Page 55 of The Fake Family Deal

Not only did she not answer, but she hung up. That means she saw it was me and chose not to speak to me. Maybe that’s her way of telling me to give up, to stop trying. I should see it as a sign to stop pushing her. The more I push, the less likely she is to want anything to do with me.

But I have to say sorry. At the very least, I want to tell her that I’m sorry, for everything.

Even if she won’t give me a chance to get her back, even if she won’t let me explain, I want her to hear that.

I could call her again and leave a voicemail, but the chance that she’ll just delete it is high. I want to be sure she gets my message. I need her to hear it.

I only have one choice, then. I have to go to her.

For a second, I consider calling Priscilla for her advice. She would know if it’s technically creepy to show up at someone’s house without a reason or invite. But she would probably also try to talk me out of it, and I don’t want that.

I want Marina.

There’s nothing else for it. I have to go, and I can’t be seen.

I sneak out of my office, avoiding everyone with a certain exhilaration. I head for the back elevator and get in it alone, willing it to hurry up and deposit me downstairs before anyone can stop me.

When I step out into the atrium, I walk fast, not looking at anyone in case I catch their eye and they try and rope me into a conversation. I can’t lose my nerve on this one.

As I run out of the building, a weird vision of me as an old man flashes into my mind. It shows me a man who’s wizened and sad, a scrooge of a man who has more money than sense and no life to show for it. That’s not the kind of life I want at all. I want my name to mean more than some stupid app.

I looked up Marina’s address on the system, and decided twenty minutes wasn’t far to run. I haven’t done a workout yet today anyway, so this will be good for me. Even if I just walk it, it’s not that far, and it’s a nice day.

It’s a decision I regret five minutes later as I stare at my phone map in confusion, my suit jacket flapping open and sweat pouring down my back.

Her apartment might not be too far away, but I do strength training, not cardio. My feet are aching like I should have called a cab. A cab driver would have known where they were going, too.

But I’ve committed to this decision now. I’m trying to be a person who sticks to his commitments now. I’m trying to be better.

I take a wrong turn, and as I backtrack on myself, I run past a newsstand. The first time I went by, it barely registered, but this time I screech to a halt to spin around and do a double take.

There, on the front page of all the glossy, gossipy magazines is Marina. She’s hiding her face with a baseball cap pulled down over her eyes and a hoodie despite the warm weather. But I would recognize her anywhere.

A new Whitlock on the way?asks the headline, stopping me in my tracks.

I blink hard at it, then turn to the vendor. “Excuse me, how much is a magazine?”

He looks up from his phone and shrugs with a frown. Slowly, he straightens up and puts the phone away before leaning forward and looking me in the eye. He moves so slowly that it makes me impatient. My feet are itching to move, but I need to know why Marina is in the magazines.

“For you, fifteen dollars.” He clearly recognizes me, and he looks me up and down in utter disdain. No doubt, if he’s been doing this for a while, he’s seen every sordid headline about me and decided to take a disliking to me. I can’t say I blame him.

And even though this flimsy excuse for a magazine isn’t worth it, I pull out my wallet and hand him a fifty, then snatch the publication off the rack and head back off at a brisk march.

I think my running is done for the day.

I flick immediately to the page with Marina. The paparazzi photos boil my blood as I see her shying away from the cameras like she’s desperate not to be seen. How dare they think they canbother her while she’s going to a medical appointment like this? People are so insensitive and cruel.

But they are, and they’ve called caught her entering a pregnancy clinic. In one of the photos, she’s ducking inside, trying not to be seen and failing, a flash of panic hidden in the brown eyes that peek over her sunglasses.

The article is total garbage. The writer is speculating about babies, and about Lila, Marina, and me in a way that’s utterly uncomfortable. Lila is barely a whole year old. How dare they think they can have anything to do with her life? How dare they think they can judge me.

It’s not just the running that causes an ache inside my chest. It’s the guilt. This would never be happening to either of them if it wasn’t for me.

Marina was so stupid for getting caught up with me. Now she doesn’t have anything, and the press won’t leave her alone. It can’t have been worth it. And yet she did it all for Lila.

I told her I would give her money, and she saw a better life for her little girl.

She still has so much to teach me, and I’m finally ready to learn.

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