Chapter 11
Amanda
E van pulled me in close, our bodies pressed so tight I could feel the heat coming through his silk shirt. He slid his hand down to my lower back and held me. I put my hands on his shoulders and we turned our faces toward the edge of the red carpet, cheeks pressed together.
Flashbulbs went off like summer lightning as the paparazzi struggled to capture the moment of our happy love. At the moment, I could almost pretend it was all real. My heart thudding so hard in my chest was certainly real.
I had to be careful, though, and not give in to the warm feelings in my chest. This was a role. I was an actress playing a part in one of the most carefully orchestrated PR campaigns in the history of the world.
Evan didn’t really mean to hold me so close. He only did it for the sake of the cameras. Only, it seemed like I could feel his heart beating awfully fast, too. It was only a few inches from my own at the moment.
“Evan! Amanda! Over here!”
“Amanda, who are you wearing? Do a twirl for us.”
“Evan is in the house, y’all! How about you turn this way and give me some of that love I know y’all feeling!”
“You’re doing an amazing job, Amanda,” Evan said in a stiff- faced whisper. “I’d never know just how cold you act to me in private.”
“Then I guess I’m performing up to your standards, sir,” I said, also in a whisper where my expression remained unchanged.
The guy who wanted me to twirl just wouldn’t shut up. I knew better than to act annoyed with it. That was one of the rules drilled into me by PR expert Fritz. He said that middle America really resented a celebrity who didn’t seem to want to be photographed being fabulous.
I smiled at Evan, and he kissed me on the cheek before releasing me so I could twirl.
“I’m wearing Versace, by the way,” I called out. I remembered how to do my twirl. You turn your head first, then let your body catch up to avoid making yourself dizzy. I held out the train of my green sheath dress. I wasn’t crazy about revealing so much cleavage, but I had to admit, I did look good in that dress.
The flashbulbs went off like mad. The press was eating it up. Fritz had been right all along. People loved the rags to riches thing. I’m just glad I talked them out of creating an alternate history for me, where I grew up on a literal farm with overalls and a straw hat and everything.
I wasn’t really a public figure, but enough people knew me from the charity work that I couldn’t have pulled that off, anyway. Besides, there were limits to my acting ability. I could pretend to be crazy in love with a man who was, in reality, my employer. I wasn’t so sure I could pretend to be a completely different person.
“Come on.” He took my hand in his own. His hand was huge, enveloping me in its warmth. “That’s enough time spent on the red carpet. Time to move inside and mingle.”
“Aren’t there just as many photographers inside as outside?”
He chuckled. “There are more. Many more. ”
He tugged me along in his wake. I allowed myself to be pulled down the red carpet. Everything had a gleam of glitz and glamor on it. The brass stands holding the dark red velvet ropes looked freshly polished, gleaming in the flashbulb accentuated lights. Someone had hung streamers of star capes along the marquee of Mann’s Chinese Theater, probably to promote whatever movie premiere we were attending. I honestly couldn’t remember it at the time.
Once we were inside, the feeling of being on Mount Olympus only increased. I felt as if I were a mere mortal strolling around with the gods. Everyone looked fabulous and decked out to the nines. I didn’t see an imperfect head of hair, or a single wrinkle in anyone’s garb. The whole lobby sparkled from top to bottom.
The lobby had been turned into something of a ballroom for the event. This included tables set up for the more well-heeled VIPs, which included us, as it turned out. It was kind of strange, being allowed past the beaded curtain into the realm of the ultra-rich and famous.
A balding man with a sharp Italian suit in dull gray approached us. He had a gorgeous woman about a third of his age on his arm. He smiled at Evan with an air of familiarity.
“Hey there, Evan, I heard you joined the rest of us in the shackles of matrimony.”
He slapped Evan on the shoulder. Evan smiled and shook the man’s hand.
“It’s been a while, Nate.”
He turned to introduce me.
“Nate, this is my wife, Amanda. Amanda, this is Nathaniel Richards, CEO of Paradigm Corporation.”
“Paradigm? You’re a really big deal then,” I said, shaking his hand as well. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, you’re the only big deal in this room, my dear. Everyone is wondering exactly how you were able to tame the ultimate silverback bachelor, Evan Jones.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “How did you do it?”
“I didn’t do anything special.”
I turned to Evan and tried to find some way to play my role. It all felt so artificial. I had to tap into our second meeting, when we’d had sex on the plane. The way he’d treated me in that moment, the way he’d looked at me and spoken to me… it all came flooding back.
“He just really seemed like the kind of man who wanted to take care of me. In an emotional and spiritual way, as much as the physical. His touch was so gentle, and I could tell he really wanted to make me happy.”
My voice broke a little bit at the end, and a tear came to my eye. It was because of the pain of loss. I’d lost that Evan along the way and now only had the cold transactional businessman.
But everyone else present seemed to think I was just overcome with happy emotion because I was a newlywed.
“Aww,” said Nate’s as-yet unidentified female companion. Her voice had a strange nasal quality I did not like and found grating. “That’s so adorbs.”
