Page 42 of Lucky Puck

Chapter Nineteen

BIANCA

There’s a good amount of bravado behind my words, so I’m almost relieved at the interruption in our conversation. As we take our luggage and walk toward the check-in, it gives me more time to think and to give myself a pep talk.

I notice Sabien slipping his sunglasses from his pocket onto his face and realize he’s hoping to go unrecognized. Brody doesn’t bother, but he’s dressed down in jeans and a plain white t-shirt—albeit a nice one—and wears a Red Sox ball cap to cover his increasingly famous mop of hair.

Struggling to keep up with the two men, I hurry and wish I’d taken a different flight. The details of my plan are still sketchy, but I have thought about the solution to our so-called breakup and the aftermath and know exactly how I’d like it to go.

All I need to do is convince Jett to go along with the charade long enough to set up my career’s plan B. All I have to lose is the best job in the industry and the bonus I need to bail me out of my overdue student loans—and my back rent.

All I need is for my best friend to go along with my plan B. Even though she’s mentioned the possibility before, it was always in some distant future when I might be in a position to represent her, and she might be in a position to attract deals. I’m not so sure either of us is there yet, but we’re so close.

And I may have no choice but to make the leap.

On the plane, we find our seats in first class. Brody takes the window seat in the second row and pulls me in next to him, leaving Sabien to take the seat across the aisle—the one I’d planned to take so I can make some calls.

Trying not to grumble as Brody tugs my hand, I sit, or rather plop into the roomy seat. “At last it’s comfortable,” I admit, hoping the cost isn’t coming out of my paycheck.

He grins good-naturedly. “You didn’t think you were going to get away with not sitting with your husband, did you?”

“I need to make some calls.” I’m totally evading the question because it irks me that he reads my mind.

He nods. “Me too. I’ve been ignoring the texts from my sister about as long as I dare.”

“Then let’s get to it. We don’t have a lot of time before takeoff.” There’s no way we can both make calls at the same time, even in the relative privacy of our first-class fortresses. “I’ll go first.”

I call my mother first, and he watches me, but I don’t let it unnerve me. I can’t turn away from him because the last thing I want to do is face the aisle where people are streaming past us.

She picks up after four rings while I avoid Brody’s stare, looking down.

“Bianca, sweetheart, I’m so glad to hear from you. The diner’s all abuzz about you. There’s some kind of rumor about you and a Vegas wedding on social media, and I tell everyone, especially that big mouth Noreen, that you can’t believe everything you see on social media. After all, I would have heard from you firsthand if…” She stops talking suddenly as if it dawns on her that she’s hearing from me now and that maybe… “Sweetheart…,” her voice lowers to an urgent hush. “Why are you calling me in the middle of our Sunday brunch when you never call because you know how busy we are?”

“Hi Mom.” I can’t help smiling as I finally get a word in. Hearing the clatter of dishes and the pleasant hum of voices in the background, I shut my eyes. Do I tell her the truth or the lie? There shouldn’t be any question about telling the truth because she’s my mother, right?

But Mom is… well, let’s just say she’s secrecy-challenged, though Dad would call it big-mouthed—with fondness, of course. I take a breath and go with my instincts.

“The rumors are true, Mom.” I immediately hate myself for the lie as I pull the phone from my ear and cover it barely in time to muffle the shriek.

“What? What are you saying? Are you telling me you got married⁠—”

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“Sorry?” She laughs. Legitimately laughs. The happy kind, like she’s tickled. “I should think not from what I’ve seen, although we do need to meet him to be sure—it looks like you hit the jackpot, my beautiful baby girl, and I’m so proud of you!”

“Proud? I… had a Vegas wedding to someone you never met and…” Why am I trying to talk her out of being happy? Shit. This is so messed up. Of course, I don’t want her to be happy because I’m not really married to the jackpot.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I forgive you for not inviting me. We’ll have a celebration later⁠—”

“Mom, no need to make a fuss.”

“Of course I’m going to make a fuss out of my baby girl getting married—especially to a famous and handsome hockey player. Is it true that he’s a phenom? You’ll have to tell me all about him and how you two⁠—”

“Not now, Mom. The plane is about to take off.” I hesitate and have to ask, “How is Dad taking it and the boys?” I refer to my two younger brothers as the boys.

“What do you think? They’re thrilled to death—underneath their grumbling—because he’s a professional hockey player, of course. There seems to be some question about your husband’s reputation, and I believe they may want to have a few words with him⁠—”

“Great.”