Page 57 of Fauxmance in the City

She nods, and my jaw drops. Sari Darling is the daughter of the man who killed Max’s parents in that awful car accident.

“I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

“I needed to see Max.” She kicks some rocks at her feet and glances at him before continuing. “Ms. Kennedy wanted me to be a part of this special, but when I said no, she told me she’s going to have, um…someone else surprise Max. I came to tell him.”

“But I already know about it,” Max interjects before Sari can say anything else. “I didn’t realize what I’d signed up for when I agreed to this special. I’d been in a hospital for over a month, and I was going stir-crazy when Aunt Gilli and Uncle Charles pitched me the idea. I was desperate to do anything besides spend another day in the depressing room. And I thought it would help get my memory back.”

“But your memory is back,” Sari says. It’s not a question.

“What?” I blink, whipping my head to Max.

Now it’s Max’s turn to look sheepish. “I—”

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Sari says, realizing her mistake.

“Really?” I ask, knowing the answer, but still stunned. Sure, I’d had an inkling, but I didn’t seriously consider Max had been lying the whole time.

“Did you ever have amnesia?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“It came back shortly after my aunt and uncle left Greece. I’d already agreed to the special, so I thought what the hell? I’ll pretend I still have amnesia. It’s what my aunt wanted. Plus, I need the money.”

I rub my forehead with my fingers. “And what? You’re suddenly going to get your memory back tonight?” Then I turn to Sari, my questions rolling out. “And how did you get involved?”

“Aunt Gilli got in touch with Sari last week through a mutual friend. I’m really sorry for that. She shouldn’t be using your tragedy to make money. I signed up for this. You didn’t.” Max squeezes Sari’s hand, and she smiles up at him with bright blue eyes.

“God, what won’t that woman do?” I scoff.

“I don’t condone my aunt’s behavior, but it’s all she knows. She’s ruthless, but she runs a multimillion-dollar empire. She has to be.”

Gillian is Max’s family, I remind myself.

“What a mess,” I say, but more to myself than them. “Are you going to tell Gillian?”

“No.” Max narrows his russet-brown eyes. “I hate lying, and it could wreck my journalistic integrity if anyone found out, but I’ll do this one thing for them. Plus…”

“The money,” I finish. “But your aunt and uncle are loaded. They’d happily pay your bills. Or give you a job. You can stop this all now. You—”

“Let’s talk over there,” Max interrupts. To Sari, he says, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Max leads me away from the bandstand. “I’m not going to ask for money from them. Call it a pride thing.”

“But—”

“Stop.” His hand scrapes his hair back. “I’m not the only one lying.”

His implication is clear, and I shuffle my feet, debating if I should argue.

“I don’t know what—”

“Yes, you do.” Max laughs suddenly. “I’m lying, you’re lying, but who the fuck cares? It doesn’t matter that I got my memory back two weeks ago. It doesn’t matter that you can’t cook, and I’m fairly sure you’re not married. At least not to Sam.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “Why do you think—”

“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to suss out the truth. Plus, that night in the kitchen . . . It’s obvious you’re not a cook. After that, I did a little digging. Your sister went to culinary school, not you. As for your husband…Sam Harding is a sportswriter for one of my aunt’s magazines. And he’s never been married. You, on the other hand, are married. Or were.”

“That’s…I…it’s just…” I exhale. For once, I can’t find the words to talk my way out of this, and it’s almost a relief to have it out in the open. “It’s not all a lie. But, yes, Natalie helps me with the cooking.”

“And Sam?”

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