recalculating the route. Duncan's hand rests on the seat between us, close enough that I could take it if I wanted to.
I don't.
The venue is a converted warehouse in Chelsea with industrial lighting and exposed ductwork.
Red carpet outside, photographers three rows deep, the usual chaos.
Duncan gets out first and extends his hand to help me from the car.
His palm is warm against mine and he doesn't let go when we start walking.
The photographers shout our names in overlapping waves. Duncan's hand moves to the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd in a way that looks protective without being possessive. We stop for photos, turn when they ask us to turn, smile when they ask us to smile.
"Millie, over here! Duncan, look left! Can we get one with you two kissing?"
Duncan glances at me, a silent question. I nod and he leans in, pressing his mouth to mine. The cameras go wild and when we break apart I can still taste him.
Inside, the venue is packed with people I recognize from award shows and premieres. Producers, directors, actors who are either on their way up or desperately holding onto relevance. A waiter offers champagne and I take a glass even though I don't plan to drink it.
"Millie Harris."
The voice comes from behind me, low and sharp. I turn and find Janie Torres standing there in a red gown, her hair swept up in an elaborate twist, her smile predatory.
"Janie," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Good to see you."
"Is it?" She takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Something expensive and too heavy. "I was just telling someone how interesting it is that you managed to turn a PR disaster into a fairy tale. Very strategic."
Duncan's hand tightens slightly on my waist. "Janie."
She ignores him, keeps her eyes on me. "I saw the Vogue spread. Beautiful photos. You two look so in love it's almost believable."
"Almost?" I keep my face calm even though my pulse is racing.
"Well, we both know how these things work, don't we?
You needed the human interest angle for your Oscar campaign, he needed to rehabilitate his image after that tape leaked.
Convenient timing, all of it." She takes a sip of her champagne, still smiling.
"I'm just saying, voters are smarter than you think.
They can tell when something's manufactured. "
"Are you calling my marriage fake?"
"I'm saying it's remarkable how quickly you two went from high school enemies to married. Some people might find that timeline suspicious." She sets her glass down on a passing tray. "But what do I know? Maybe love really does conquer all."
Duncan steps forward slightly, positioning himself between us. "If you have something to say, Janie, say it directly instead of hiding behind implications."
She laughs, light and airy. "I'm not hiding behind anything, Duncan.
I'm just making conversation at an industry event.
Isn't that what we're all here for?" Her eyes shift back to me.
"Although I will say, Millie, you should be careful.
People are watching you very closely right now.
One misstep and the entire narrative falls apart. "
"Is that a threat?"
"It's advice. From one actress to another." She smooths down the front of her dress. "Enjoy the evening. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other during awards season."
She walks away before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd near the bar. I watch her go, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
"Millie." Duncan's voice is quiet. "Breathe."
I take a breath that doesn't steady anything. "She knows."
"She's bluffing."
"You don't know that."
"I do. If she actually had proof, she would have used it by now instead of making vague threats at a fundraiser." He turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. "She's desperate and she's losing, and this is what that looks like."
I want to believe him. But the look in Janie's eyes wasn't desperation, it was certainty. Like she knows something I don't and is just waiting for the right moment to detonate it.
"I need air," I say.
I walk toward the exit before he can stop me, weaving through clusters of people who are too absorbed in their own conversations to notice. Outside, the loading dock area is empty except for two guys smoking cigarettes near a dumpster. I lean against the brick wall and close my eyes.
The door opens behind me. Duncan.
"You followed me."
"Of course I did." He crosses to where I'm standing and leans against the wall next to me. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Janie just threatened you in front of a room full of people and you walked out. That's not nothing."
I open my eyes and look at him. "What if she does have proof? What if someone recorded us talking about the contract, or found an email, or paid off someone from Jeremiah's team? If this gets out, Duncan, my entire career is fucked."
"We'll deal with it. I don't know how yet.
But we will." He shifts slightly, closing the space between us.
"Millie, I need you to hear this. Whatever happens with Janie, whatever she thinks she knows, I'm not going anywhere.
This arrangement might have started as strategy but it stopped being fake a long time ago, at least for me. "
My throat tightens. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop saying things like that when we're in public and someone could be listening. Don't make this more complicated than it already is."
"It's already complicated. And I'm tired of pretending it's not." He takes my hand, threading our fingers together. "I meant what I said in those vows. All of it. You make me want to be better, and I don't want to spend the next four months counting down to when we're supposed to split."
I pull my hand away because holding it makes it too hard to think. "We have a contract."
"Contracts can be renegotiated."
"Not this one. We agreed to six months, then a clean break."
"And what if I don't want a clean break anymore?"
"Then you're going to get hurt."
I hear it the second the words land, watch his face shift in real time like I've slapped him.
Something shutters behind his eyes, closes over completely.
His jaw tightens but not in anger, in something worse than that.
Resignation maybe. The expression of someone who just got confirmation of something they'd been trying hard not to believe.
He nods slowly, takes a half step back to put space between us again. Physical distance that mirrors every other kind.
"Got it," he says. His voice has gone quiet, flat. Not cold exactly but emptied out, all the urgency from thirty seconds ago completely drained.
"Duncan—"
"No, it's fine." He cuts me off before I can finish the thought I haven't even formed yet.
"I understand. This is business, and I'm the one making it personal.
" He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders squaring off in a way that makes him look suddenly formal again.
Like we're back to being strangers who signed a contract.
"We should get back inside before people wonder where we went. "
He turns and walks toward the door without waiting for me to respond, without looking back to see if I'm following.
I stand there for another minute after he's gone, staring at the brick wall across the alley.
There's graffiti near the bottom, half-scrubbed away, and a dumpster that smells faintly sour even in the cold.
The sounds from inside the reception filter out muffled and distant, like they're happening in another world entirely.
I'm hating myself for the look I just put on his face. For knowing exactly what I did and doing it anyway because it was easier than admitting he's right.