Page 22 of Accidentally Wed to My Enemy

Eric’s brows drew together. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Just flustered. They caught me off guard.” That was it, all it was. A new kind of stage fright. Not my body responding to something wild and primal, Eric’s deep voice, his strength, his assurance. He was so confident. Maybe I was jealous. I wanted his confidence, and my heart was… confused. Racing with envy, not anything deeper.

“There’s glitter in my meatballs.” Eric poked at his dinner. “Must’ve been Sandy. I noticed her twinkling. What’s a grown woman doing covered in glitter?"

I chuckled. “Grace warned me about this club near here, Sparkles or Shimmers. She said not to go there because they have glitter sprinklers. It’s two hours with a louse comb to get it out of your hair.”

“Or two seconds, apparently, leaning over my plate.”

“Mine’s still okay. You can share my bruschetta.”

We demolished my platter, every last bite, then ordered Irish coffees and tiramisu. By the time we were through, I was pleasantly tipsy and starting to think we might be okay. Eric wasn’t so bad when it was only us two — a little smug, a little arrogant, but mostly all right. A little sweet, even. A bit smart and witty. He was still a huge ass for the things he’d said in the tabloids, but like this, in small doses? I could almost enjoy him.

The press swarmed, as promised, on our way out, but I’d had time to prepare myself thanks to Eric’s smart planning. I smiled for the cameras and leaned my head on his shoulder.

“Eric! Are the two of you planning a family?”

“What’s it like being married and working together?”

“Lacey! What made you fall for Eric?”

My tipsy smile widened. I had an answer for that. I found Eric’s hand and squeezed it tight. “He has his rough edges,” I said. “But underneath, there’s much more. He’s kind and he’s patient, and truly supportive. He sees someone in trouble and he wants to help out. That’s the best thing about him, his generous spirit. How he goes above and beyond to make people happy. And of course, we share a true passion for acting.” I lifted our hands up and pressed them to my chest. “I fell for the real Eric. The one I just met.”

“And you, Eric? Same question. A month ago you toldStarstruckthat you weren’t the marrying kind. What is it about Lacey that got you thinkingforever?”

I don’t know what I expected, but Eric cleared his throat. His hand stiffened in mine, and I felt him stand straighter.

“Basically what she said.” He let my hand drop. “Lacey and I, we have a whole lot in common. A lot I didn’t realize till we sat down and talked.”

My wine haze dispersed like I’d been doused with cold water. Eric’s answer was nothing. Hollow. Hot air. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did, a lot. Hadn’t he thought one kind thought at dinner? Spotted one thing about me to praise for the press? I’d meant what I said about his kindness, his patience. And I’d thought maybe—

“Lacey! Were your friends back home mad you didn’t invite them to your wedding?”

I mumbled some answer, lost in the hubbub. The whole time I’d been thinking Eric wasn’t so awful, might even have sides to him that were kind of awesome, he’d just been, what? Counting the minutes? Putting up with my company till it was time to head out?

The real Eric, right. I felt my smile curdle. The real Eric was the Eric I’d seen from the start, the one who’d dismissed me as a talentless hack. He could turn on the charm, at least when it served him, but charm was all it was. A pleasant veneer.

And I’d let it fool me.

Well, never again.

CHAPTER 8

ERIC

“Lacey’s in makeup,” I said. “But if you come back in ten minutes—”

“I’m fine waiting, thanks.” Sam cleared a space for himself on the couch in my trailer, set his briefcase on the table, and sat down with a sigh. I could tell he was pissed by how polite he was being. Sam in a good mood was mostly relaxed, only the skinniest stick up his ass. As his rage mounted, so did his manners, until he snapped and went full English butler. Right now, he was hovering around Canadian diplomat level — bad, but not drastic. I could still salvage this.

“What are you doing later? We’ll be done here by six.”

Sam fixed me with a flat look. “Coordinating with your publicist. Did you want to sit in?”

“Let’s get a drink first. The hotel bar, six thirty?”

“No, thank you,” said Sam, carefully bland. His vowels had gone short, clipped to sharp edges. If I hadn’t known him since high school, I’d have thought he was British.

“Listen, uh…” I glanced out the window. No one in sight. If I wanted to tell Sam the truth, now was my moment.We’re not really married. We’re getting it annulled. This is all a mistake — we got drunk. We got stupid.

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