Page 61 of Fauxmance in the City

Damn you, pain.

I check my phone. No messages from Sam.

Damn you, Sam Harding.

I’m outside the townhouse, my arms weighed down by the cooler of food Natalie and I prepped on Friday for today’s brunch. I stomp inside, then dump everything on the kitchen counter. The crew is already setting up. I give one of the Good Day assistants the instructions for the food setup, then escape out onto the back patio.

The icy air tightens my lungs, but I welcome the pain in my chest to distract me from the pain in my heart. Why does it have to hurt so bad?

“Damn it!” There’s a pile of snow in front of me, and I kick it. My foot hits a frozen chew toy. “Ouch!”

“Are you okay?”

The deep voice startles me. Charles sits forward in one of the patio chairs in the garden. I hobble next to him, falling into the matching chair. White, steamy air surrounds my face as I breathe out heavily, waiting for the pain to subside.

“Anything broken?” he asks, still perched on his chair.

I wiggle my toes. They’re sore, but there’s no pain. “I don’t think so.”

“You should put some ice on it.”

“They’re already numb.”

Shrugging out of his oversized black wool coat, he drapes it over my shoulders.

“Oh, thanks.” For the first time, I take a good look at this man. He’s in his mid-forties with a thick head of black hair. His shoulders are broad and his waist slim, suggesting he invests in some type of fitness. Before this moment, I only saw him as a suit, not a man with an emotional life.

“How long have Gillian and you been married?” I ask, curious about their relationship.

“Too long.”

“Ha!” A sharp laugh pops out. “Why don’t you get a divorce? You don’t seem happy.”

He cocks his head like he’s trying to work something out. I’m worried I’ve offended him, but then he says, “We’re separated.”

I blink rapidly. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s not public information,” he says. “But it’s not exactly a secret either. We live in two different residences.”

“Oh,” I say. I thought there was trouble in their warped paradise, but I didn’t expect they were living separate lives. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Charles laughs, stretching his legs in front of him. “I miss having my daughter around, but she’s in those teenage years. I’m a little scared of her.”

I laugh at his candor, unsure why he’s confiding in me. He smiles.

“Living with her mom is more practical since I work such crazy hours on the show. I didn’t always, but when work is all you have, it’s all you do. Going home to an empty apartment is lonely.” He walks to the dry fountain and looks out over the garden, which is painted pink by the morning sun. “I hope Sam and you have more luck than us.”

“Sam isn’t my husband, Mr. Friedman,” I blurt out. “I’ve been lying to you. To everyone.”

All night I debated how to get Sam out of this. Gillian won’t let the idea of Sam and me being the next big lifestyle couple go. Sooner than later she’s gonna look into our backgrounds and she’s going to find out we’re not married. I have to free Sam from this before it’s too late. Even if it means sacrificing my career.

Charles gazes out at the small but tranquil garden and draws in a long breath.

“First, call me Charles. Second, my own marriage is a sham. And third, everything I do in this business is a lie.”

“Not like this. I…” Here it goes. “I’m estranged from my real husband. I haven’t seen him in years. Plus, I’m a total slob, and I…I can’t cook. I burn toast.”

A small smile turns up Charles’s lips. Why are you telling me this?”

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