Page 21 of Faking the Pass

A Lack of Vitamin D

P resley

Over the next few days, Rosie proved me wrong.

She did an amazing job of avoiding me, coming out of her room only to grab something from the refrigerator or to ask if there had been any mail delivered here for her.

At first, I was glad. My concerns about being distracted had been unfounded.

But there were only so many hours you could work out and swim and prepare food—even with the meticulous weighing and measuring I always did.

And it felt weird to have her here under the same roof and barely interact with her.

A little company might have been nice in the evenings when my rehab routine was complete and I was just hanging out.

I knew she’d found the pictures of us from high school because she’d shared them on her social media with a heartfelt message about “friends who are there for you when you really need them,” and something to the effect of “don’t give up because it’s never too late to find your happiness.”

Other than reading that about a hundred times and keeping up with the comments that kept pouring in, I’d been periodically checking online to gauge the public reaction to our “rekindled love affair.”

As I’d predicted, the celebrity press was eating it up, and thankfully, speculation over how it had all come to be was drowning out the noise about her canceled wedding.

The junk press sites had moved on to the much juicer story of a jilted bride getting “revenge” with her famous football player ex.

Just as we’d planned.

There were also a lot of negative articles about Randy.

They’d tracked down his baby mama, and now pictures of her were splashed across the gossip sites alongside flattering shots of Rosie underneath sympathetic headlines and captions.

“Broken-hearted Actress Finds Love Again,” one of them read.

“The Real Cinderella Story,” another one said. Below that one, there was a large photo of me and Rosie together outside Bellevue Manor. She looked super hot in it.

Apparently all the publicity was doing what Randy had hoped his wedding to Rosie would do—interest in Once Upon a Charm had surged dramatically.

He’d have to have been one vindictive bastard to delay the release and shoot it all over again.

Having met him though, I wouldn’t put it past the guy.

There hadn’t been any word yet from him or his lawyers. Maybe Rosie was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to get married after all.

And why did that thought send a hollow echo through my midsection? I guessed I was disappointed my human shield wouldn’t be sticking around for very long.

And I’d probably created a monster getting my own name and picture wallpapered all over the internet and TV.

Once my “relationship” with Rosie ended, the flood of gold-diggers and starfuckers was bound to be epic.

I’d talked to every member of my family several times over the past few days, each of them asking some version of, “What the hell is going on?”

Except for my mom, who didn’t use even the tamest swear words now that she had grandchildren.

Merc did though, and he’d labeled me “Fucking Prince Charming”—minus the actual fucking of course.

“You really haven’t had sex with her yet?” he asked over the phone, clearly incredulous.

I glanced over at the closed door of the guest room, lowering my voice. “No. I told you, we’re just friends.”

“Yeah, but she was into you in high school.”

“You really think so?”

“Oh yeah. You should have seen how she looked at you,” he said. “I was jealous—she was so hot, and you didn’t give a shit about her, even though you were the only one she seemed to be interested in. And now, after you saved her from Runty Randy, how can she resist?”

I chuckled at the nickname.

“Yeah well, she’d have to come out of her room to be tempted,” I said, “not that I’m trying to tempt her.”

“I would,” Merc said bluntly. “If I had that gorgeous woman in my house, I’d be doing whatever it took to get that bedroom door open.”

I said nothing to that, fighting a vague sense of annoyance at my brother, who I normally got along with.

Close in age, Merc and I had played on the same sports teams our whole lives until we’d gone pro. As Dylan was so much younger, and Wilder was well, Wilder, Merc had been my best friend, inside and outside our family home.

“Well, time’s on your side, brother,” he said.

“If you want her, that resistance is gonna wear down eventually. I mean, the way you rode in there on your white horse and laid out that sawed-off little actor with your truth sword—I mean, I kinda wanted to sleep with you after watching that press conference video.”

We both laughed, the tension broken.

“It’s not gonna happen,” I assured him. “She can’t wait to leave.”

“And I can’t wait to say, ‘I told you so.’ I saw what I saw, man,” Merc said, “and I know what I know. Besides, you’re hot, she’s hot. It’s a match made in forced proximity Heaven. It’s gonna happen.”

Right after I hung up with him, Dylan video-called me.

