Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
BIANCA
“In fact, I’m pleased with the upside of enhanced publicity for my company.
Brody’s notoriety should help get Cavalaro Motors on the map even faster.
I’m very satisfied with our deal so far.
” He turns away from me and lowers his voice, though I can still hear him because I have fine-tuned the art of listening for pertinent information.
“Did you plan this whole thing as a publicity stunt or is this marriage for real?”
There’s dead silence on the other end of the line, and Martino laughs. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you admit to anything. Bianca is right here. Would you like to speak with her?”
Martino hands me the phone, and I have no choice. The butterflies in my gut are running into each other in their frenzied state, and I hope I don’t look as sick as I feel.
“Hello, Jett. I see you’ve noticed all the media coverage of Brody—”
“You know what this means, right?” He lowers his voice so I can barely hear it, allowing no chance to be overheard. “Martino’s on board with your marriage, so you need to be on board with perpetuating the situation—at least for a while, say, until the end of the season.”
“What?” I lose my cool, and my voice comes out of the whisper.
The director turns around and glares at me, then shouts at the crew for another take.
I automatically find Brody in the crowd of celebrity athletes and crew on the set.
He grins, his dimple showing for a flash, and my tummy butterflies flutter in unison like eyelashes on a flirt. Not helpful.
If he knew we were plotting how to perpetuate the demise of his bachelorhood, he wouldn’t be so… so… carefree.
“I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do. You made this bed.” He pauses and sighs. “We’ll need time to figure out a palatable way to get you both out of this, without making him—and you—look crazy or worse.”
“Right. There’s that. This is a definite case of the truth being stranger than fiction.
” We certainly can’t tell the truth without outing Tammi, and without her, we can’t explain the wedding bands without sounding like liars.
People will automatically assume our Vegas wedding was all a planned hoax, a publicity stunt. Martino already suspects as much.
We can’t tell the truth or even laugh it off… Oh, it was all a joke. No biggie. We thought it would be a hoot to get wedding bands and pretend we’re married. Fun, right? Haha.
No one would believe it was an innocent accident. There would be cynical suspicion about our motives and all kinds of wild speculation. Everyone loves a conspiracy theory these days.
My credibility would be down the toilet.
“I’ll talk to you when you get back.” He ends the call, and I nod and smile like everything is fine while all the butterflies in my gut sink like lead.
Brody returns to the shoot, and they finish up after a quick round of congratulations from his commercial co-stars.
Sabien keeps me company, picking up my slack in the conversation with the animated Carlotta and the pleased-as-shit Martino, while I try not to think of the implications of my predicament when we get back to Portsmouth.
It’s not long before the director calls out, “It’s a wrap.”
Without thinking about it, I find myself rushing to Brody’s side, bypassing several curious high-profile athletes, including a champion golfer, a super tall basketball MVP, and a Super Bowl MVP. Shit.
He raises a brow at me while everyone watches us with interest as if we’re filming a drama, possibly a tragedy. I’m glad the cameras aren’t running—or at least I don’t think they are. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and we walk back towards Martino.
“Everything okay?” Brody asks in a murmur, his breath whispering against my skin, raising all kinds of excitement. “Martino looks happy.”
I whisper in a rush, trying to keep my body’s reaction to him under wraps, “He’s too excited about our Vegas marriage—I mean very excited.
He loves all the publicity we’re getting, and Jett wants us to keep up the newlywed charade until the end of the season.
” I take a breath and watch for his reaction.
Brody’s eyes go wide for a flicker, and then, as we approach Martino and Carlotta grinning at us like over-satisfied customers, he shrugs with that signature lady killer smile tugging at his lips.
Then he aims his movie star blue eyes at me, and my entire body heats up while a giant wave lets loose in my belly like I’m hosting a zoo of butterflies inside, and every one of them is fluttering their wings like ballerinas as he lowers his mouth to mine.
The room gives a collective gasp of oohs and aahs followed by murmurs as if they were guests at our wedding.
He kisses me long and slow, and if part of me is aware this is a performance, the rest of me doesn’t care as I sink into the marvel of his mouth seducing mine with heady pressure and heat, and the intimate exploration of his tongue nearly making me fall off my four-inch heels.
