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Yes, way,I text back.
I watch as the three little dots wiggle up and down while John types, and then his message comes through.Proud of you, man. Talk soon.
With that done, I go to my contacts, find Phil’s number, and press call.
10
Emma
Four days later, Ryanand I are sitting down with Phil in a huge office in the city.
I’ve never been chauffeured anywhere before, especially in a limousine, and I’m not ashamed to say that I quite enjoyed it. When I said that to Ryan in the elevator up to Phil’s office, he grinned and told me there’d be plenty more of that to come.
Phil is about forty, stocky, with a buzzcut, likely to cover the fact that his hair is receding at the top. Actually, he looks a bit like Happy out ofIron Man.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emma,” he says, shaking my hand. “Please, take a seat.”
Ryan and I sit down, and opening a large folder, Phil sits opposite us.
“Alright,” he begins. “So, your mom has fibromyalgia, isn’t that right?” Phil says, not looking up from the papers in front of him.
I gasp at his question and spin my head to look at Ryan, who looks more than a little coy.
My reaction catches Phil’s attention, and lifting his head to look at me, he straightens himself in the chair.
“You need to know something, Emma. Once you’re put there in the public eye, the media is going to dig up everything there is to know about you. Now, I can quash a lot of that from coming out, but if you have any skeletons in the closet, now would be the time to invite them to this meeting.”
“I don’t have any skeletons,” I cry. “And what the heck has my mother’s illness got to do with our fake marriage?”
“Because if I can find out, they can find out.”
A panic suddenly rushes over me, and I jump up from my chair. Spinning to look at Ryan, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. My family was never part of the deal.”
“Emma. Emma, please,” Phil says, his voice soft and calm. “It’s like I just said, I can quash stuff like this. There are ways and means to keep this out of the public eye. But I need you to be honest with me.”
“About what?”
“About anything I might not know,” Phil counters.
“And how am I supposed to know what you know?” I retort.
Phil then closes the folder and hands it to me. “That’s all the information I have.”
Snatching the folder from his hand, I walk away from them both and stop once I get to the window. The office looks down over the city street, where cars and people look tiny from this distance. Opening the folder, I scan my eyes over the pages.
Phil has collated my entire life into four pages. My age, name, family members, high school, the university I attended, the degrees I have, Mom’s illness, Dad’s death. Everything.
This was something Sharon, Debs, and I had overlooked, which now, as I think about it, was a little bit shortsighted. Imean, I read the news, and sometimes a fashion magazine when I have the time. We forget that, while we’re eager to learn about other people’s lives, we’re privileged to keep our own private.
It hadn’t occurred to me that marrying Ryan would put me and my family in the spotlight. Maybe I’m not as smart as Ryan thinks I am.
“We’re going to make this all about the wedding, Emma. What dress you’re wearing, who’s invited, what venue you’re choosing. They’ll be so busy wanting to know all those details, they won’t care about anything else.”
“You have to keep my family out of it,” I snarl, turning round to face them. “I’m not doing this if you can’t do that. My mom isn’t well. There’s no way she can cope with paparazzi landing at her door.”
“Alright.” Phil nods. “I can do that.”
“Are you sure?” I press. “If you’re lying, I’ll be gone, and you can find someone else.”