“You’re not going to be able to put Mom off much longer,” he warned. “I almost had to tackle her this morning to keep her from driving over there and surprising you two with breakfast in bed.”

We’d all agreed not to tell our parents the thing between Rosie and me wasn’t real.

For one thing, I didn’t ever get into the details of my love life with my parents.

For another, if this fake relationship did turn into a fake marriage, I didn’t want my mom’s heart to be broken that I was having a fake wedding.

Until I knew how it was all going to shake out, I planned to just avoid the whole discussion with her and Dad. I’d just keep telling them I was fine and I was happy and that I’d tell her all about it when there was something to tell.

“Well thanks for running interference,” I said to Dylan. “How’s Lily?”

He had his daughter this week, and while I knew he lived for his visitation weeks, it was challenging during the season for him to spend as much time with her as he wanted.

She was spending a lot of her time with Mom and Dad, which of course thrilled them. They’d become unrepentant grandchild hoarders, pestering all four of us for more.

“She’s great,” Dylan said. “She told me a joke before I dropped her off at Mom and Dad’s this morning. Get ready for it. What’s a word that starts with F and ends with U-C-K?”

Both my brows lifted as I waited for the punchline.

“Firetruck.” He grinned widely and shook his head. “I hope you have a little girl one of these days, Pres. It’s the best.”

“Yeah, well at the moment I have my hands pretty firetrucking full with one not-so-little girl. I’m worried about Rosie. I think she might be depressed.”

“Makes sense. She’s been through a lot,” Dylan said. “You should get Jessica to take her out to lunch or something.”

“That’s a good idea. So far she hasn’t wanted to leave the house.”

“She’s probably waiting for the other shoe to drop, scared about what that spray-tanned little prick might do. She should at least get outside for some sun. Lack of vitamin D can lead to depression—not to mention hair loss.”

“Okay doc, thanks for the warning,” I teased. “I agree, but she keeps saying she’s ‘fine’ where she is.”

“Oooh. Yeah, ‘fine’ is no good,” Dylan agreed. “Mia used to say she was ‘fine’ all the time—right before she broke off our engagement.”

My youngest brother’s college girlfriend had become pregnant during their senior year and had seemed happy enough to accept his proposal, but she’d broken up with him before the wedding.

The breakup had coincidentally occurred just after he’d been picked last in the NFL draft, earning him the nickname, “Mr. Irrelevant.”

It was a term reserved for the very last player to go in the draft each year.

Unfortunately, Dylan had taken it to heart. He was a talented player, but he’d struggled a lot with his confidence since then.

It hadn’t helped that the girl who’d supposedly loved him dumped him as soon as it became apparent he wasn’t going to get a guaranteed salary or big signing bonus.

She’d married another player, by the way. One who went higher in the draft.

I didn’t call women the b-word—especially not the mother of my adorable niece—but if I ever were to use the word, I might use it for Mia.

“I’ll see what I can do to lure Rosie outside for some fresh air and sunshine,” I said. “Maybe it’ll help. Plus we’re not doing a whole lot to back up the true love reboot story so far.”

“You can get away with the hermit act for a few more days. People probably assume you two are keeping busy inside ,” Dylan said.

“You could invite her on a walk,” he suggested. “And if you want to romance her for real, take her on a picnic. Women love picnics.”

I chuckled. “Thanks for the tip. Talk to you later, D.”

After ending the call, I went for my daily swim then showered. Rosie was still in the guest room. Passing its closed door, I went to the pantry then inspected the contents of the fridge.

What did people eat on picnics anyway?

I hadn’t been on one since I was a little kid, and I was pretty sure my mom had just packed peanut butter and jelly for us all back then.

PB and J wasn’t going to get Rosie out of that room.

I walked over and rapped on the door. “Hey, I’m heading to the grocery store. Want to go?”

Might as well ask. Not surprisingly, the answer was no.

“Definitely not,” she called through the door. “I’d rather not give the stalkerazzi the chance to snap pictures of me for the tabloids while surrounded by tabloids with my face all over them. A little too meta for me, thanks.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be back in a little while. Anything I can get for you?”

“No, I’m fine,” she answered.

Great. She was “fine.” According to my brother, that meant she was already packing her bags.

Better make it one hell of a picnic.