Chapter 7
Bex
He’s already waiting in the conference room when I arrive.
He’s in another expensive suit, today paired with a pale blue oxford that brings out his eyes.
We look more mismatched than ever: now that I no longer need to impress anyone with my professionalism, I’ve reverted to everyday Bex—fewer blazers and silk blouses (none actually) and more leggings, sneakers, and sweatshirts, which are basically my entire wardrobe aside from my going-out clothes, which would definitely not be appropriate for this setting.
Emil is not around, but Lars and his team already have their laptops open. Caden, the little prick, is barking, “Just fucking make it happen,” into his phone. His father is a big-name director, which explains the overconfidence, as well as how he acquired this internship.
“Who’s ready to talk wedding details?” asks Lars cheerfully.
Suddenly the room is too warm. Theo pulls off his jacket and I lose the sweatshirt, under which I’m wearing a cut-off sorority T-shirt.
“ ‘Let’s Get Wrecked,’ ” Theo reads with a wildly unnecessary roll of the eyes. “Even more business appropriate than I thought. Let’s not wear that on television, shall we?”
I give him a saccharine smile. “Babe, you’ll need to keep up with my laundry a little better if you’re going to be so picky.”
“Excellent,” he replies. “We’ve already reached the point in our marriage where we make jabs about the other’s failings in public.”
Paula huffs a weary laugh. “If the two of you have gotten all this out of your system, perhaps we can begin?”
She slides us both the schedule for Iceland, the first country we’ll visit, as we won’t be able to catch the northern lights in the summer and the ice caves will be too dangerous.
“Theo is familiar with this already, since he put most of it together,” she says.
“Yeah, I can tell Theo put it together.” It’s the least fun, most grueling schedule I’ve ever seen in my life.
He has us taking the red-eye to Iceland, arriving at sunrise, jumping into the Blue Lagoon and then immediately driving five hours to Iceland’s southeast coast for a full day of filming that won’t end until midnight…
only to wake at the crack of dawn and do more shit on the way to the airport. “Who vacations like this?”
He rubs his temples. “Rebecca,” he says, as if he’s talking to a toddler, “we are not going on vacation. This is known as work, and our work is to pretend we are on vacation as efficiently as possible.”
It annoys the living shit out of me that he’s still calling me Rebecca when he knows I go by Bex. The only thing more annoying is that he’s turned what could have been an enjoyable experience into the trip from hell.
I shove the paper away. “This looks miserable, and it’s going to show in the end product.”
“Bloody hell,” Theo mutters. “Now is when you decide to take something seriously?”
Lars holds up a hand. “I agree and we’ll keep it in mind going forward.
We need you guys to look like glowing newlyweds, not jet-lagged travelers, because people aren’t just watching this for the scenery—they’re watching it to see how you both endured incredible tragedy and found a way to make it beautiful. ”
Something sinks inside me. There isn’t anything beautiful here at all.
My story will go back to being a sad one, and I guess Theo’s will too, at least as far as the public is concerned.
I’m sure Theo himself won’t be too broken up about returning to his complication or no-strings sex with models, or—if his reputation serves—both those things.
“Now,” says Paula, “the wedding.”
“Is it actually necessary?” Theo asks. “If we just post a picture or two and say we did it, is anyone ever going to check?”
Lars cocks a brow and pulls something up on his phone. “Apparently you haven’t seen the latest from Baby Makes Three.” He comes around the table and leans down between us before hitting play.
Kylie’s eyes are swollen. Jasper is wearing his serious face, one of two expressions he appears capable of (the other is more of a juvenile, Yosemite Sam–style glee, like he’s saying, “Yeehaw, we’re a-fixin’ to get this party started,” while firing pistols in the air).
“Bad news today,” she says to the camera.
Jasper gives a solemn nod and rubs her shoulders.
“We just heard from the production company, and they’ve decided the show is too similar to another one coming out, which would be really disappointing in and of itself but—” She looks back to Jasper and he nods.
“We just found out what the other show is, and we’re pissed. ”
“It’s bullshit, man,” says Jasper.
“Remember how their show was initially going to be about one of the owners of Families Travel?” she continues.
“The guy who died with his family while traveling? Well now, it’s about the surviving kid who’s theoretically marrying the other surviving owner.
There’s so much wrong with this that I don’t know where to start. ”
“I’m telling you, they brought in actors,” says Jasper.
“Exhibit A,” she says, holding up a photo of me in a string bikini next to a picture of my dad and Jessie.
“This is supposedly Rebecca Daniels. How exactly are we expected to believe that these people, who are both fair skinned and light haired, gave birth to this bitch? I’m sorry but that’s not how genetics work.
And here’s the other co-owner, again, theoretically.
” She holds up a picture of Theo, looking hot as hell in a suit, next to mine.
I already know where she’s headed with this, and I’ve got to give her props: we do indeed appear impossibly ill-suited.
“Does anyone actually believe these two are together? The dude has a master’s degree from the London School of Economics and sold a tech start-up for millions while she didn’t finish college and possibly doesn’t even work.
Oh, and here’s the other thing: he lives in London and she lives in LA.
So how did this grand romance even take place?
” She shakes her head before telling them she’ll be back with more info and reminding them to comment below.
Oh, and comment they do, with the exact sort of garbage I’d expect.
You should sue.
Bring them dooooown!!!
OMG, she’s such a little whore.
