Page 57 of Accidentally Wed to My Enemy

“I think I’d have noticed if I sat on a person.”

She mimed tapping her phone screen. “Selfie… deleted.”

I blinked like she’d vanished. “Where— where’d she go?”

She pulled a face at me, which I pretended not to notice. This was my moment to wrap up the scene, to deliver the punchline that would pull it all together. I scowled at the empty toilet, stuck my nose in the air, and flounced out of the stall.

“Manager?Manager?These toilets are haunted!” I scanned the stage peevishly and let out a huff. “Why can I never find anyone to complain to?”

Marcy let out a whoop at that. “Yeah, she’s still got it!”

I felt myself flush. John had been funnier, and the new girl too, but I’d felt the jokes simmering just under the surface, like if I tried another skit or two, I’d soon hit my stride. And the best part about it was, I’d forgotten about Eric. For five whole minutes on that crappy stage, I’d been in my element, no thoughts of Eric.

Marcy was up next, and two more new faces, and I called out a scene for them and watched them kill it. Then John was up again, then a new guy, then me, and by the time we got through I was wobbly with laughter, high on the rush of being in the moment. This could be it, maybe, the start of moving on — a few more improv sessions. A new project to shoot. I’d call my agent tomorrow and demand more auditions, anything, everything, something to do. Another couple of movies, and I’d be all “Eric who?”

“So, Mrs. Harper…” Marcy bounced over, fixing her hair. “Let’s see the ring. Come on, show me.”

I crashed down from my high as she grabbed hold of my hand. Of course I was still wearing it, keeping up our pretense. We’d agreed to keep the divorce under wraps till Berg’s movie came out, till nothing we did could screw up his premiere.

“It’s so pretty,” she sighed. “Like a star made of diamonds. Did he pick it out, or did you?”

“I did,” I said, feeling exhausted. My smile had gone plastic, frozen in place.

“You’re literally half of a Hollywood power couple. Like me and Brad Pitt, when he gets tired of whatzername.”

Everyone crowded around for a glimpse of my ring, pelting me with questions about me and Eric. How was he to work with? What about our big feud? Did his big, rough hands mean he had a big—

“Okay!” I snatched my hand back a little too sharply. “Sorry. I’m, uh, I’d love to hang out, but I’ve got a thing to go do. A thing for my mom. It’s her fiftieth birthday, so we’re… doing a thing.”

“Doing a thing?” John’s brows quirked up. “If you’re too famous to hang with us, you can just say so. Using your mom as cover, man, that’s a new low.”

I hung my head, embarrassed, though I could see John was teasing. “Sorry,” I said again. “Itismy mom’s birthday, or it will be next week. I have to go shopping. To find her a gift. I just got flustered, with all the questions.”

“We were kind of slamming you.”

“We missed you, is all.” Marcy hugged me again. “You’re coming back, right?”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ve missed you guys.”

I said my goodbyes as fast as I could, and I rushed out of there with my heart pounding. I’d almost burst into tears right in front of my improv crew, their excitement over my marriage too much to take. I’d felt that same excitement when things were good. When waking up every morning, it felt like Christmas, a new day with Eric like a gift to unwrap. Those days were over, and I didn’t get it. I didn’t get why, what could be so awful. Why Eric would run out on me sooner than be honest. Hehadfelt something. Hehad. I hadn’t dreamed it.

I pulled out my phone, head buzzing with frustration, and pulled up his contact, and tapped out a message.

I need to know what happened. Why you walked away. I was honest with you. Don’t I deserve the same?

I stood in the street, thumb hovering over the send button. Ididdeserve the truth from him, but would he give me that? Or would he blow me off again and break my heart twice? The way he’d walked off, he’d leave me on read, my text hanging out there like my heart on display. I cringed at the thought of that, the humiliation. The crushing sense of knowing a text took five seconds, and I wasn’t worth that, even. What we shared wasn’t worth it.

I deleted my text, then I deleted Eric’s contact, and then I drove home, went to bed, and cried.

Tomorrow, I’d move on. Tonight, I would mourn.

CHAPTER 23

ERIC

Gruber rode me hard my first day back on set. He picked on everything I did, I think to see how I’d take it. I dove deep into character and let his sniping bounce off me. I was Detective James Foster, tough, stoic sleuth, and I didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. Gruber could snipe at me and what did that matter? I had murders to solve, mysteries to unravel. Gruber was a fruit fly, all buzz, no bite. Not even worth the effort of swatting.

When we wrapped for the night, Gruber was happy. I was exhausted, and I headed back to my hotel. I had a package waiting at the front desk, stamped CONFIDENTIAL. Something from Berg. I tore it open and a flash drive slid out. Attached was a sticky note:LOST WAR – ROUGH CUT.

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