Page 55 of Faking the Pass
“Fellbackin love,” I corrected. “We’re high school sweethearts, remember?”
“Right. So if he really does file suit, I guess we can go to the courthouse and get married. Then when we’ve been married long enough to get through the trial and for the press to get bored with us, we file for divorce. You can get on with your life, and I’ll get on with mine.”
She’d been looking at her lap as she worked it out in her head. Now she turned to look at me.
“I promise I’ll stay out of your way—I know how much you hate distractions. We probably won’t even have to live together as long as we make a few public appearances.”
She wasn’t wrong, but a weird sense of annoyance scraped down my spine.
“Well, they’re going to be following us right at first,” I said. “So you should probably stay at my place for a while at least. Besides, you’re kind of broke, aren’t you? They’re not going to buy that we’re married if you’re sleeping on your friend Danielle’s couch in L.A. while I’m living here.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She sounded so dejected.
The scrape became a clawing. I shifted in the driver’s seat, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable sensation.
“And I’m not sure a courthouse quickie is going to convince anyone,” I told her.
“How else would we do it?” she asked. “I don’t think I could stand to go through anotherperformanceceremony with a cast of thousands. And I don’t want you to waste any of your money on a fake wedding. What would be the point?”
“We’ll do something small,” I said. “Don’t worry about it—I’ll take care of the details. You just do your part on social media to support the story. Did we ever take any pictures together back in high school?”
Rosie blushed deeply. “Maybe.”
Interesting. “There are pictures?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. After Mom died, I had all her photo albums scanned and put in the cloud. There might be something in there. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Great.”
We pulled into my driveway, and the automatic gate closed behind my car, shutting out the vehicles tailing us. On the other hand, the number of boats gathered in the cove had increased.
My private oasis was shot to hell, but at least the plan was working already.
I parked the car in the garage, and turned to Rosie.
“Welcome home.”
She blushed again and looked away, opening her car door with a brief, “Thanks.”
“I’ll go get all my stuff out of your room,” she said as she hurried inside. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Oh, and I’ll change the sheets. Where do you keep the clean ones?”
I followed her into the kitchen. She was acting odd.
“In the closet in the hallway. But you don’t need to do that. I can do it.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve only got one working arm. Besides, I used to do it for a living… and I probably need the practice since I might be going back to my old ‘career.’”
Finally she faced me. “In fact, I can clean your house while I’m here. It’s the least I can do.”
“I don’t want you to do that, Rosie. I’ve already got a cleaning service, and besides, my wife wouldn’t be cleaning our house.”
She walked briskly to the hall closet, drawing out a set of sheets. “But it’s not ‘our house,’ and I’m not your wife. Not really.”
I followed her into the bedroom and watched as she ripped the sheets from the bed and started snapping new ones onto it like it was a matter of life and death.
“Have I done something wrong?” I asked. “You seem mad.”
She didn’t look at me, just kept working.
