Chapter 15
Amanda
D éjà vu all over again.
I sat in The Happy Trails Café in the early morning hours, sitting across from Jennifer. Her baby bump was just growing noticeable, if you knew to look for it. I sipped my caramel frap latte and savored the sweetness over my palate as I listened to Jennifer wrap up her story.
“So then, Ramone just walks up pretty as you please… no, not walking. He does this thing… you know that thing he does when he just kind of—”
“Saunters?”
“Yes, that’s it,” she said, snapping her fingers with a pop that seemed unnaturally loud in all but deserted café. “He just kind of saunters up and plops it down on the table.”
“The very thing?” I asked, my mouth agape.
“The very thing,” she said with a jubilant grin. “Then he just kind of looks around and does a sort of crotch chop and says ‘Boom, y’all looking for THIS?”
I laughed heartily, the sound also unnaturally loud. After what had happened the last time I was in that particular café, I kept expecting my fake husband to appear out of nowhere and start yelling at me.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one .
“Oh,” she said, holding her stomach.
“Your morning sickness again?” I asked with concern.
“Yes, indeed, but don’t worry, I’m not going off to the bathroom or leaving this time.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because,” she said with a wicked grin “I’m worried your fake husband might pop out of the woodwork and start acting all possessive again.”
I laughed, but it trailed off into a sigh.
“Don’t remind me. That was not a banner moment in our fake marriage, I’ll tell you that much.”
Jennifer considered me for a long moment as she blew steam off of her tea. She put the cup to her lips and took a delicate sip, possibly out of respect for her stomach. Relief spread over her face.
“You know, Marshall told me a slice of ginger in my tea would help with nausea, but I was dubious about it until now.”
“It really helps?” I asked, also a bit dubious.
“Yes, it does.”
“Can’t you, you know, taste it, though? Isn’t it all gingery? I don’t like the idea of ginger in my tea. I only like ginger in ginger snaps and ginger ale.”
“What about that redhead guy you dated a couple of years ago? You liked that kind of ginger, if I recall.”
“Oh God,” I said with a laugh. “When he took off his pants, it looked like he had a strawberry patch below the waist. I just couldn’t take him seriously.”
She shook her head. “You’re so weird. Most women like the idea of a big red-haired highlander or Irishman to sweep them off their feet.”
“Ha-ha. Not this girl. ”
“Mmm.” She sipped her tea again and looked a bit better. “I’m sorry that your fake husband acts like a possessive dickwad.”
“Actually, he’s been really good for the last few weeks, surprisingly.”
“He has?” she cocked her head to the side. “Are you talking about the same Evan Jones here?”
“Yeah. Go figure, but he’s been giving me my space as much as he can. I mean, I still get pulled all over the place for photo ops and such to keep growing his brand, but other than that, he tries to give me room to breathe. He’s not making me join him for breakfast at an appointed hour any longer, and I don’t have to ask his permission to leave the house.”
“How did all of this come about? Was he visited by three ghosts in the night?”
“We, um, we had a fight. A pretty big one, because I forgot to wear my fake wedding ring to the movie premiere. He was acting like we were actually married, instead of fake married, so I told him where he could stuff that attitude.”
I sighed as I recalled his angry face.
“And then he started throwing my contract in my face, saying that he owned me and all of this shit. I told him that I was his fake wife, not his slave, and that he wasn’t giving me enough room to breathe.”
“Wow. I take it he didn’t like you saying that?”
I decided to just tell her everything.
“Well, he got all huffy about the wedding ring thing again. I asked him why he cared so much if it was all fake, anyway. Then, he… he grabbed me and kissed me. I mean fucking kissed me, stole my breath away and everything.”
“Oh my,” Jennifer said, her mouth forming an O.
“Yeah. Then he said something like ‘is this real enough for you?’ We started making out, like practically dry humping in the car. ”
“I’ve been there before,” she said with a chuckle. “Good thing the back of a limo is so spacious. It allows for a lot of different positions.”
I was on too much of a roll to laugh at her joke.
“I cut him off. It didn’t feel right for some reason, I don’t know. I retreated to my room, and then the next morning I’m super late for breakfast. I creep in there thinking he’s going to be a total prick about it. Instead, he didn’t even react. He’s been acting nicer ever since.”
“That’s incredible.” She shook her head. “I mean, really incredible. From what I understand, Evan’s reputation was even worse than Marshall’s. He’s even more ruthless and cold.”
“Sometimes, I get a glimmer from Evan that he’s not super cold. Sometimes he’s really warm. I mean, at the movie premiere we were showing off for the cameras. You know, hugging, kissing, hanging off of each other and all of that.”
“I saw the photos. You sure looked happy in some of those.”
“I felt happy in some of those,” I said with a sigh. “Anyway, he kept up the act even when no one was around. He kept trying to kiss on me and lick the back of my neck, which drives me absolutely fucking crazy.”