“Really now?” Nate chuckled gently. “I had no idea that Iceman Evan Jones was such a softie underneath it all. Well, I see Elon over there, so I need to say hello. Good chatting with you, Evan.”
We smiled as they left, and then Evan leaned in close.
“I’m giving you a bonus for that performance. The tear was a nice touch. You really sold it.”
“Yeah,” I said, a bit stiffly. “I really sold it, didn’t I?”
He frowned at me but offered no further comment. We were shown to our table, and I was delighted to see that my napkin had been folded into the shape of a swan.
The table settings probably cost more than the rent on my first apartment—for an entire year. The etching on the silverware alone was super elaborate and probably etched by hand. The glasses were certainly real crystal. I dipped my finger in the champagne glass and then ran the tip around the rim, creating a chiming sound.
“What mischief are you up to?” Evan asked. He was still in his ‘loving husband’ persona, so he asked it really nicely, as an invitation to banter. I decided there was no harm in playing along.
“Hey, it was just the tip of my finger,” I said, stopping the tune. “Which I guess is proof that just the tip can really get you into trouble.”
Evan laughed, and it was a wonderful sound. So rich and velvety and yet boisterous at the same time. I decided it had to be put-on. No way would the Iceman have a laugh like that in him. That meant he must have been one hell of an actor. I didn’t know whether I should be more worried or not.
Someone bellied up to our table. I turned to see a man in a nice suit with a camera slung around his neck.
“Hey there, Evan. How about a few quick words for the people?”
Evan frowned.
“Press isn’t supposed to be in this area,” he said, his cold persona showing under the surface.
“Oh, it’s alright. We’re always happy to talk to the press, aren’t we, darling?” I put my hand on his arm and squeezed really tight. That was another important lesson drilled into my head. Don’t act angry or put upon if the press approached you. That shit would end up on the evening news and internet viral video cycle in a heartbeat.
We were trying to carefully curate Evan’s public image, and that meant he needed to seem more approachable and fun-loving than he had in the past .
“Good point, my love,” he said, putting his hand on top of my own and squeezing back, though not near as hard as I was squeezing him. “What would you like to know?”
“I was just wondering about this top-secret fabulous honeymoon the two of you had. I mean, you disappeared off the face of the earth for two weeks. Where did you go?”
We had a story prepared for this as well, but I didn’t see a need to use it. I improvised, deciding that the less said the better.
“Well, perhaps it wasn’t that we dropped off the face of the Earth,” I said, teasing Evan’s soft hair, “as it was that we just didn’t see any reason to leave our honeymoon suite for most of the vacation.”
“Oooh, spicy, I love it.” He picked up his camera and looked at us hopefully. “Could I get a quick shot of the two of you kissing?”
Evan looked as if he were about to protest, so I kissed him before he could say anything. And I mean I kissed him, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing myself against him with passion I wasn’t sure I was entirely feigning.
He kissed me back and for a moment, a brief, blessed moment, we were back on that plane ride with the translucent walls and floors.
The flashbulb snap was the impetus that ended the moment. When we parted, our eyes met, and I knew Evan was thinking the same thing I was. Why couldn’t it be as easy to be a real husband and wife as pretend ones?
We met a ton of people that night. I lost track of how many times I shook hands. I don’t think we even made it into the actual movie theater, we were so busy speaking to people and appearing to the press.
Eventually, we wound up in a small but posh green room, safe from the prying eyes of the press or anyone else for that matter. Evan didn’t stop playing the part of the loving, doting husband. He may even have been overplaying it a little. He slid his arm around my waist while I was getting a crab cake and kissed me on top of the head, then dropped his lips to my neck.
It made no sense. Nobody was around to see it. I reacted in spite of myself, leaning my head back and pressing my body against his. When another guest entered the room, we broke apart sheepishly, like a couple of high school kids.
I was starting to lose track of what was real, and what was just roleplaying. On our way out of the green room, we ran into a tall, handsome and mustachioed man named Christian. He was apparently my husband’s college roommate and a billionaire in his own right.
“I’m starting to feel lonely here, Ev,” Christian said. He had an annoying habit of calling Evan Ev, though my ‘husband’ didn’t seem to mind. “I mean, it’s getting mighty sparse in the BBC.”
“British Broadcasting Company?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Billionaire Bachelor’s Club. First Marshall, and now you.”
“You’re likely next.”
“Never going to happen.” Christian arched his brows. “So, I heard that Marshy knocked up his old lady. How about you two? Are you going to have kids?”
“Well, let’s just say that we’ve been giving mother nature ample opportunity since our wedding,” I said, putting my hand on Evan’s belly and snuggling up to him. I knew it was pretend, logically. But it also felt good. It felt good to act all cutesy and warm with my fake husband. The fake wedding was starting to stir some real feelings, much as I tried to avoid thinking about them.
We all laughed, and Christian became distracted when a leggy blonde walked past. He excused himself, and we returned to the mingle.
Everything was going great from a business perspective. We were selling our fake relationship like mad.
Then, some camera-toting reporter with his ball cap on backwards called out something that made me cringe.
“Hey, Amanda! If you all are in so much love, where’s your wedding ring?”