Page 71 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

“Oooh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The only thing that Stan will eat on the menu is spaghetti.”

“Why is that a problem?” Evan asked, cocking his head to the side while we waited our time to go on stage.

“Because” I said wryly, shooting a pointed look at Ramone. “Uncle Ramone let him eat two cans of spaghetti-O’s before we came here tonight.”

Ramone had the good grace to look sheepish about it and shrugged.

“You were both busy ‘getting ready,’ he said with a knowing wink. “And you know how picky the little twerp is about his food. I’m lucky I got him to eat at all.”

The producer raced in front of us and held up his hands.

“You guys are on in five, four, three…”

He stopped talking but kept holding up his fingers until he reached zero. We heard the sound of Gordon Godfrey’s voice from beyond the curtain.

“My next guests need little introduction. If you’ve been near a mobile device, magazine, or newspaper in the last couple of years you probably already know who they are.”

Laughter rippled across the audience, and Godfrey waited for it to subside before speaking again. I glanced over at Evan and smiled. He smiled back, but you know who wasn’t smiling? The producer, the poor, nervous producer.

“No,” he hissed in a voice below a whisper. “Here, like this.”

He carefully took our arms and folded them into each other. I guessed at the time that it would probably look better on camera than the two of us holding hands. Holding hands is casual. Linking arms seemed more formal. Or so I figured. It seemed like a lot of quibbling to me, but I really wanted everything to go off smoothly.

Outside the curtain, Godfrey continued.

“They were once the darlings of the tabloids, always good for a shocking headline or photo op. Now, they’re the darlings of the charity world. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Amanda and Evan Jones!”

The curtain parted. I had always thought the shimmeringbarrier was moved by some sort of mechanical device, but I saw a stagehand busily yanking on a cord, so I realized it was not. The curtains opened and the stage lights flooded my vision. I knew my cues, even though I was temporarily blinded, and so did Evan.

We walked along the preset path, just like we’d rehearsed, smiling huge for the host. Gordon Godfrey leaped to his feet when we came out. He moved out from behind his desk, displaying his usual frenetic energy, and shook hands enthusiastically with both of us.

“Welcome to the show,” he said, though the mike didn’t pick it up.

Gordon was not a very tall man, but his portliness and frizz of white hair made him seem bigger than he actually was. The cut of his suit indicated it had been tailored when he was a bit lighter than he was on that night. Gordon wasn’t obese, but he did have a belly hanging slightly over his belt.

His hair was balding on top, but the sides were very long. It almost made him look like one of those old comic book characters from World War II. More like a caricature than a real person, but I knew that was a carefully cultivated look.

I couldn’t object to his appearance. After all, my own looks were carefully cultivated. Every accessory, every bit of jewelry and extra flair was designed to send a message. I made sure that all of the things I wore were both cruelty-free and responsibly sourced. It would have made me a gigantic hypocrite if I’d gone out wearing a designer who had done damage to our goal of saving the rainforest.

We were seated on the sofa. I felt Evan’s reassuring warmth next to me. The stage lights were so bright I really couldn’t see the audience much, except for some of the people in the closest rows to the stage.

I settled in and Gordon did the same.

“Welcome to the show,” he repeated, this time for the cameras.

“Thanks for having us,” I said. Evan and I had already decided I should do most of the talking. He was so magnetic we feared he would draw more attention to himself than to the cause we were promoting.

“Oh yeah, an absolute pleasure,” Godfrey said. “How’s the parental life treating you? I understand you have a toddler?”

“I wish I had his energy,” Evan said. “He just goes, goes, goes, nonstop.”

“Yeah, my kids are the same way,” Godfrey replied. Then, his smile faded ever so slightly. I knew we were about to ‘go there.’

“All right,” Godfrey said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m just going to address the elephant in the room. Namely, you guys are married, right?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling even though I knew where he was going with it.

“Buuuut,” he said, dragging out the syllables for dramatic effect “it’s not the first time the two of you were married, now, is it?”

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