“No.” I stand up, moving to the window to put some distance between myself and Carson’s enthusiasm. “The whole point is to keep this quiet and controlled. The more public we make it, the more chances there are for something to go wrong.”
“What could go wrong? You’re marrying your best friend. That’s the perfect cover story.”
“What could go wrong?” I turn back to face him. “Someone could figure out it’s fake. Someone could expose us.” My voice gets harder. “Freya could get hurt.”
The last part comes out more forcefully than I intended, and both Anthony and Carson observe me with renewed interest.
“Freya’s a civilian,” I continue, trying to regain my composure. “She’s not accustomed to media attention. The last thing I want is photographers following her around or reporters digging into her personal life.”
“We can control that,” Carson insists. “Managed publicity. Exclusive interviews with friendly outlets. A few carefully staged photos. Nothing invasive.”
“Carson,” Anthony interrupts, “maybe we should contemplate this more carefully. If this arrangement came to light, it could destroy Ben’s reputation permanently.”
“That’s exactly why we need to control the narrative,” Carson argues. “Right now, the press doesn’t know anything about Ben’s love life. That makes him an enigma, which makes them curious. Curiosity leads to digging, and digging leads to them finding things we don’t want them to discover.”
“What things?” I ask.
“I don’t know. That’s the point.” Carson spreads his hands. “But if we give them a story they can’t resist, with a headline such as successful CEO finds love with childhood friend, they’ll be too busy writing fairy tale pieces to search for anything else.”
I hate that his logic makes sense. I’ve spent years keeping my personal life private, which has only made the press more determined to find something scandalous. A romantic engagement story would give them exactly what they want while keeping them away from the truth.
“Besides,” Carson adds, “fake celebrity relationships happen constantly. Half of Hollywood is built on strategic partnerships designed to boost careers and improve image. The key is making it believable.”
“This isn’t Hollywood,” Anthony points out. “This is the commercial world. The stakes are different.”
“The stakes are exactly why this could work,” Carson responds. “Consider all the agreements Ben could close if clients perceived him as stable and family oriented instead of cold and ruthless. Consider the investor confidence.” He gestures broadly. “Consider the board of directors’ comfort level with a CEO who demonstrates commitment in his personal life.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Carson has a point. The Red Dawson agreement proved that my reputation for being emotionally unavailable can be a liability. If a fake marriage could solve that problem across the board…
“What would this entail?” I ask against my better judgment.
Carson’s face lights up. “Nothing too crazy. We announce the engagement officially, maybe with a few photos. We give an exclusive interview to a commercial magazine, Forbes or Fortune, about balancing love and career.” He’s practically bouncing in his seat. “We ensure the ceremony gets covered by the right outlets.Chicago Tribune, maybeVanity Fairif we can swing it.”
“Vanity Fair?” Anthony appears horrified.
“Consider the bigger picture,” Carson proclaims. “This story has everything they want. Successful billionaire, childhood friends to lovers. It’s romantic without being too personal, aspirational without being unrelatable.”
I feel like I’m being swept along by a current I can’t control. This morning I was planning a simple fake marriage to fool one client. Now Carson is discussing magazine covers and national press coverage.
“Ben,” Anthony says carefully, “don’t you think you should consult Freya before we start planning media strategies?”
“Of course. I’ll speak with her today.”
“And if she refuses?” Carson probes.
The question hangs in the air. If Freya refuses the publicity, can I still go through with Carson’s plan? Do I want to go through with it?
The honest answer is that the whole idea makes me deeply uncomfortable, though I can’t articulate why. There’s something about turning our friendship into a public performance that feels wrong, even if the marriage itself is already a performance.
But Carson’s points about my image and commercial relationships are valid. And if we’re going to fake a marriage anyway, maybe it makes sense to get maximum benefit from it.
“She’ll agree,” I hear myself declaring. “Freya comprehends the commercial implications.”
Anthony doesn’t appear convinced, but he nods. “What do you need from us?”
“Discretion, obviously. And help coordinating everything.” I return to my chair. “Anthony, I’ll need you to collaborate with whatever wedding planner we hire. Ensure the timeline works with my schedule. Ideally a July 22nd ceremony.”
“What about the actual client?” Anthony inquires. “Red Dawson? How does he fit into this expanded plan?”
