Page 130 of Faking the Pass
His dark brows drew together in displeasure. “That isnotwhat I meant. Intuition never speaks with the voice of fear. If it’s telling you to hide yourself, that is not your intuition talking. It’s Randy’s voice still in your head—and I don’t wantanypart of him inanypart of you ever again.”
Presley’s face and tone made my heart do a little flip.
He sounded so angry, so… possessive.
Taking my unfinished champagne from my hand, he set it on a nearby table.
What are you doing?” I asked, looking after it longingly. “I was still drinking that.”
He gave me a big smile. “There’ll be plenty of champagne later, if you want it. Right now, I want to dance with my wife.”
We were at the edge of the dance floor, and he stepped out onto it, leading me by the hand and sweeping me into the rhythm of the song being played by the impressive live orchestra.
“How did you become such a good dancer?” I asked after a few turns.
Our glorious three weeks in high school hadn’t included prom or any other opportunity for dancing.
“Why are you surprised? Haven’t you seen my moves out on the football field?” It was clear from Presley’s expression he was joking.
Then he said, “When we were kids, Mom forced me and all my brothers to take lessons from one of her former backup dancers—they’re still friends. She’s still friendly with the whole band as a matter of fact.”
“I still can’t get over the fact that your mom is Debbie from Satin Razor,” I said.
“If you’re ever anywhere in the house while she’s showering, your disbelief will vanish for good,” Presley said with a grin. “The woman still has some pipes.”
We both laughed, and then Presley’s face got serious again. “So are you gonna tell me what you and Randy talked about? I could see your lips moving.”
Once again, I was surprised to hear a hint of jealousy in his voice. He of all people should know I had zero interest in Randy, and if this was all fake, he wouldn’t be jealous anyway.
The little heart flip was repeated and joined by some flutters.
“Oh, he was his usual charming self,” I said. “He told me everyone knows our marriage is fake. Made me feel self-conscious, like a total fraud… the usual.”
Harsh lines bracketed Presley’s mouth. “I don’t think everyone knows. What an ass.”
“Well his real last nameisRump,” I said.
Presley’s eyes popped wide. “What?”
“Ryland is a stage name. His real surname is Rump. Oops—another violation of the NDA. I was pretty shocked when I saw iton the marriage license,” I said. “I was planning on keeping my name.”
Presley’s eyes filled with tears, and then his feet stopped moving, and he bent over. His shoulders began shaking.
I put a hand on his back, worried. “Are you okay? Are you choking on something?”
And then I heard the sound of his voice. Laughing.
His whole body shook, and his laughter roared in uncontrollable peals.
People actually turned and looked, but most of them smiled, the way you can’t stop yourself from doing when someone in your presence is having a sincere belly laugh.
Some of them even laughed along with him, though they weren’t in on the joke.
Finally regaining control of himself, Presley straightened and took my hand, resuming our dance. His face was still red, and his eyelashes were wet.
“Are you telling me…” He had to stop as another giggle escaped his lips. “... that his real name isRandy Rump?”
“Hush, keep it down,” I warned. “It’s Randall actually.”
