We begin to run side by side, at a pace I’d choose only if my life was in danger and probably not even then. He points out various things—solely because we are being filmed, I’m sure—and I mostly nod in response because he’s running so fast that I can’t speak. He doesn’t relent until we’re halfway through the loop at Vondelpark and have temporarily lost the crew, who couldn’t follow us down the narrow path.
“Why don’t we stop for a minute?” he suggests as we reach a small bridge. “The crew has to catch up and I’m worried you’re about to have a heart attack.”
“I’m stunned that would worry you. I’d think it would be a cause for celebration.”
“It’s hard to find a fake wife these days,” he says, lifting his shirt to wipe his face. “Production would be delayed a week at least.”
I laugh, doing my best to ignore that slice of abdomen revealed by his raised shirt as he pulls out his phone to take a picture of the lake. I move out of the shot without being asked this time and follow the camera’s gaze to the water.
“My father would have loved this. He loved to run in new cities.”
He puts his phone away and I brace for the inevitable discomfort that comes when I mention my family to people, which is probably why I always make it into a joke. “He and I would run together whenever he was in London,” Theo says, watching me carefully, not uncomfortable at all. “He was incredibly fit for his age.”
I nod, fighting this thing swelling in my throat. “That’s what pisses me off. You know who’s supposed to die before sixty? Someone who smokes a pack a day and eats a steak wrapped around a stick of butter. My dad ate well and worked out constantly. So did Bronwyn. I drink more in a week than either of them did in a year. I just want it to be…fair. I need there to be a reason for it.”
He gives me a sad smile. “What kind of reason would there be, though?”
I shrug. “Like if you and I were meant to meet. If, maybe, the child we produced from our union had a superpower, one that saves the world.”
“And what superpower would that be?” he asks with a grin. “Is there something you’re particularly good at? I excelled at maths.”
“I used to be okay at field hockey.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, “the unstoppable combination of field hockey and maths. Quite the genetic powerhouse.”
“We would name our superhero child after Bronwyn and your brother, but Bronwyn gets higher billing obviously. More tragic.”
“A son named Bronwyn wouldneedto have a superpower to survive the bullying. Also for playing field hockey.”
“I assure you, yourmathsskills wouldn’t be helping that situation either.”
He grins at that, and though I still fucking hate running and hate fake marriage, I’ll admit this moment of being in a world without my father and stepsister, a world that still makes no sense, is sort of okay.
Theo
Our marriage is progressing atan alarming pace. We now have a baby.
Not a real baby, obviously. Even Lars wouldn’t sink that low. But making us pretend to care for a baby is sinking lower than I’m personally comfortable with.
Lars and the guys are getting set up to shoot in the flat we’re supposedly staying in, so I walk to the balcony and throw open the doors. Apparently the storyline is “Theo and Rebecca watch a friend’s baby; hijinks ensue.”
Actually, there aren’t supposed to be any hijinks because we are, theoretically, responsible adults who love each other and can be trusted with someone’s child…a theory we are certain to prove categorically false.
“Okay, guys,” says Lars, walking up to us. “We need to get this done before we lose the light, and just so you’re aware, we’re filming somewhat out of order. There are going to be times when it’s afternoon and we’re pretending it’s morning and there are going to be times when we pretend it’s your honeymoon though you’ve been traveling for months. Today is a bit farther down the line. When we edit it, it will be placedlater and it’s the moment when the viewer starts to see the wheels coming off.”
I raise a brow. “I’m not sure how carefully you’ve been watching, but they’ve been off for quite a while.”
Lars chuckles. “Right, but we can finesse that. Today, you’re hitting a major roadblock: the age difference. We’ll take some stills, and then get some footage of the two of you out on the balcony with the doll,” he says. “Viewers will love it. Then one of you—Theo, I suppose, since you’re at that age—can broach the topic and Bex can say she’s not ready. When we do the one-on-ones, Theo will mention that it does worry him a little because he really wants kids and he’s not sure how long she’s going to make him wait.”
Bex smirks. “You’ll look pretty foolish talking about wanting babies after I’m caught on film having sex in a ski lift booth next winter.”
There’s a sharp pinch of irritation in my chest. “Penciled in on your calendar already, is it?” I ask. “And I’m not sureI’mthe one who’d look foolish.”
“Okay,” says Lars. “Just grab the doll and head out to the balcony, will you?”
My gaze sweeps from Bex to the remarkably lifelike doll. “Go ahead.”
“Why doIhave to carry the baby?” she demands. “I already put in nine months to produce your monstrous offspring, not to mention the disaster it’s made of my vagina.”
