Page 50 of The Love Hoax

Before I can come back with a zinger of my own, our mother intervenes. “Actually, Ronna is real.”

Stephanie’s face registers genuine surprise. “As in a flesh-and-blood woman with a heartbeat?”

I roll my eyes.

Mom says, “Ronna is lovely. She was planning to put out some work fires back in New York but we convinced her to still come to the wedding. Or I should say, Adam did.”

“I’m surprised. You never wanted us to meet the women in your life. I thought you'd come up with some dopey excuse at the eleventh hour.” She frowns. “You're not going to do that, right, Adam?”

I shake my head. “I’m making an exception for your wedding.”

Finally, a genuine smile. “Thanks, bro.”

Somewhere off in the distance, we hear someone call Stephanie’s name.

“It’s my makeup artist. We’re doing a trial.” Her face turns grouchy. “If my bridesmaids don’t show up in the next fiveminutes, I’m going to fire each one of them. That will mean Ronna is going to get the job . . . now that I know she’s not a figment of your imagination. Tell her to be ready to step up.”

I can’t tell if she’s kidding. Her moods are all over the place. If ever there was such a thing as a Bridezilla, it’s Stephanie. “I don’t see how?—”

Stephanie shouts something to an unseen party. To me, she says, “See you in a few days. Don’t be late.” And she ends the call.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Evie

Ilie awake in the queen-size bed, thinking. The last few hours have been crazy. The moment I agreed to go public with the ruse, I switched gears, feeling an immediate sense of relief to not have to leave for a flight back to New York.

Now I'm Ronna.

Anna has clearly fallen for it.

Fallen for it.

I cringe. It makes me sound like a scheming con artist.

The situation which started out as a funny favor has now become real. But there's little I can do. Having met Anna and agreeing to attend Steph and Brad's wedding, I'm in too deep.

I yawn, the fatigue of the morning’s stress suggesting I need sleep.

When several thought-flooded minutes elapse without slumber, I glance at my phone on the nightstand and do the math. It's afternoon in Rome. Jeffrey will be in the middle of his schoolday. I picture him, a hint of his earlier boyishness in his stubbly cheeks.

Daniel, on the other hand, will be at his Manhattan desk, bleary-eyed, after a night of either binge-watching YouTube or out with friends.

Oh, how I miss my boys.

I spoke with Jeffrey after my phone died. But no word at all from Daniel.

I yawn once more and dial my eldest.

“Mom?” He sounds fully awake and mildly distracted.

“Yes, honey.”

“All okay?” Daniel asks.

“Just saying hi. It’s been a while. What are you up to?”

“Watching Breaking Bad.”