Page 23 of Fauxmance in the City

Charles, Gillian, and Max dive into chatter, and I deposit the empty tray on the bar.

“Thank you for adopting Bailey for me.” Max directs his gratitude toward Gillian and Charles.

“Adopt? Oh no, honey. There’s a long waitlist for rescue greyhounds. I had to pull every string just to get him for two weeks.” Two spots of red crest Gillian’s cheeks as she realizes her faux pas.

“Oh.” Max’s shoulders collapse, but he quickly shakes off the disappointment. “I misunderstood.”

Gillian wrings her hands, shooting daggers at me with her gaze. As if I had anything to do with the dog. I’m juggling too many other spinning plates to be part of this mishap.

“Please don’t be upset,” Gillian entreats, rubbing vigorously at an invisible stain on her houndstooth skirt. “It was such short notice. It was the best I could do.” She grabs his hands, her eyes pleading with him to forgive her.

“Well, thank you.”

“I searched the shelters until I found the perfect greyhound to foster. Doesn’t he look just like Chester?” Gillian tries to smile.

Max shrugs, but I can see the fight leave him.

Behind me, I feel someone staring. The steadicam is pointed at me, and I smile stiffly and sit next to Sam on the settee.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam turns his head away from the camera.

For this ploy to work, Sam can’t be filmed from the front. I spoke to Karen about it last week, and she barely batted an eye when I told her my husband only wanted to be shot from behind or out of focus in the background. Sam was right. They only care about capturing moments of Max Chase’s homecoming—complete with his famous aunt, uncle, and all the charms of Catelyn Bloom—while eagerly anticipating the return of his memory. My husband’s presence isn’t for the special as much as for creating that so-called idyllic home life so Max to feel safe enough for his memories to come back. That’s what the psychologist told Gillian.

Max glances at us, and I speak quietly through my teeth to Sam. “I’ll talk to Charles.”

“I’ll do it.” Sam leaves in a huff.

“Everything all right?” Max sits next to me, warming the seat Sam vacated.

“Will you go back to Greece after this?” I ask, not answering.

“No. I spoke to my editor, and she said I finished the piece I was working on before I got injured.” His voice quiets to a whisper. “Can we talk about something else? I was hoping this would also be a holiday from all that.”

“Of course,” I say, but I can’t resist one more question. There are moments Max seems completely out of his depth and moments he seems very aware of everything. “But…do you mind if I ask…do you remember anything about the accident?”

“It’s a blank like everything else.” His body stiffens, his hands fisting the fabric of his pants. “It’s frustrating. Like there’s something on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t grasp it.”

David, in head-to-toe black—pants, turtleneck, and iPad—comes up to Charles, then whispers something into his ear.

“Excuse me, everyone. I have to deal with a few things for tomorrow. Don’t mind the cameras. We have a shot list for tomorrow, which Karen will hand out. We’ll have cameras in the background running most of today and tomorrow to capture any unexpected moments.”

In other words…in case Max’s memory comes back when we’re not officially shooting.

Sam steps away from Charles and sits on my other side.

“What did he say?” I ask.

“Charles said they’ll take care of it in editing,” he whispers.

The front door buzzes.

“That must be dinner.” Gillian motions to one of the assistants to go to the front door.

“I think they’ve ordered Asian fusion tonight,” I say to Max as we walk into the formal dining area to eat. “Tomorrow I’m making some of your favorite foods.”

“Anything’s better than hospital food,” he says, taking the seat to my right. “How do you know my favorite foods?”

“Your aunt provided me with a list. I’d also like to say”—I glance at Gillian on the far end of the table—“I know the point of this weekend is to help you regain your memories, and I hope we succeed. But my main goal is for you to have a good time. So please, if you need anything at all, ask me or”—I nudge Sam who sits down to my left—“my husband.”

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