Chapter 34
thirty-four
. . .
Lucas
“If we announce during the festival, we get the industry buzz, but the general audience coverage gets diluted,” I explain, pacing the length of Alex’s office. “If we wait until after, we control the narrative but risk losing momentum.”
Alex watches me with mild amusement, his feet propped on his desk. “You’ve given this more thought than I have, and it’s my production deal.”
I stop pacing, realizing I’ve been overanalyzing. Again. It’s what I do when I’m trying not to think about something else. Or someone else.
“Force of habit,” I admit, dropping into the chair across from him. “So, which option?”
“Festival announcement,” Alex decides. “The streaming platforms will be there with checkbooks ready. We’ll leverage the bidding war for press.”
I nod, making notes on my tablet. “We’ll need Sophia to do the rounds. Her involvement gives the project credibility beyond just another comedy.”
“Already on it. She’s blocked off the weekend.” Alex studies me for a moment. “You seem distracted today. Everything ok with the wife?”
Wife. Five months in, and the word still gives me a strange flutter. “She’s fine. Just busy with the podcast.”
“Mm-hmm,” Alex hums skeptically. “And that’s why you just spent twenty minutes overthinking a straightforward announcement strategy? Come on, man. I know you better than that.”
I set my tablet down. “She’s been off lately. Distant. Working late. Distracted when we’re together.”
“Have you asked her what’s wrong?”
“Multiple times. She keeps saying it’s just work stress.”
Alex shrugs. “Maybe it is.”
“Maybe.” I don’t sound convinced, even to myself.
“Or maybe,” Alex suggests carefully, “she’s just adjusting to ‘married life.’” He brings his hands up to air quote that last part.
“It’s only been what, five months? You guys went from barely tolerating each other to a Vegas wedding to living together over the course of a weekend. That’s a big transition.”
The comment lands harder than it should. Everyone else still talks about our relationship like it’s some improbable rom-com plot twist. Alex has been quietly rooting for us since the beginning, calling us perfectly matched like he knows something we don’t.
I nod slowly, buying time with a sip of coffee. “You’re right. We’ve both been busy. The documentary wraps next month after my father’s announcement, and…”
I stare into the middle distance like the answer might be hiding there.
The truth is, that conversation has been circling us for weeks now, unspoken but constant, a deadline hanging in the air.
And lately, Jess has seemed quieter, like maybe she’s already preparing for the exit ramp, like maybe she’s ready to go back to her old life.
“We haven’t talked about what happens after that.”
The words come out quieter than I intended, and for a second, I can’t quite look at him.
“Then you can finally have some privacy,” Alex says. “No more cameras following you around. Just you and the wife.” He grins. “Maybe you could go on a real honeymoon? You never took one after Vegas.”
A text from Grant asking me to stop by his office saves me from having to respond to Alex.
“Gotta run, man. But, uh, I appreciate the talk. Thanks.”
I head across the studio lot to Grant’s office, and when I arrive, he’s reviewing something on his laptop with an intensity that usually means either very good or very bad news.
“Please tell me we’re not in the middle of another PR crisis,” I say, closing the door behind me.
Grant looks up, and a smile breaks through. “Quite the opposite. I just watched some early cuts from Dylan’s documentary. It’s excellent.”
I relax slightly. “Good to hear. The crew’s been filming less lately. I was worried they were losing interest.”
“Hardly. Dylan called it his most compelling project to date. Said he’s never captured such genuine chemistry between two people.
” Grant closes his laptop with a satisfied click and leans back in his leather chair.
“I think he’s particularly fond of you and Jess.
I know you were the last couple that signed on, and I might be biased, but your story is outshining the others by miles. ”
I manage a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes, and my chest tightens unexpectedly at the praise. “We aim to please. But it’s probably better if someone takes the lead on press for this.”
“Sounds like once they wrap with you and Jess, they’ll head into post-production. Assuming everything goes well, the series should be airing early next year.” Grant taps his fingers against his desk, his expression thoughtful. “Must be exciting, seeing it all come together.”
“I think we only have two big shoots left: my dad’s announcement and then final interviews.” The words feel heavy as I say them, and my heart sinks at the thought of all this wrapping up soon. The documentary ending means our arrangement ends, too—a reality I’m increasingly reluctant to face.
