Page 36 of Lucky Puck
“Shhh. Don’t even say that.” My panic keeps rising, and I feel my feet wobbling in my sky-high heels.
“Is that why you’re trying to keep your marriage a secret? To preserve Brody’s image as the up-and-coming most eligible bachelor?”
I’m shaking my head as she goes on. “Because, I have to tell you, in my experience, when you have a secret like a celebrity marriage and it comes out unplanned, you end up getting extra attention.”
“I can see that.” My chest constricts, and I hope I’m not having a heart attack. I force myself to take a deep breath and remind myself I can handle this. I always handle problems, don’t I?
But the problem with this problem is that we didn’t have a secret marriage. The big secret now is that we’re NOT married.
Shit. I wonder what kind of attention that big reveal would get? I shudder.
She puts an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry. All the fuss will die down.”
“When?” I really want to know. “In your expert opinion?”
“A week or so. Maybe. It depends.”
“On what?”
She shrugs. “Beats me. Sometimes a story gets sticky.” She pauses and gives me a sympathetic look, squeezing my shoulder. “I hate to say it, but I see the potential for this story sticking around. I mean, Brody plays hockey in the NHL, so he’s out there, and you—” she leans back and gives me a once-over. “You’re adorable.”
I laugh, not a happy laugh, but one of those self-derisive acknowledgments of who I am. The pudgy smart girl. Sure, maybe she really does think I’m adorable—probably because I’m short—or maybe it’s code for pathetic. Or it’s adorable that I’ve managed to snag someone way out of my league.
“You don’t have to spell it out,” I say. “Everyone loves a story about the long shot, the ugly duckling catching the hot guy—”
“You’re not—”
I put up a hand. “Okay, not an ugly duckling. The mediocre girl scoring the hot big shot is a compelling story. I get it. There are a lot of us mediocre people in the world fantasizing about landing the biggest dreamboat fish in the sea.” I turn to her. “The whale.”
“What are you ladies talking about? Fishing?” Martino stashes his phone as he meets us at the edge of the set, outside the quiet zone. “Forget about fish. Brody’s getting an enormous amount of attention on social media, and I bet that will make our ad campaign even more of a hit, more effective, am I correct?” He grins at Carlotta, finally showing his hand because he thinks he’s won.
“It will definitely get us a lot more attention,” she sounds hesitant, and I know she’s worried about the demise of Brody’s bachelorhood affecting viewer response. “People may replay clips of the commercial in social media posts ideally and—”
He claps his hands together. “Perfect.” He shifts his attention to me. “I apologize for my business-centric reaction to your recent nuptials. This should be a romantic time for you. I’ll send an appropriate gift to your room—”
“That’s so kind, but there’s no need. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“I’ll send it to your home, then. Unless you’re both moving…”
“Moving?” My mind spins with the unplanned logistical nightmare of the aftermath of this fake marriage. “Honestly, we haven’t discussed it yet.” The idea of moving gives me new empathy for Alice of Wonderland fame. Fresh panic rises, literally in my throat.
If we don’t do something about this charade soon, I’ll end up moving in with Brody hot-hockey-poster-boy Holden.
To prevent my heart from seizing up, I don’t let myself think of what happens after that.
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—”
