Page 86 of The Fake Husband Play
“Yes,” she says, grinning before she adds with a prim sniff, “but if we find out he’s dead, you owe me an apology.”
Ten minutes later, I’ve confirmed that Chuck isnotdead—he’s in Aruba on vacation with his new woman and has indeed blocked Makena’s burner account—and my bestie is pouring us a hot toddy refill.
“Well, shit,” she says, scrunching her nose. “Is it wrong that I was sort of hoping he was dead?”
I snort. “No. He’s an asshole who treated you like crap, cheated on you, and stole your record collection.”
“And never tookmeto Aruba,” she adds. “Or anywhere else. The Bama Shore for Labor Day doesn’t count.”
“It so doesn’t,” I agree. “And you don’t really want him dead. You just want closure and your records back. Both of which are valid.”
“Thanks.” She nods, studying me over the rim of her mug. “Youaresocial media savvy now.” Her brows lift as her lips curve in a teasing smile. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Those videos you put out with your new honey were fire. You were so beautiful, andhewas so beautiful, and the way he looked at you was everything a woman could ever want. My ovaries literally exploded while I was watching.”
“Literally?’ I tease.
“Yes, I’m having surgery to repair them on Monday,”she deadpans. “The doctors are hopeful for a full recovery. And I haven’t forgiven you for keeping your fake marriage a secret, by the way. As your BFF and the person indirectly responsible for introducing you to your hubby, that was a major life development I should have been clued in on, girl. I’m still in my feelings about it, if I’m honest.”
“Even though you’re the only one who knows it was fake?” I ask gently. She’s joking, the way Makena always does, but she’s alsonotjoking. I can tell. “I mean, aside from Grammercy’s Mom?”
She sighs, her nose wrinkling again. “I guess. I just want to feel special, you know? Like I have best friend privileges.”
“You do,” I assure her. “It was just a weird situation neither Grammercy or I knew how to handle.” I gaze down into my nearly empty mug as I add in a softer voice, “And you’re the only person who knows the way I feel about him now. I hope that feels like best friend privilege.”
“It does,” she says, taking her turn with the “gentle” tone. “But I shouldn’t be the only one who knows, Elly. Grammercy shoulddefinitelyknow about that, especially considering he’s obviously in love with you, too.”
I glance up sharply. “You don’t know that, Mack. Neither do I.”
“Girl, pictures don’t lie. Neither does video. That man is gone on you.”
“That was all staged,” I say, pushing back, no matter how much a part of me wants to believe it.
But if I believe it, if I let myself get swept up in the magic Grammercy and I have been making together, then I’ll have no choice but to come clean.
And coming clean has the potential to kill that magic pretty darned quick…
“Thechoreographywas staged,” Makena counters, “but the emotion was real. I could tell. No offense, babes, but neither you nor your honey pie is that good at acting. No one is. When actors have the kind of onscreen chemistry you two do, they’re always banging behind the scenes. Always.”
I open my mouth to deflect, to make a joke, or change the subject. Instead, I hear myself blurt out, “Okay, but what if I’m in love and scared and certain I’ve already ruined it? What if I’m a horrible person?”
“What?” She shakes her head hard, sending her blond curls flying around her face. “Eloise Marianne Thibodeaux, you are not a horrible person. You are the sweetest, classiest, most genuine and honest person I?—”
“I lied,” I cut in, the “honesty” part guilting me into spilling it all.
In between fighting the urge to hyperventilate, I tell her everything—about the secret podcast, fangirling so hard over Grammercy that the entire “Love on Ice” audience knows he’s my dream guy, and the fact that Imayhave fudged the truth about how well I “knew” him when we first met.
“Oh my God,” Makena breathes when I’m done, her jaw slack. “That’s insane!”
“I know.” My hands fly to cover my face. “I should have told him. Right away. I never should have kept this a secret for so long.”
“No, not that part,” she says, excitement building in her tone. “That you’re Luvvy Puck! What the hell, girl! I had no idea. You sound totally different on the radio.”
I peek through my fingers. “You’ve heard the show? No way.”
“Yes, way! Skye, my food prep girl, is a hockey maniac. She plays your show all the time while we’re in the kitchen, getting ready to start the day. She can’t get enough.” Makena leans across the cushions to smack my arm. “Damn, woman, you’re like a Friday burrito!” I frown and she explains, “Chock-full of unexpected ingredients. Friday is ‘use up the leftovers in the fridge’ day. Shit. So…how long have you been leading this double life?”
“Three years?” I squeak. “But I’m not doing it anymore. I stopped as soon as Mimi and I moved in with Grammercy. It felt wrong to keep recording when he had no idea that was part of my life.”
She nods, sobering. “Yeah, I get that. A lie of omission is still a lie.”
