Page 30 of Accidentally Wed to My Enemy

He waved us off. “No. I’ll send you the dailies along with my notes. You can review them when you’re done with your date.”

We headed outside, and away from Berg’s trailer. We’d wrapped shooting early and the sun was just setting, bathing the beach in a golden-hour glow. It caught Lacey’s tanned skin and turned it golden, her hair warm as sunlight where it brushed her shoulders.

“About earlier,” I started.

Lacey shook her head. “Let’s just forget it.”

“You mean the kiss, or—”

“We both know what that was.” She paused to scan for eavesdroppers. “We put on a good show, but let’s not make it awkward. I felt nothing. You felt nothing. It’s done. Let’s move on.”

My insides went cold, then hot, then I laughed. Of course, ofcourseit had all been the kiss, the heat of the moment, the emotion from filming. The idea of us, of me with Lacey—

“Let’s head back,” she said. “I need a damn hot dog. Watch the food on our dinner date be all made of plastic.”

I’dhadto kiss Lacey.

I’d had no other choice.

And now I had no choice but to forget it ever happened.

CHAPTER 11

LACEY

If anyone were to ask me what heaven smells like, I’d say aloe and acetone, gardenias and citrus, and the faint burnt scent of electric nail sanders.

My first day off shooting, I went to Heaven, a cute little spa not far from the beach, and I signed up for everything — rubs, peels, massages. A deep-conditioning treatment to make my skin glow. I was ten minutes into my restoring mani-pedi, cradled in a chair as soft as a marshmallow, when a familiar voice stirred me from my spa-haze. I couldn’t place it at first, deep, slightly nasal, muffled through a bead screen and a high glass-block wall.

“I’m busy then,” came the voice, strained but patient. “Don’t you have any appointments today?”

The receptionist said something, too low to hear.

“Well, how about a mud bath? Or, what else do you have? I need something relaxing, doesn’t have to be a massage.”

I craned my neck, trying to see. I knew that voice. My technician grabbed my ankle and held me in place.

“Don’t wriggle, miss. Miss? I could scratch you.”

I lay back in my chair. The bead curtain rattled. I nearly jumped at the sight of Eric’s manager, the one who’d pushed us into theSwipestylesspread. I didn’t know much about Sam, but I knew one thing for sure: he didn’t like me much. He didn’t trust me. The way he’d glowered at me when Eric wasn’t looking, all hard-eyed suspicion, I’d got the message.

I shrank down in my chair, trying to make myself small. Maybe he wouldn’t see me. Just walk on by. Vanish into the mud room and leave me to my treatment. I narrowed my eyes and willed him not to see me —that’s it, go on. Keep walking.He passed me, I sighed, and then it happened.

“Take a seat, sir, and I’ll bring you some water. Your technician will be with you in a few minutes.” The receptionist led him to the chair next to mine, and he melted into it and kicked his feet up. He closed his eyes, then he opened them, and we locked gazes.

“Lacey,” he said.

“Sorry. This is awkward.”

Sam sighed and stretched out. He wiggled his toes. “I owe you an apology. I was rude when we met. I want you to know that wasn’t about you.”

“You weren’t that rude. Just a little standoffish.”

“Well, either way, you didn’t deserve that. Let me say now what I should have said then: it’s an honor to meet you, and congratulations.”

I tried not to flinch. I’d come here for a break from Eric, from the lying, and here was his manager plopped down beside me. Congratulating me on our marriage — did he think it was real? Or was he mocking me? His tone was bland, neutral.

“Thank you,” I said, and I forced a bright smile.

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