“What are we doing, Lucas?” she asks softly.
I wish I had an answer. Instead, I loosen my tie further and head to my bedroom.
“Getting really good at lying,” I call back, not turning to see her reaction. “Better get some sleep. We’ve got a dinner party to plan.”
As I close my bathroom door, I catch my reflection in the mirror, where I see my flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and slightly disheveled hair. I look like a man coming undone.
Five months and two weeks to go. God help us both.
thirteen
. . .
Jess
“Isit weird that you two already move around each other like you’ve been married for years?” Sophia asks, watching as Lucas takes the wine glass from my hand and refills it without breaking his conversation with Grant.
I nearly choke on my sip. “Professional synchronicity,” I manage. “Years of orbiting each other in press rooms.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her knowing smile is unbearable.
The dinner party is in full swing in Lucas’s apartment—our apartment, I guess—filled with the warm buzz of conversation and laughter. The documentary cameras are discreetly positioned in corners, catching “authentic moments of the newlyweds’ first dinner party,” as Dylan put it.
Blair and Wyatt are deep in conversation with Stella. Brandon is animatedly describing some death-defying stunt to Alex and his date, a tall gallery owner who looks both horrified and fascinated. Then there’s Austin, my brother, watching me with that unsettling attentiveness he’s had sincewe were kids. He knows me too well, which makes him dangerous to this whole charade.
“So, how did you two end up agreeing to this documentary in the first place?” Grant asks, drawing me back to the conversation circle. “Dylan mentioned you signed the release forms that same night as the wedding.”
Lucas looks at me, and a silent communication passes between us.
“Well,” I say, “we were obviously not in our most rational state.”
“But,” Lucas smoothly picks up, his hand finding the small of my back, “we’d both admired Dylan’s work for years. His documentary on the fall of print media was incredible.”
“AndReal Powerdoes have the potential to showcase genuine partnerships in the industry,” I add.
“Right.” Lucas nods. “As opposed to the manufactured couples Hollywood usually promotes.”
The irony nearly makes me laugh. We are literally the definition of a manufactured couple.
“Plus, Dylan can be very persuasive,” I continue. “He spun the ‘rivals to lovers’ thing as a metaphor—finally, a merger between spin and substance.”
Grant raises his glass. “To unlikely partnerships that work better than anyone expected.”
Everyone drinks, and Lucas’s hand slides around my waist, pulling me closer against his side. The gesture is so natural that it frightens me. We’ve been doing this kind of thing all night: casual touches, finishing each other’s sentences, and anticipating each other’s needs. The scariest part is how easy it’s becoming.
“You two are nauseating,” Austin says when he corners me in the kitchen later. “I can barely recognize my sister under all that domestic bliss.”
I’m arranging dessert plates, carefully keeping my back to the nearest camera. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“You handed him your olives without a word, and he disposed of them without breaking his conversation with Wyatt.”
“That’s just good hosting.”
Austin leans against the counter and says in a lowered voice, “Look, when I talked to Lucas, I was pretty sure this was some kind of elaborate PR stunt, but tonight…”
My heart rate spikes. “Tonight, what?”
“You look happy, Jess.” His expression softens. “Like, genuinely happy. And from the way he looks at you when you’re not watching, it’s obvious he was telling me the truth when he said he’s liked you since he first saw you at USC.”