Zaddy in the suit, tho.
“Jesus,” says the zaddy in the suit.
“Fuck these guys,” says the little whore (c’est moi).
“I didn’t show you this to discourage you,” Lars says. “But it does mean that we’ve got to be incredibly careful going forward. And that yes, we do need to have an actual wedding, because they’ll be checking.”
“We’ll keep the crew as small as possible and everyone will sign an NDA,” says Paula, “but the two of you need to behave as if you’re married when you’re in public, and Kylie wasn’t wrong…
it’s hard to buy this story if you’re living across the world from each other.
I don’t care if you live together in New Jersey—”
“No,” I say.
“Or London—” Paula continues.
“Absolutely not,” Theo says.
“—but at least occasionally, you need to be in the same place.”
Wow. A week ago, I theoretically wasn’t spending a second with Theo aside from filming. Now I’ve got to move in with him. It gets worse and worse.
“I’ll stay with her in New Jersey,” Theo says wearily. “I’m only in the States a few days a month, so it won’t be especially onerous.”
“Fine,” I groan. “What else?”
“I need you both to use a great deal of discretion in your, uh, private activities,” Paula replies. “If you’ve got a dating profile, delete it, and if you post on social media, make sure your posts are those of someone who’s married. Are the two of you following each other everywhere?”
Theo raises a cynical brow. “She’s wearing a ‘Let’s Get Wrecked’ T-shirt to a business meeting. I think it goes without saying that I’m not following her.”
“Let’s fix that now,” Paula says. “Theo—I assume this is you? At Theo Porter? Bex…? I’m not seeing you.”
“Cumslut69,” I chirp.
“I hope that’s a joke,” Theo groans.
“Sorry. It’s actually at-cumslut-underscore-69. Theo’s mom got to the original one first.”
“Bex,” Lars chides, and though he’s laughing, it’s clear he’s had enough. Or worries that Theo is about to jump ship.
“Fine. It’s TheOnlyBexYouKnow, all one word.”
When Theo’s shoulders sag in relief, irritation rises inside me like a mounting, powerful wave.
Yes, I’m young and shallow and dumb and classless.
Line up a hundred reasonably attractive twenty-four-year-olds and I’d place in his bottom five.
But he doesn’t need to act as if I’m a horror show just because I’ve made a stupid joke.
He doesn’t need to act as if he’s swept with relief upon discovering that my Instagram handle is relatively normal.
Nor does he need to run a thumb over that lush lower lip when I speak, which is weirdly hot and makes me think of sinking my teeth into it.
Maybe it’s only half irritation and half that I really need to get laid by someone who isn’t my soon-to-be-fake husband…hard to accomplish if I’ve got to delete my dating profiles.
I push those thoughts aside and dutifully follow my boring husband on Instagram (his profile is completely empty) but not on TikTok, which he apparently refuses to be a part of because he “doesn’t want to be used as a pawn by a communist regime.”
Even his activism grates.
“Excellent,” says Lars, clearly relieved to have moved past the second of today’s battles.
“Anyway, the wedding. We’re going to need to make sure we get some photos.
Perhaps even some handheld video…nothing professional, obviously, just someone filming a minute or two on a phone because if you were really getting married, someone would have taken a photo or video.
Which means I need Theo in a tux or a suit and Bex in a white dress. ”
Me in a white dress and him in a tux will make this seem even more real than it already does. “Can’t we just be notoriously private people who demanded no one photograph us?”
Theo holds up a photo from my profile in which I’m doing a keg stand. “Do you really expect anyone to believe that this woman is notoriously private?”
I roll my eyes, though he’s got a point.
Paula’s shoulders are sagging as she swipes through my profile.
“Let’s clean up the posts a bit, Bex, when you have time, by which I mean right now.
We have to assume that once Kylie and Jasper find you online, they’re going to be sharing the most atrocious photos of you they can find and—God, Bex, let’s take down the mug shot, okay?
Anyway, how does Friday look for the ceremony?
Lars has a friend who can lend us his courtyard, and he got ordained last year to do a wedding. ”
My stomach ties itself into a knot. It was one thing when we were hypothetically going to get married at some point. Now I’m going to be wearing a dress and holding his hand four days hence.
I have to slow this down and I really have no idea how.
“Four days isn’t even enough for a bachelorette,” I tell Theo, fighting my panic with forced nonchalance. “I need more time.”
Theo rolls his eyes. “Not that you need a bachelorette before a fake wedding, but that would typically require a night at most.”
“Not mine. There’s the flight to Vegas, a bunch of male strippers thrusting their groins in my face. There’s the night I’ll spend with at least one of them, but probably two, though I’ll lie to you about it later. I can’t possibly accomplish all that in four days.”
“Oddly enough, my bachelor party would have much the same schedule, but we need to get this done.”
“You’d enjoy having all those male strippers thrust in your face, wouldn’t you? Or perhaps not. It might make you feel inadequate.”
His laughter is smug, confident…and a touch filthy. “I assure you I wouldn’t be plagued by feelings of inadequacy.”
Damn. Ignoring that.
I glance at Paula. “Please note that he doesn’t address the part about the male strippers, just the inadequacy.”
She sighs. “I may have misspoken when I said they have Sam-and-Diane energy. Sid and Nancy is more fitting.”
I’m familiar with Sid and Nancy, and I think he eventually killed her. So yes, that does sound fairly accurate.