Page 87 of What's in a Kiss?

“Actually, we’ve met,” Jake says, sounding exhausted. He shakes Amy’s hand. “I was on the other side of Olivia at that Yankees game. It’s been a while.”

“Of course! This is your husband.” Her eyes narrow in thought. “My assistant mentioned something about...” Amy leans toward Jake. “Now I remember! According to Olivia, I should quit my job and knit mittens in Siberia if I don’t make a lunch date with you to hear about your projects.”

“My projects?” Jake shoots me a shocked look that gives me chills. So I sent one innocent email to one powerful woman’s assistant. Why is he making this so hard? He’s got the goods. He just needs exposure.

“Amy heard about the taco traffic jam,” I say. “I... mentioned it to her.”

“Her assistant,” Jake says.

“Who mentioned something about a viral TikTok, was it?” Amy says. “All those tacos on the street. Insanity!”

“It was just a traffic jam,” Jake says, shutting me down just when things were looking up. “Not exactly a passion project.”

“But it could be!” I say. “Things develop that way, sometimes. Organically?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Jake says, as politely as is possible through gritted teeth. “But I’m sure Amy’s very busy.”

“You could just have lunch,” I say, catching a knowing nod from Amy.

“Don’t worry, Jake.” She winks at me and says, “I got my husband his start, too. This is what we modern breadwinners do.”

I don’t know where Jake’s blood has gone, but it’s not in his face. I’ve got to save this. Now.

“Look at this,” I say to Amy, grabbing a martini off a passing tray to blunt the memory of what I’m about to do. Then I pull up the video—the one of Jake, with the megaphone, in the palm tree. It has half a million views.

“Get out of here,” Amy says, truly engrossed. “Jake, you’re a hero!”

And then we all watch the caption show up on the screen.Expectant Father Saves the Day!

“Oh my, are youexpecting?” Amy asks, hand over her mouth as her eyes probe my body.

“Oh God no!” I say, almost spitting out my drink. I’d forgotten about that caption. “Someone assumed from the way Jake was acting, like such a hero, I mean. But we—the two of us!—are definitely not... no babies... no way!” I say and laugh. Which makes Amy laugh. Which makes us look at Jake.

Who does not laugh. He plants Gram Parsons in my arms, and says, “I think I’ll go get another drink.”

“Jake!” I call out as he disappears into a sea of gilded guests dancing before a DJ on the deck.

Chapter Twenty-One

“It’s fine,” Jake says as he sets down our suitcase in the Bethany Glen room at the Wrigley Mansion. Nestled in the hills of Catalina Island, the gum magnate’s summer “cottage” is Prohibition-glam, with dark green shutters and wraparound porches. Succulents frame views of the beach town of Avalon below. It would be the perfect place to spend a night with Jake, if I hadn’t just betrayed him like a rum-drunk pirate on the sea.

“It’s not fine,” I say, taking a long swig of coconut water from Aurora’s giant hospitality basket. I pass the bottle to Jake, who guzzles it. My martini and his second double scotch weren’t the sanest of ideas.

“I get it. She’s your boss, and getting pregnant isn’t in your character’s narrative arc.”

Jake’s giving me cover, and a wise woman would take it. But I didn’t laugh when Amy asked about children so I can keep my stupid job. I laughed because the idea is preposterous. Maybe not to the Olivia and Jake who are actually married, but to me—the pop-up wife. The pretender. The woman whose longest, most intimate relationship is... these past six days with Jake.

As is evident by the yacht ride over here, I can’t even pull off playing at marriage. I wouldn’t dare play at motherhood.

I unhook Gram Parson’s leash and flop onto bed besidehim, watching the Pacific meet the afternoon sky. Jake stands at the window and looks down at the sailboats bobbing in the harbor. Asshole boats with their obnoxious anchors. I used to have anchors, in my Real Life. Mom and Masha kept me bobbing where I was supposed to be. In the High Life I’m theStar of Scotland, a shipwreck generating sustenance and low entertainment. I don’t do well shipwrecked. It leaves me vulnerable to dive-bys from the likes of Amy Reisenbach.

How did the version of me who married Jake survive this long without Masha and my mom? I’ve been here a week and I’m struggling, not to mention failing at the one good thing I have going here—my marriage.

A week ago, when I’d first awoken in the High Life, all I wanted was the familiarity of a blowout fight with Glasswell. Now that he’s Jake—now that we’re us—I can’t bear to have hurt him. I can’t bear it, because...

Because I think I’m falling for him. This him, in this world. Which I’ve got to leave.

Falling for him is the only explanation for my tenacious insanity on the yacht—for the physical need I felt for someone to recognize how magical Jake is. I know there’s a world where Amy sees it. Where Michael Jinx sees it. Where damn near everyone sees it. I thought I could make it happen again. I thought it would be easy for Jake to get what he deserves. Then he could have something beyond me, and I wouldn’t have to worry about not being enough.

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