“Oh yeah, too many guys ignore the neck. I swear they have a map ingrained in their head that goes ‘lips, tits, pussy’ in that order.”
I laughed and then sipped my latte, only to find it empty. One of the waiters magically appeared and refilled it, offering a discreet smile to go with the discreet service.
“I’ve never gotten this good of service anywhere.”
“You’re the owner’s wife, what do you expect? They’d probably throw themselves down on a puddle for you so you wouldn’t get your feet wet.”
“That makes no sense. How would I walk over a squishy, lumpy human body in heels? It would be a lot easier to just step over or go around the puddle.”
“It’s just a figure of speech, hon, don’t read so much into it.”
She reached out and put a hand on top of my glass. “And maybe dial back on the caffeine.”
“Some of us aren’t pregnant and can have all the lattes they want,” I said, snatching my drink from her clutches. “Here’s the thing, though. As much as he keeps giving me space, I really don’t want to leave home all that much. I like spending time with my fake husband when he’s being, well, human.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, he’s even become interested in the charity work we do. He’s helped me work on our event planning and other projects.”
“Oh, I see. Is that why Jenna’s been spending so much time sitting in on our meetings? She’s been chumming around with both Ramone and Jake.”
I felt a bit miffed. I didn’t want to lose my friends to little miss-perfect-computer-brain.
“I see. I had no idea I was so replaceable.”
“No one could ever replace you, hon.”
My phone dinged with a particular tone. I quickly dug it out of my purse.
“Who in the world is so important that you put down your latte to answer them?”
“It’s just my husband. We have a charity brunch event for the Audubon Society later this week, and he’s probably just texting to remind me.”
I opened the text and found it was indeed just that. I noticed Jennifer looking at me rather intensely.
“What?” I said, closing down my phone.
“You just called Evan ‘my husband,’ didn’t you? ”
My cheeks flushed with heat.
“I might have, but don’t read too much into it. It’s, um, complicated.”
“It was complicated when we met for breakfast last week, and the week before. But you never once referred to him as ‘my husband.’ It was always Evan or ‘my fake husband.’”
“What are you saying, it was a Freudian slip?”
“Was it?”
I groaned in frustration and rolled my eyes to the ceiling.
“You’re impossible.”
“No, I’m Jennifer,” she said smoothly. “Amanda, tell me, how do you really feel about him?”
I looked her in the eye and knew I couldn’t lie.
“Sometimes, I forget the fake part. You know? Like we’re just going about our business, going about our day, and for a little bit I’ll forget that it’s all fake. I’ll forget that I’m just playing a role.”
I dropped my gaze to my latte. It didn’t need stirring, but I did it anyway, the metal of the spoon sliding against the glass cup.
“It feels good to be next to him. To be living with him. Even when he tries to push me into something, it feels like he’s doing it because he cares. Even if he’s expressing it the wrong way, he still cares.”
I looked up and swallowed, hard.
“Is it out of the realm of possibility that maybe, just maybe, a man like him could really be interested in a nobody like me?”
Before she could answer, the doors to the café burst open. I half expected a jealous tirade from Evan, because that’s what happened last time. Instead, three figures came through. The rotund bowling pin shape of Jake, the sauntering easy glide of Ramone, and of all people Jenna, my fake husband’s personal assistant. They were all talking and joking together like old friends.
When they saw us, they made a beeline for the table.
“Oh, here you are,” Jennifer said, “almost on time.”
“Hey, Amanda. I hope you’re enjoying yourself, sitting around and sipping lattes while Jake and I are busting our balls.”
I chuckled. “Nice to see you too, Ramone.”
“Well, much as I don’t like his salty language so early in the morning,” Jake said, “we really are working harder without you around, Amanda. I can’t wait until you come back.”
“Yeah,” Ramone said. “If you don’t come back soon, we might just quit and go back to work in a restaurant. Or maybe even go to work in this café.”
He looked around and nodded to himself. “I’m sure they could use an experienced line order cook.”
While the two of them bantered about, I noticed that Jenna had unsnapped her briefcase on an adjacent table. She took out several folders, each one color-coded and labeled with a typed, printed sticker.
One of the documents bore a title page called Project Next Level. I wondered what it was. I’d never even heard of that, and Evan was pretty consistent in telling me about his various business ventures. He wanted to make sure I could field questions about them from the press and sound halfway intelligent.
“Say, Jenna?”
“Yes?” she asked without looking up.
“What’s Project Next Level all about? It sounds rather intense.”
Jenna snatched the file off the table and stowed it back into her briefcase so quickly I felt like if I’d blinked, I’d have missed it.
“It’s nothing,” she said nervously. “It’s just a work in progress, more of an idea than a project, really.”
She looked up at me with a smile that seemed strained.
“It’s going to be quite a surprise for you when I’m finished preparing it, though.”