Page 184 of Be My Wife

I hop out of the couch and turn on the TV.

There’s a news story on.

Some guy named Patrick Collard with bug eyes and frantic hand gestures is going on about planets and moon alignments. He looks a few fries short of a happy meal. All he’s missing is a little silver cone on his head.

I snort and listen to him a bit more.

So the planets are aligning.

Are we all going to die?

I hope so.

I hope the world goes up in flames.

That would be fitting.

If only.

I aim my remote at the screen and click to Netflix. I already know what I’m going to watch. A vapid, rom-com. One where obviously twenty-five to thirty year old actors are playing high school seniors.

I scroll to my ‘frequently watched’ list.

A giant poster of a steely-eyed hunk in a preppy vest that looks sexy and dangerous on his broad shoulders looks back at me.

Hawk.

Even with the snobbiest expression on his face, the actor radiates explosive charm. He has the look of an international model—broody, yet perfectly put-together. Dark hair roguishly mussed. Sharp jaw.

His eyebrows are two dark slashes above devastatingly gorgeous blue eyes.

Beside his stunning face the title flashes in gold.

The Heirs of Brighton Academy.

I sigh in relief. I’m desperate for a romp into a world where the sweet, naïve New Girl gets the Hot, Angst-ridden, Misunderstood Bad Boy.

It’s the age-old love story.

They hate each other.

They fall in love.

Some stupid misunderstanding breaks them up.

And in the end, they get back together via grand gesture.

But this is no ordinary ‘high school’ rom-com.

No.

The Heirs of Brighton Academy has the added appeal of being set on a private island where billionaires, celebrities and politicians send their kids to get the best education far away from tabloids and regular society.

It’s a perfectly cliché Cinderella story sitting inside a cutting edge package.

While the movie starts, I pad to the freezer to snag a tub of ice cream.

I already know what’s happening on the screen anyway.

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