Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I frown. “What? Why? What did you do?”
“It’s probably easier if I show you.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, his hands shaking a little. Whatever this is, it must be bad. “It’s…everywhere, so you’ll see it eventually.”
The question on the tip of my tongue vanishes as he presses play on a video, and I realize what I’m watching.
It’s…us. On camera.
The video was taken last night, near the convent. The scene is remarkably cinematic for having been filmed on someone’s cell. The flickering gaslights are doing my tired mom face sweet favors—note to self: arrange to stand under a gaslight at all times—but I can’t say the same for Brad. He looks even more like a messy drunk on camera than he did in person, making me cringe along with my on-screen self as he lurches toward me.
I’m a little shocked by how aggressive the move looks from this angle. I hadn’t felt like I was in serious danger at the time, but now…
Well, the menace in Grammercy’s voice as he says, “Excuse me, friend, but you’re standing too close to my wife,” feels completely justified.
The video cuts off as Brad backs away, making excuses, long before the kiss—thank God—but still…
Still…
Grammercy just called me “his wife” on a social media post that has—
“Holy shit!” I blurt out as I see the number below it. Blinking fast, I ask, “Three million? That can’t be right? There’s no way three million people saw that.”
“I’m so sorry, Elly,” he says, the worry in his eyes making sense now.
We haven’t just been caught out; we’ve been stripped naked and shoved onstage in front of millions of strangers.
“I can’t wrap my head around that many people.” My voice is thin, breathy, then too loud as I add, “Oh my God, your mom! That’s why she’s mad. Oh no, does she hate me? Does she think I’m—”
“No, not at all,” he hurries to assure me. “She actually made a point of saying how much she adores you and Mimi. It’s me she’s pissed at.” He sighs. “And she wants an explanation. I already called my brother and filled him in on what’s really going on. He was surprisingly cool about it, but I doubt Beanie will be the same. I haven’t responded to her texts yet. But I need to. Soon.”
“Yes,” I agree, nodding fast. “We can both talk to her. I can explain how you were just trying to help me and Mimi. You were being wonderful, a son any mother would be proud of. Surely, once we explain, she’ll understand.”
“I think she’ll come around,” he agrees. “It’s the other stuff I’m worried about. I’m so fucking sorry, chère. You’re trying to get your life on track and find some peace, and I just made you internet famous by accident. I’m sure that wasn’t on your wish list right now. Or ever.”
He’s right.
The realization hits fully, sending me rocking back on my heels.
I’ve never wanted to be famous or have my life examined under a microscope by strangers. That’s the reason I’ve always wanted to go into print journalism, not anything on camera. That’s why I used a fake name for my podcast and adopted a “Luvvy” voice pitched lower than my own.
Being the most talked-about girl in twelfth grade was all it took to teach me that I never want to be the focus of gossip ever again. And that was just the few hundred kids in my high school and their parents. This is…the entire world.
Staring. Judging.
Googling…
Oh, shit. They’re going to find out! About the podcast! I don’t know how, but I’m no cybersecurity expert. I’m sure I’ve left a digital trail connecting me to Luvvy. And then the whole world will learn that I’m a creepy fangirl who married my NHL crush. But worst of all, Grammercy will know.
Grammercy, who will be even more embarrassed.
And blindsided.
And who will probably decide he doesn’t want to keep kissing me or caring about me, and will never call me “his wife” in that sexy voice ever again.
“I have to sit down,” I mutter as I sink to the warm concrete at the edge of the lot. My bottom hits the pavement, and I lean forward, dropping my head between my spread knees as I try not to hyperventilate.
Grammercy, of course, is right there beside me, his big hand gentle on my back as he mutters something in French that I can’t understand.
But somehow, I know he’s beating himself up, even though he’s done nothing wrong. Head still down, I grope for his free hand. When I feel it in mine, I squeeze his fingers, “This isn’t your fault. You were great last night. You’ve been amazing since the moment we met. I know we can figure this out. It’s just…a lot right now. But I’ll be okay. I promise.”