Page 166 of Faking the Pass
Opening my purse, I pulled out the divorce papers, which I had never signed.
“But I’m also not going to divorce him,” I said. “Not when I love him with my whole heart. In fact, I’m going to beg him tostaymarried to me.”
In my peripheral vision, I could see stage managers freaking out, waving wildly to get my attention.
I was running out of time. Someone was going to come out and drag me offstage any second now.
Ripping the pages in half first, I finally righted the ship and started reading from the teleprompter, finishing the short category introduction with, “And the nominees are…”
Movie clips began playing on the enormous screen behind me and the ones to either side of the stage.
I winked at the shell-shocked associate director, who currently had his hands in his hair, and held up the sealedenvelope, showing him I was prepared to announce the winner without further deviation from the program.
Which I did, then I handed the golden trophy to the ecstatic winner before scurrying backstage and back to my seat in the auditorium.
Sadly, my phone stayed dark for the remainder of the broadcast.
Afterward, it was time to face the consequences of my actions.
I’d been proud of myself tonight for walking the pre-show Red Carpet alone and answering the reporters’ questions with confidence. I did the same in the media area after the show, where people shouted questions at me about my ad-libbed presentation speech and about Presley.
“Have you heard from him?” one of them asked.
“No, not yet,” I said. “I’m not giving up though.”
“So the marriage was real then?” a female reporter asked with a smile on her face.
I told her the absolute truth.
“It was for me—I’m completely in love with him and have been nearly all my life. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“What about him?” someone else asked. “Do you think Presley lovedyou?”
Before I could answer, a deep voice rose above the sudden commotion happening at the rear of the media throng.
“I can answer that one.”
The crowd split, and Presley stepped up to the front.
He looked devastatingly handsome in midnight blue tux, but I wouldn’t have cared if he showed up in gym shorts and one of his muscle t-shirts.
I was just overwhelmed to see him there.
I didn’t realize how dopey and lovestruck my smile was until several people around me mentioned it. And I didn’t care.
Let them talk.
Let them snap pictures and put whatever caption on them they wanted to.
This smile, this giddy laughter, this incandescent joy… it wasn’t for them.
It was for my husband.
Coming to stand beside me, Presley took my hand and leaned down so his mouth was close to the stand microphone.
He spoke directly into it.
“Yes.”
