Page 129 of Faking the Pass
“Thank you.”
After a minute he said, “If you really think you and the jock are the real deal, you’re even more of a dingbat than I thought you were. I watched the video of that so-called wedding. The man looked like he was being led to execution.”
My whole body went cold, as if I was on the sidelines of a game and someone had dumped a cooler full of ice over my head.
In the interest of self-preservation, I hadn’t watched the wedding video since we’d returned from the island.
Hadit been obvious Presley was forced into this?
Maybe I’d only seen what I’d wanted to see since I was having such trouble resisting my attraction to him on our honeymoon and needed an excuse to sleep with him.
Randy put on a little pout of sympathy. “Oh wow. You did, didn’t you? Poor thing. You started to believe your own lie. I’ve always been astounded at your naivete.”
He went back to beaming at the crowd, pointing and winking at someone he recognized.
Struggling for breath beside him, I tried to keep my own smile in place. Suddenly looking around at the photographers and reporters felt different.
Were they all thinking the same thing Randy was?
Was I actually the blind fool I’d been fighting my whole life not to be?
Somehow I managed to get through the rest of the press gauntlet. At the top of the stairs following our final interview, during which Randy answered every question without even glancing at me, we parted without a word of goodbye.
The minute he stepped away from me, Presley appeared, taking my hand and pulling it to the crook of his bent arm.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” I lied. “Where’s the bar?”
Thankfully, no media was allowed inside the event itself, and even attendees’ phones were collected at the door of the ballroom. Instead we were all handed disposable box cameras to record memorable moments.
Randy, not wanting to stand anywhere near Presley’s vastly larger form, kept his distance for the rest of the evening.
Unfortunately, the damage had been done. I kept thinking of what he’d said about my naivete (and stupidity.) About Presley’s face on the wedding video, that everyone had seen his dread and reluctance.
Everyone but me.
And now here Pres was again, saving me from my mistakes, throwing himself on the sword for whatever reason.
“Hey, everything okay?” he asked. “You’re pretty quiet.”
“It’s this dress. I can barely breathe,” I joked.
“I’ll be happy to help you out of it,” he offered with a rascally grin. “I saw a few dark alcoves off the hallway back there.”
That got a chuckle out of me. “Thank you for your generous offer. We should hang around for a while, though, put on a good show for everyone before retreating for jammy time.”
For a long moment, Presley studied my face.
“You sure you’re okay? You didn’t talk much during the red carpet interviews. You kept looking at me like you wanted some help—hope I did the right thing by talking.”
I blinked in surprise.
“No, yeah. You were great. I appreciate you jumping in when I needed it,” I said. “I just… well, I always feel so stupid at these kinds of things. Like I told you before that disastrous presser at Bellevue Manor, I avoid interviews as much as I can— especially live ones, because I’m always afraid of saying the wrong thing.”
Presley engulfed my hand in his large, warm one. “I think you should domoreinterviews, let people see the real you. It could only help.”
I barked a laugh. “I completely disagree. Anyway, I’m just taking your advice and following my intuition. And it says to keep my mouth shut as much as possible.”
