Page 45 of Fauxmance in the City

“Yeah, it’s so staged. They’ll take all the Catelyn Bloom domestic goddess footage and splice it with the heartbreaking—and hopefully uplifting—story of a hero coming home and maybe getting his memory back. This is a bubbly morning show. It shouldn’t surprise me that the producers are mixing something as serious as a man with amnesia with the fluff of a woman who’s famous for her ten-minute gourmet dinner recipes, organizing hacks, and husband emergencies.”

“I’ll be on the sidelines today to help out,” Natalie assures me.

“You don’t need to be at the shoot,” I say. “I’m making those craft cocktails at the skating rink and serving the canapés tonight, which you taught me how to assemble.”

“I love you, sis. But I’d be too nervous if I’m not assisting. Besides, you may need saving from yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sam,” she huffs like the answer was obvious.

“I’ll be fine. He said he’ll be there, and we can fake liking each other for two more days,” I say, but a flutter accosts my belly. I’m not so sure we can play nice with his new revulsion of me.

Natalie scowls. “Don’t push his buttons.”

“I won’t.” I pull the door open to leave. I’m irritated and need an escape from so much more than these four walls. “And if you’re worried, don’t come.”

“Oh, I’ll be there,” she yells after me.

My insides are jumpy, and I won’t be able to settle until I find Sam. I’ve avoided this confrontation all week, but the countdown has reached its end. In a couple of hours, we have to be on camera, the happy couple, and I’m not sure we can fake bliss in our current turmoil.

The halls of Edge magazine are dark and empty, save a light in Sam’s corner office. There are voices. A woman’s voice and his. I slow my steps on the carpeted floor and my hand presses to my abdomen, soothing the dull ache. There was another time not long ago when I came upon him in his office with a woman straddling him against his desk.

Ha! I’d forgotten about that until this moment. See? I’m not crazy. I didn’t make up the whole Sam is a scoundrel narrative.

Except, that was with Francine, who became his girlfriend shortly after that. But he’d kissed me the night before—a detail I conveniently like to forget—so there! He is a sleazy womanizer.

The woman’s sharp voice brings me back to the present, and I scoot near the cracked door, out of sight, listening.

“I’ve been rereading back copies of Edge.” The crisp voice is Gillian Kennedy’s, I realize. “It’s not my taste, but it does well amongst our male readers. You discover the most intriguing characters for your human-interest stories.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I relax. This is business-related. But curiosity keeps my ear near the door.

“Your stories are very relatable, and I think they would appeal to a wider audience if given a chance.”

I tense, scanning the doors nearby. I’m ready to pounce into an empty office if Gillian exits. But then she speaks again.

“So, what was it you needed to talk to me about?” Gillian asks.

My heart punches my ribs. Is Sam about to tell Gillian we’re not married?

“Oh, well, the filming.”

I bite my lower lip, my heart thundering.

“We’re this close to my nephew getting his memory back. Not to mention all the exposure for your wife and the magazine. And it wouldn’t do you any harm to get your face out there.”

“That’s not an option.” Sam’s voice is firm.

Through a crack in the door, I see Gillian place her hand on Sam’s shoulder. He beams from the attention. “As I said, I’m impressed by you. Next fall, we’re starting a new e-zine focused only on extreme sports.”

“That sounds like a great idea. Who’s—”

“I think you might be the man to head it up,” Gillian continues. “But I’d like you to be open to the idea of teaming up with Catie on a reality show or some segments on Good Day. I’m going to speak to Charles about it today.”

“And if I don’t want to be on TV?” Sam’s stance goes rigid.

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