“Everything ok between you two?” Grant’s perception is sometimes unnerving, and now he’s studying me with the same intensity that he reserves for difficult negotiations.
“Fine. Just the usual work stress.” The lie comes easily, too easily, sliding off my tongue like something I’ve practiced. “You mentioned new footage?”
“It’s all set up in the screening room. Dylan said you’re welcome to preview anything they’ve shot. Part of your arrangement, I believe?”
I nod, grateful for the excuse to escape further questioning. “I should take a look. Make sure there’s nothing problematic.”
“Of course.” Grant returns to his work, but then he adds casually, “By the way, Lucas, I’m glad things seem to be going well between you and Jess. You seem really happy.”
I pause at the door. “Thanks. I am happy.”
He doesn’t look up. “Funny how it sneaks up on you, isn’t it?”
“Hilarious.”
I head down the hallway to the screening room and step inside the darkened room filled with a theater-sized screen and a back row full of monitors. No one’s around, but a note from Dylan indicates that they’ve stepped out for lunch and I’m welcome to review any footage on the main system.
I settle into the chair, where I navigate through recently uploaded files.
Most are labeled by date and location: “Dinner Party,” “Devils’ Game,” “Office B-roll.” I click through a few, smiling despite myself at shots of Jess laughing at the baseball game, her intensity while interviewing Edie Lang, the way she demolished everyone at charades during game night with our friends.
How did I ever think we could fake this for six months without consequences?
I’m about to close the files when I notice one labeled “OTRC: Sensitive.” My curiosity piqued, I click play.
The footage shows Jess’s office, filmed from a slightly awkward angle, as if the camera had been placed on a bookshelf. She’s sitting at her desk with Dylan across from her, an open folder between them.
“—just landed on my desk,” Jess is saying, sliding the folder toward Dylan.
I watch as Dylan reviews something, his eyebrows rising. “Whoa. This is…complicated.”
“You think?” Jess runs a hand through her hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as stress. “Dylan, I need to know what we’re doing with footage like this. This is sensitive material.”
Dylan’s response about “incredible content” and “personal and professional collision” makes me lean closer to the screen, trying to glimpse what’s in the folder.
“Have you told Lucas yet?” Dylan asks, and my entire body tenses.
Jess shakes her head. “It just came in.”
“But you’re going to tell him,” Dylan presses.
I watch as Jess stands and moves to the window, her back to the camera. When she turns, her expression is pained. “It’s complicated,” she says. “I promised Lucas I wouldn’t dig into his father’s affairs. That his family was off-limits unless he gave me permission.”
“But this came to you,” Dylan points out. “You didn’t go looking for it.”
“Do you think that distinction will matter to him?”
As I pause the video, a cold feeling spreads through my chest. Whatever this is, whatever she knows about my father, she’s deliberately keeping it from me.
I force myself to continue watching.
“I need to verify the claims first,” Jess is saying. “Check Martin’s background and employment records, see if there’s a pattern of behavior.”
Martin? My mind races, trying to place the name. A donor? A colleague of my father’s?
“And then?” Dylan asks.
“I don’t know. Journalistically, I have an obligation to pursue this story. But personally…”
“You’re worried about Lucas’s reaction.”
“Wouldn’t you be? This isn’t just any story. This is his family.”
I stop the video, unable to watch more. The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected. After everything we’ve shared, after her promise in the Hamptons, she’s investigating my father behind my back. Worse, she’s deliberating whether to even tell me about it.
I close the files, my mind reeling. Every moment of closeness, of supposed trust between us these past months, has now been cast in a different light. Was I just a convenient source of information? A way to get closer to political stories she couldn’t otherwise access?
The rational part of my brain argues that I’m overreacting, that I should wait to hear her explanation.
But the part of me that’s spent a lifetime watching my father’s political calculations, my mother’s careful compromises, and every relationship in my orbit reduced to strategic value drowns out that rationality.
I’ve been a fool to think what Jess and I have could be different. To think that someone whose career is built on uncovering secrets would respect mine. To believe, even for a moment, that our unexpected marriage could survive the collision of our professional worlds.
My phone buzzes with a text.
JESS
Home late tonight. Working on a story.
Of course she is.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I should confront her, demand answers.
LUCAS
No problem. I’ve got work, too.
And if she thinks our marriage, real or fake, can survive her betrayal, she’s about to discover just how wrong she is.