Page 163 of Faking the Pass
I could hardly wait to get started.
As we sat and enjoyed the sunshine and warm breeze, the conversation turned personal.
“So what happened with the quarterback? If you don’t mind my asking.”
That Presley-shaped hole in my heart started aching.
“I don’t mind.”
It wasn’t like she’d brought up a sore subject or something—I’d already been thinking of him during our chat.
One, because I always thought of him, and two, because I literally would not have been sitting here discussing my dream-come-true movie with my dream director if not for Presley and his belief in my abilities.
“It didn’t work out,” I told her sadly. “The way we got married—so fast—we really never stood a chance, I guess.”
“That’s too bad. He was super cute.”
Elka studied my face for a second, taking a sip from her iced tea glass.
“You seemed like the perfect couple to me. He must have been a real covert asshole for you to leave him.”
“Oh no, he wasn’t. He was amazing,” I said. “We just weren’t good for each other.”
More likeIwasn’t good forhim. My baggage was too much to lay on even a super strong guy like Pres.
“Besides, he didn’t love me. Not really. Honestly, it was a marriage of convenience,” I confessed.
Elka’s brows shot up to her hairline.
“If that’s the case I need to hirehimfor my next film because he’s a hell of an actor,” she said. “Anyone who saw your wedding video and watched you two together at the gala would believe without a doubt that he loved you.”
It was the exact opposite of what Randy had said.
But then Randy was a proven liar, wasn’t he? Elka had apparently looked at our fake marriage and thought it was real.
Had it been?
“I don’t know,” I said, responding to Elka as well as my own internal question. “The whole thing’s been kind of confusing, and the end was a disaster.”
“Been there,” she said in sympathy. “You sure it was the end?”
I sighed. “Well, I handed him divorce papers—which he signed—and when I called him a few days ago after the Ophelia special, it went straight to voicemail. He hasn’t called back.”
She nodded. “Well that doesn’t soundgreat, but as you know, I write scripts and tell plot-heavy stories for a living. There could be all kinds of explanations for him not calling you back.”
“He might have lost his phone,” she suggested. “He might be out of the country.”
“He might hate my guts,” I said sourly. “All I did during our marriage wastakefrom him. He didn’t really get all that much out of the arrangement.”
Elka smirked. “The man I met that night didn’t seem like a guy who thought he was getting a raw deal.”
I thought about the scorching night we’d spent together in the hotel after the gala. Presley had certainlyseemedsatisfied.
And the things he’d said at the courthouse about me being “the one”...
Remembering it, I sighed, and that achey hole in my heart stretched a little bit wider.
If it got much bigger, it would swallow me.
