Page 19 of Accidentally Wed to My Enemy

“Coming,” she squeaked, all high and panicked. I would’ve have laughed, but I’d almost just kissed her. If our food hadn’t barged in, would I have done it? I could still smell her on me, that almond shampoo. Maybe I was just hungry, and she smelled like food.

I leaned back, breathing deep, coming back to myself. This was a strategy session, simple as that. We’d discussed PDAs, and that was all settled. Next, we’d move on to transport. Her ring. All the dull little details that’d make us look real.

Lacey shut the door and leaned against it, her freckled cheeks flushed, her breath coming fast. I definitelydidn’twant to make it come faster. To see how she’d look with her blond hair all tousled.

“Back to business,” I said, and I got up to help her. “Grab a few pics of us setting the table?”

Lacey bit her lip, and I couldn’t read her expression — embarrassment? Anger? Disappointment? Then her shoulders went loose and she smiled, small and shaky. She squeezed in beside me, her phone held aloft.

“Yeah, nice. Now smile more. Smile like you’re happy.”

I beamed up at the camera, all wide and foolish, but all I could think about was Lacey’s soft shoulder, the way it pressed up on mine as she snapped the selfies.

CHAPTER 7

LACEY

The next day, we lounged in our chairs between takes, always close, always touching, Eric’s knee bumping mine. My head on his shoulder. Our hands clasped together. Sometimes he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“You need to quit doing that pausing thing.”

I giggled to hide my building annoyance. Turned my head to hiss my response. “You need to quit picking. What pausing thing?”

“That big, dramatic, soap-opera pause.” He reached for his script and opened it at random, and read a line from halfway down the page. “I can’t. It’s too late. We’ll just have to… hide it.” He let the pause drag out until it got stupid.

I pinched him discreetly. “I don’t do that.”

“You fully do.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “And it sounds like you’ve stopped to remember your line.”

Our next take, I beefed it, rushing my lines. Berg flapped and shouted and stomped off the set. Then he stomped back and we went again. And again. And six times after that. Eric stifled a snicker as we headed back to our seats.

“That wasn’t funny.” I pulled him in for a cuddle. “And if you think my pauses are bad, how about your breathing?”

“Mybreathing?” He leaned in and blew in my ear. “Nice try, but I’m not so easily rattled.”

“Okay,” I said, and sat breathing heavy.

Eric rolled his eyes skyward. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“It’s you acting stressed. That’s, like, your go-to. First the deep breathing, then the knit brows. Then you bring your shoulders up and pull in your neck. You look like a turtle having a sulk.”

Eric pushed me away from him, then pulled me closer. “See, I was giving you actual advice. You’re just being spiteful, just— Quit that! It tickles.”

I breathed hard in his ear. He fell away, groaning. Our next take, he turned his back on the cameras and pulled such a goofy face that I burst out laughing. Berg flapped some more, and Eric hugged me to him.

“You can’t shake me,” he whispered into my hair. But when Berg came back, he snapped at us both, calling me scattered and Eric stiff and stodgy.

I smirked. “I win.”

“A draw atbest.”

By the end of the day, I was bone-weary, tired of our cute act, tired of our games. I yawned my way through a lukewarm shower in my trailer, scrubbing off my screen makeup and rinsing my hair. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel, flop onto my soft bed and order some chocolate. An Eric-free night, me and my TV. A silly teen rom-com to lighten my mood. I figured I’d slip out and head back without Eric, but when I opened my door, he was there waiting.

“We should go out,” he said.

I edged past him. “Yeah, text me.”

“No, I meant now. I’ve made reservations.”

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