A knock at the door saves me from further explanation. Brandon, closest to the entrance, swings it open to reveal Sophia, stunning as always in skinny jeans and an oversized sweater.
“Hey, superstar.” Brandon greets her with a hug. “You’re early.”
“Meeting got pushed up,” Sophia explains, stepping into the apartment. When she spots me surrounded by boxes, her eyes widen. “Jess! I heard the news. Congratulations?”
The question mark at the end is subtle but unmistakable.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting her quick embrace. Sophia and I became close over the last year when her house flooded and she moved in with Grant Hall, head of Wonderland Studios and Lucas’s boss. I tortured her in the beginning. Lucas wouldn’t share anything with me, and I was suspicious that something was going on. Turns out I was right, but it didn’t happen in the way I thought. And I never could have imagined teaming up with Lucas to help Grant with a public declaration about his feelings for Sophia on my podcast.
“Marriage looks good on you,” she says, studying my face. “You’re glowing.”
I quickly correct her. “That’s stress sweat. Moving is hell.”
“Speaking of,” Brandon says, checking his watch, “we should head out if we’re going to make that meeting with the stunt coordinator.”
Sophia nods. “I hate to rush out, but duty calls. We’reprepping for that action sequence in Wonderland’s new spy franchise.” She eyes the boxes. “So, you are moving into his place?”
“Yes, until we can find our own place together,” I reply. “And it’s closer to the studio for him.”
“And further from everything for you,” Blair points out. “A true sign of love.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“That reminds me,” Stella says, perking up. “If you’re mostly staying at Lucas’s now, would you mind if I used your apartment occasionally? The tenant across from me is doing renovations, and the noise is driving me crazy. I can’t concentrate on scripts.”
“You want to use my place as a reading room?” I ask.
“Just sometimes! I’d water your plants, grab your mail.” She bites her lip. “And your place is closer to a certain someone in the building.”
Brandon makes a face. “Not that tech bro? The one with the messenger bag and the cold brew addiction?”
“He has a name, Brandon. It’s Mason.” Stella’s cheeks flush. “And he’s not a tech bro. He develops apps for nonprofit organizations.”
“Same difference,” Brandon mutters.
“Sure, use the place whenever,” I tell Stella. “I’m paying rent either way, and most of my stuff is staying here. Lucas and I haven’t exactly figured out the long-term logistics yet.”
And there it is, the first truly honest thing I’ve said all afternoon. We haven’t figured anything out beyond surviving the next six months of this charade.
Later, after everyone has left and I’m alone with my half-packed boxes, I pour myself a glass of wine and stand at my living room window. The sun is setting over the city, casting long shadows across the buildings.
“This is just a story,” I whisper to myself, “like any other story with an embargo date. Six months from now, the truth comes out, and everything goes back to normal.”
I’m making a deal with the universe, or maybe just with my own conscience. I, Jessica Lexington, who has built a career on exposing truths, am living a lie. But it’s a necessary lie, a temporary one, like going undercover for a story.
The problem is, undercover agents sometimes go rogue, and the line between pretend and reality gets blurrier every day I spend with Lucas.
My phone vibrates with a text. Speak of the devil.
LUCAS
Dylan wants to film us having dinner with friends next weekend. Says it’ll make good B-roll for the “support system” segment. Any chance your friends are free that Saturday?
I stare at the message. Looks like I’m dragging my friends deeper into this fabrication.
JESS
I’ll ask. Blair and Stella for sure. Brandon if he’s not working.
