Page 67 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

I knowsomething is going on from the moment Haley and I step off the curb and start to head to the restaurant. For one, the whole sidewalk ispacked.Several dozen people are crowding around the front door, most of them looking like they’re fighting to get through. My heart seizes with panic—did a fire break out?

“Why do they all look excited?” Haley murmurs to me as we walk up to the gigantic crowd. “I mean, I know our food is good, but is it this good?”

I open my mouth to respond, but something distracts me, the flash of a camera. I turn around. There are more people milling about, taking photographs.

“Now I’m really glad I asked you to come,” Haley says. “I don’t think I’d want to push through by myself.”

“Let’s go around back,” I mutter.

We push our way through the teeming crowd, going over to the side entrance. With each step we take, I’m even more convinced that there’s some sort of a mistake. None of the people pushing against us seem to acknowledge us. Both our pictures are on the restaurant website. We shouldget a bit of recognition, shouldn’t we?

We go down the narrow path, stopping at the backdoor to the kitchen. It has already beenflung open, and Denise, one of our waitresses, is standing right by it. From the looks of it, she’s been waiting for our arrival.

“Finally!” she sighs. “I called both of you a million times.”

“We’re here,” Haley says, stepping through first. “What the fuck is going on?”

I look around the kitchen, distracted. Both chefs are working on whipping up food at breakneck speed, assisted by the waiters. I want to ask them who is taking the orders and serving the meals, but all I can think of is the fact that I’m back here, in the kitchen where Ken first told me he was going to give me a loan and help me make my business successful.

And judging by the people outside, he kept his promise.

Pain slices through my heart, and I feel tears start in my eyes again. I close them and take a deep breath, an undercurrent of frustration plowing through me. Ican’tlive like this anymore, waking up and existing in misery, bursting into tears at all times of day.

“Um, Charlie?”

I force my tears back and focus on Denise and Haley, who are both staring at me with perplexed faces.

“Yes?” I slap on my most stoic mask. This is the business I fought so hard for. I’m going to run it, even if it’s the last thing I do.

“Did you hear what Denise just said?” Haley’s face is white with shock.

“No. What?” I feel a thrill of foreboding as I glance at Denise. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s good news or bad news. She looks stressed, just like everyone else here.

“It’s true.” Haley’s voice is barely a whisper. “A celebrity is here.”

Even in the depths of my sorrow, I feel a smirk coming on. “Sure, there is.”

Denise looks shocked by my reaction. “Are you sure you heard what Haley said?”

“Probably some kid-famous YouTuber with two million subscribers.” Good for business, of course, but it only means that I’ve got to spend the next three hours doting on a narcissist used to first class treatment.

Haley rolls her eyes at my cynicism. “So, who is it?”

Denise, looking scandalized, opens her mouth to respond. Then she slams it shut. “I think you better see for yourself.”

With those words, she turns and marches out, leaving Haley and me to exchange puzzled looks before we follow her.

Stepping through the kitchen door to the dining area feels like being transported to another realm. It’s not as full—everyone in here is seated, at least. Still, that barely matters. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of people, are screaming at the windows, blocking out every ounce of sunlight with their bodies pressed against each other. My heart lurches with fear. Behind me, Haley lets out a whimper.

“What did we do to them?” she mutters to me.

I barely hear her, noticing four bulky men standing guard at the door and preventing more people from entering.

“Who are those guys?” I ask Denise, fully distracted from the thoughts of Ken for the first time in a while. “Did you hire security? Are we in trouble?”

Denise is smirking now. In answer, she nods toward the serving counter.

I turn to where a handful of people are gathered, takingorders. I recall the question I thought of earlier, about who they got to serve the meals since the waitstaff is helping to cook. But before I can even utter the question this time, I spot the answer all by myself…

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