Page 18 of Faking the Pass
They’d probably eat it up like it was chocolate pudding.
The guy was an expert gaslighter—that was how he’d convinced Rosie to marry him in the first place. I hated the idea he was getting a second crack at it.
Instead of turning and leaving, I stood outside the doors for a few seconds, then opened them and slipped inside. I found a place to stand at the back of the room behind the photographers and videographers with their tripods and light kits.
As soon as Rosie sat down, the reporters started firing questions. They were loud and rude, and to my ears each one of them sounded like a slap to her face.
She hadn’t answered any of them yet, just sat with a look of overwhelm haunting her eyes.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I’d begun to sweat, almost as if I was the one in the hotseat.
Randy used both hands to press down on the air in front of him.
“Settle down. Please. We’ll answer all of your questions. Just one at a time please.”
He pointed at a woman in a white suit, and she stood. I recognized her from a nightly entertainment show one of my exes used to like.
“How does it feel to be the girl who broke Randy Ryland’s heart,” she asked, “after he made you a star—and spent five million dollars on a fairytale wedding for you?”
Her tone was worshipful—toward Randy. She clearly had a crush on him. Or his wallet more likely.
And what a slanted fucking question. The nails on my good hand dug into my palm.
Rosie blinked a couple of times then leaned toward her microphone to answer. Before she could get out a word, Randy pulled his mic closer.
“I’ll take that one—since you did mention my heart, Sabrina.”
He gave the woman a dazzling grin with one hand dramatically pressed to the front of his suit, and she sat down, practically wiggling with pleasure over his blatant flirtation.
“My heart’s not broken at all,” Randy said. “In fact, it’s grateful. Grateful that my darling Rosie pulled through such a serious illness.”
He took her hand and proceeded to lay out the line of bullshit he’d ordered her to back up—that she’d been deathly ill, delirious, and had been recuperating at the home of a friend she’d grown up with here in Eastport Bay.
Beside him, Rosie sat and stared straight ahead.
Her face was blank, but I knew she was suffering inside.
Probably screaming silent obscenities at the guy. I knew I wanted to.
The questions kept coming, and Randy kept answering them. As he spoke, his grip on Rosie’s hand kept getting tighter. Her damn fingers were turning purple.
Seeing the quiet intimidation tactic reminded me of the bruises on Rosie’s arms. My jaw was getting sore from clenching it, and I was starting to develop a headache.
My body was so full of adrenaline I couldn’t stay still. I started pacing at the back of the room as the farce went on.
Why were all the questions so one-sided? No one asked about Gina, the pregnant girlfriend.
It wasn’t fair. Rosie was too nice a person to have this happen to her with no one on her side.
And it was intolerable to think of her marrying this ass-hat because she was being blackmailed into it—even temporarily. Even to save her career and her finances.
Randy had shown his true colors, and they weren’t pretty. He couldn’t be trusted with someone as sweet and vulnerable as Rosie.
Her spirit would be broken by the end of a year living with him.
Finally one of the reporters called on Rosie specifically.
“There are rumors you’ve been staying at the home of a secret boyfriend and that he drove you here today,” she said. “You were wearing a man’s t-shirt when you were photographed on the deck of the beach house.”
Rosie colored deeply. “There’s no boyfriend, I can promise you that.”
As she’d predicted, her voice was shaky. She forced a big, artificial smile that probably fooled no one and leaned forward to speak into the mic again, ready to tell the prescribed lie and sentence herself to a year of private torture at Randy’s hands.
Fuck it. I didn’t sign any NDA’s.
If there were fines, I’d pay them.
I stepped forward, in front of the video cameras.
“I can answer that one.”
Rosie’s whole body jerked at the sight of me. Heads turned in my direction, and several of the camera lenses shifted toward me.
I mouthed the words, trust me to Rosie then made an announcement in a loud, clear voice.
“Rosie was with me. We’re old friends, and I offered her shelter after her fiancé brought a date to the wedding. A woman who is carrying his unborn child, which Rosie knew nothing about until that moment.”
There were gasps throughout the room as I went on, thoroughly violating the NDA for her.
I told the truth about why she’d run away from her wedding, about her co-star’s arrogance, how he’d lied and tricked her into the marriage because he’d known it would be good for publicity, that it was all a PR stunt.
That she had believed in him and thought it was all real until she’d been blindsided by his baby mama on her wedding day.
I told them how Randy had demanded her collusion in the lies he’d just firehosed all over them.
When I stopped speaking, the silence in the room was deafening.
And then it turned to chaos.
The cameras all shifted back to the front of the room where Rosie sat practically hyperventilating and looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Randy appeared to be in shock as well, though he snapped out of it quickly and gestured to someone at the side of the room then pointed at me.
Clearly I’d be meeting his security team soon.
With perhaps only seconds left before I was thrown out, possibly with pain, I stared at Rosie, willing her to tell the truth as well.
There was a roar of voices as people shouted questions at her, giving her the chance to confirm either my version of things or Randy’s.
I honestly didn’t know which way it would go.
After a few tense moments, her eyes came up to lock with mine.
“He’s telling the truth,” she said into the microphone in front of her. “That’s what really happened.”
There were gasps of shock. Phones came out all over the room to post about it. Flashes went off in every direction, resembling indoor fireworks.
We’d just created an even bigger story—one that would dwarf the previous one.
Randy stood so quickly he knocked his chair over, and it fell from the back of the platform with a clatter. He picked up his own mic with a jerk, and yelled into it.
“I apologize for the confusion. Clearly my lovely bride is still sick. I’ll have a statement for you soon to clear things up.”
Then he stormed from the room, leaving through a side door. Rosie got up as well and ran out a door on the opposite side of the room.
I tried to follow her, but the press mob had now turned, no doubt wondering what on earth Nauticals quarterback Presley Lowe had to do with the situation.
They were blocking my path, shouting my name, firing a volley of questions at me. I ignored them, using my superior size and strength to push through the throng and go after Rosie.
If Randy was in that hallway berating her or otherwise mistreating her, he’d have to answer to me.
When I finally made it to the door, I didn’t see him, but I did spot Rosie ducking into a room down the hall. I ran after her and followed her inside, closing the door behind us.
She spun to face me, looking like she was ready to fight off an attacker.
“Oh. It’s you.”
Her posture relaxed a fraction, but her head shook back and forth as her eyes bored into me.
“ Why did you do that?”
The real answer was I have no fucking idea.
What I said to Rosie was, “I thought of an alternative.”