When he lets me go and the wave of dizziness passes, I collect myself. “We need to talk,” I say under my breath out of pure instinct in the name of self-preservation.
“There’s more?” There’s disbelief and humor in his voice, but whatever it was that I had to say evaporates from my head and Martino takes over.
“Great shoot, Brody.” Martino puts out his hand to shake his. “Much luck and happiness with your new bride. I think we’re all very happy how the excitement over your nuptials lined up with our promotion.”
“Thank you, sir. Now if you don’t mind—”
Martino chuckles, “Not at all. Go have your honeymoon.” He winks at me, and I don’t need to be kicked in the pants with my cue to get out of here.
I take his arm and mutter something about being in touch with him and wave to Carlotta as she follows us to the door. Sabien, as always it seems, is ahead of us. We reach the exit of the hangar-sized studio into the hallway that’s blessedly empty if you don’t count some security personnel.
We lose Carlotta, and then I stop and lean against the wall as if I’m suddenly going to collapse.
“You okay? Don’t stop now. We need to get out of this crazy place before they discover we’re imposters.” He’s smiling, but I see a hint of realness about the statement and wonder.
“Don’t worry. You turned out to be quite the actor. You even had me convinced for a second that we’re married.”
He takes my arm, and we catch up to Sabien at the door to the outside. “You enjoyed that kiss, didn’t you?”
“Don’t get a big head about it.”
He chuckles as we step out into the unrelenting sunshine of the Vegas desert to find our car. He dips his head, his mouth close to my ear, and I tense my body against the onslaught of sensual overload and my stupid stubborn attraction. He whispers, “What if the kiss wasn’t an act?”
“Stop teasing me. This town is making us all crazy. Let’s get out of here.”
He nods, and we reach the car where Sabien is waiting for us.
Once we’re all inside, where I’m squished between the two men once again, I breathe a sigh something like relief—which is crazy because if I found myself in the middle of a Brody and Sabien sandwich a week ago—even with my clothes on like this—I would have fainted dead away.
Brody puts an arm behind my shoulder and says, “My question is, now what? Mrs. Brody Holden? I feel like we just took a giant leap from the frying pan into the fire, and my ass is burning.”
I elbow him in the ribs automatically because I’m on high defensive alert, but I belatedly hope I didn’t hit a bruise or something. “Don’t be a smart ass.” That’s all I can think to say to his concise summary of the very thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid.
Then I look him in the eye, straight at those sexy blues like I’m daring to look into the sun, prepared to go blind, with everything in me humming, my volume is turned all the way up, my engines revved to the red line. “We’ll handle it. I’ll handle you.”
His mouth slowly widens into a grin, the kind that shows a big measure of admiration. “You are one badass lady.”
I want to enjoy the compliment, but I can see in his eyes there’s more, that he’s about to drop a giant anvil of a BUT.
“But?” I beat him to the punch.
“But no matter what Jett and Martino think, we can’t go back east playing this newlywed charade. We’re going to have to come clean about the whole wedding band and Vegas wedding story sometime—sooner than later.”
Sabien chortles. “You can’t be serious? No one would believe the truth now that they have a perfectly good story.”
I glare at him. “Thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t think I didn’t notice how well the story went over. The media loves it, the fans love it, and I think even Stubichuk was touched by your recent marriage.”
Brody gives him the finger.
I ask Brody, “You really think we should tell everyone it was all a misunderstanding or a joke or a mistake and move on?”
“Yes. That would solve the problem. Because think about it—if we continue the charade, we’d have to move in together. And I know neither of us wants that.” He’s right.
I glare at him because I’m feeling mildly insulted even though I know I have no business thinking that way because, of course, fake or not, he doesn’t want to be married to me—or anyone.
And neither do I. If I were going to get married, wouldn’t I want to choose someone more mature, more stable, more—then it hits me.
“You’re right. Neither of us wants to be married for real. But telling the truth about our fake marriage would create a whole new problem.”
“What problem is that?”
“You would like a crazy man, and my reputation would be trash.”