“Define something.” Pat’s voice was already in working mode. “The general consensus right now is that you and Trina are reconciling, and your actual wife is a footnote. The network has called twice already wanting to know what is going on. Loraine is losing her mind. Rose is who the audience loves. She’s who this show is built around at this point. Whatever you intended when you started this, she is the—”
“I know,” Lizanne said. “I know exactly who she is. That’s the trouble.” She stopped walking. The pool house behind her. The main house in front. She was standing exactly between them in the cold morning light. “I have to fix this.”
“Tell me how,” Pat said. “I’ve been waiting for a lever and I’m not seeing one.”
Lizanne took a breath.
“By finally telling the truth,” she said.
A pause on the line.
“All of it?” Pat said.
“All of it.”
A longer pause. Then: “That’s going to be a very interesting conversation. You understand what you’re admitting on camera — that you forced her into it. That’s not a dent, Liz. It’s the kind of thing networks and lawyers lose sleep over.”
“I’ve already had it looked at. It lands on me, not her — I’ll tell it so the only person who comes out of it having done anything wrong is me. Whatever it costs me, I can take it. Set it up,” Lizanne said.
Chapter 33
Rose
Her mother’s house smelled the way it always had — of coffee, something baked that morning, the warmth of a house that was genuinely lived in. Rose had forgotten how much she needed that until she was sitting in the middle of it with a blanket over her knees.
From down the hall, Daisy’s room was producing the cheerful noise of three small children negotiating the terms of some elaborate game. Priya wanted to be the queen. Alfredo wanted to be a dinosaur. Daisy had appointed herself director of proceedings.
Quinn was stretched out on the floor. Kayla had the armchair. Rose had the sofa, which her mother had arranged with a blanket and a cup of tea before she’d even asked.
It had been an insane few days. The photographers had been camped outside the house on the hill to the point where nobody could get in or out without being documented. Every gossip site was running the same story in rotating variations —Are Trina and Lizanne back together? Did Lizanne ever really love Rose? What does the wedding planner think?Rose had stopped reading them on day two, which meant she was relying on Quinn to summarize, which was only marginally better.
She’d been offered a reality show of her own.The Jilted Wedding Planner.She had turned it down in under thirty seconds, the fastest professional decision she’d made in years. Kayla was running Delaney Events in the meantime with thebrisk competence of someone who had been waiting for an excuse to take the wheel.
Rose was, in the language of her own industry, temporarily unavailable.
Her mother reached for the remote.
“Mom,” Rose said. “I’m watching that.”
“You’re not watching it. You’re staring at a polar bear thinking about something else.” Her mother changed the channel. “Watch this instead.”
“I don’t want to watch—”
“Rose.” Quinn sat up. He and Kayla were looking at her with the same expression. “Watch.”
On screen, a graphic appeared against a clean white background.
THE WHOLE TRUTH.
Rose sat up.
The set was simple — two chairs, good lighting, no studio audience. The interviewer was a woman Rose vaguely recognized, not tabloid but proper television, the kind of journalist known for not letting things go. Across from her, in a dark blazer with her hair down and her hands folded in her lap, was Lizanne.
She looked composed. She always looked composed. But Rose had spent enough time with that composure to see that something was different tonight. The careful control was still there, but underneath it, instead of the usual smoothmanagement, there was something that looked very much like someone who had decided to stop.
The interviewer leaned forward.
“Lizanne, let’s start with what everyone is asking. Is there any truth to the reports that you and Trina Holmes are reconciling?”
