Page 22 of Faking the Pass

Cupcakes and a Ring

R osie

I was in the kitchen when Presley returned.

He came in from the garage carrying what looked like about fifteen handled grocery bags at once. With one hand.

“Let me help.” I rushed over to him, but he assured me he had it. He plopped the bags down on the island countertop.

“You can help me unload, though. I’ll do the cold stuff. You can put away the pantry stuff.”

“Sure.”

It was the most words we’d said to each other since the press conference. Avoiding Presley as much as possible was the only way I knew to get through this thing.

His actions back at the mansion had really thrown me. Since then, I’d been battling some very strong and very inappropriate feelings.

Feelings he didn’t reciprocate—and never had.

He didn’t even remember that on our second date we’d basically done a photo shoot all over town, pretending to be tourists visiting Eastport Bay’s hotspots and taking selfies.

To this day, it was still the most fun I’d ever had on a date.

Of course I’d saved the pictures, like the sap I was. And of course I’d known exactly where to lay my hands on the photos of my unrequited love and me.

Just looking at them as I posted them brought back all those feelings of shame and embarrassment I’d felt when he’d asked me out for a date only to take me to a public place and break things off with me.

It had been the first, though not the last, time I’d completely misjudged a guy’s true feelings for me.

Randy’s reversal might have been more public, but as it had been my first heartbreak, Presley’s had hurt more. It had taken me years to get over.

I needed to remember that feeling like my life depended on it.

Especially now, when the two of us were working side by side in the kitchen in this approximation of domestic bliss.

I pulled the cans and boxes from the bags of non-perishables, stacking them on the pantry shelves, but when my hand came out with one of the items, I froze.

It was a box of chocolate cupcakes—not the bakery kind but the ones I’d loved as a kid—the kind that were individually wrapped in plastic and manufactured who-knew-how-many months ago.

The same kind I’d cleaned him out of during my wedding night pity party.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Presley’s voice came from right behind me.

“Thought maybe you could use a refill. You seem to like them.”

“Oh. Uh… when I’m drowning my sorrows on the nights I run away from my own weddings, they’re the perfect treat. I don’t normally eat them by the boxful, though.”

He laughed. “You’re not usually a fan of dextrose, hydrogenated tallow, and plastic-y ‘frosting’ that you can peel off in a single motion?”

I had to laugh at his description. What was that frosting made of anyway? Still, it was tasty, or it had been after a couple gallons of wine.

“Hey, I like that plastic-y frosting,” I said.

Not that I’d eaten a lot of it in the past six months—sugar had been off the menu according to Randy’s rules as my movie producer, along with almost all other carbs.

“Besides, I’d been on a super low-calorie, no-sugar diet pretty much every day since before filming began,” I explained to Presley. “And you know, right place, right time. Sometimes that high fructose corn syrup just hits the spot.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not in the mood for it now. Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite for the picnic I’m going to prepare for us,” he said.

“Picnic?”

“Yeah. It’s a pretty day. I thought we might go out, get a little sunshine and fresh air. We could go down the street to the kite park.”

Um, no. That sounded way too romantic.

“I’m not really in the mood for a picnic,” I told him.

“We could go for a walk then. I don’t think you’ve been outside in days,” he said.

Also too romantic. A walk by the ocean was on my list of top favorite things.

“I’ll go out on the deck later maybe,” I said. “I don’t feel much like walking right now. I think I’ll just go back to my room.”

I’d almost reached its safety when Presley called out to me.

“Hey Rosie, could you do me a favor?”

I turned around, my back pressed to the guest room door. “Yeah?”

“I saw the mail truck coming down the street as I was pulling into the drive. Could you go out and get the mail?”

I walked back into the kitchen. “You want me to check your mail?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing to hide,” He smiled. “And I think I can trust you not to steal my sweepstakes entry… though it might be tempting. I may have already won.”

“You’re really determined to get me outside, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m just busy preparing my solo picnic. It would be a help.”

He was totally trying to get me outside. After a long moment of studying him, I went to the door.

“I’ll be happy to get it.”

“Great.” Presley pointed to a narrow rack next to the door where a variety of keys hung on tiny hooks.

“Mailbox key is on the far right. The round silver one.Yeah, that’s it,” he said.

I grabbed the key and walked outside to the drive. It was nice out here with the ocean breeze and midday sun.

The winding driveway was long enough to give my legs a stretch, and I enjoyed the way the crushed seashell surface crunched under my feet.

In the cove just to the left of the drive, a swan couple glided around together on the water’s sparkling surface.

Mute Swans if I wasn’t mistaken. Romeo and Juliet, Presley had said their names were. They were beautiful.

The cove itself was a beautiful sight. Bordered by the road on one side and rocky rises on two others, the circular inlet was shaped like a cul du sac with several houses set around it, only instead of pavement in the middle, there was water.

At its far end, it opened up directly into the Atlantic Ocean.

Presley’s “cottage,” which was larger than any home I’d ever lived in other than Randy’s mansion, sat on one of the stone inclines. It was fully visible from this angle with its gray shingled sides and white trim. Classic coastal New England.

I was struck once again by what an idyllic home he’d chosen for himself.

Driving down Atlantic Avenue and looking at the oceanfront houses used to be one of my favorite things to do when I’d lived here in Eastport Bay.

If you had to be stuck somewhere, I had to admit this wasn’t a bad place to be.

The short walk had been a good idea after all—just what I needed. At the end of the drive, parked outside the gate, were several cars.

When I reached the mailbox, people jumped out of each of them and started snapping pictures.

I felt like turning around and running, but then I remembered this was what we wanted .

Thinking of Presley’s words, you haven’t done anything wrong , I lifted a hand to wave at them before turning around and slowly walking back to the house.

Not wanting to pry, I deliberately didn’t sift through Presley’s mail. But when I got back inside and dropped it on the counter, a large envelope slid free from the pile.

The postmark was from Los Angeles, and in the upper left corner was the unmistakable name of a law firm.

Good thing I hadn’t seen this outside—I might have passed out in the driveway and really given the tabloids a show. They’d probably start claiming I was pregnant.

My breaths quickened when I saw my own name alongside Presley’s in the address area.

He glanced alertly at my face then quickly down at the envelope.

“I guess the summons has arrived,” he said, somehow sounding calm and unbothered.

How was he not freaking out right now? I certainly was.

“I was hoping he would drop the whole NDA lawsuit thing,” I admitted.

“Yeah, well I was hoping to gain six inches on my jumpshot in my thirties, but some things are impossible. And Randy Ryland not being a dick is impossible.”

Presley pulled the papers out of the envelope and handed me a set to read as he read through his own copies.

As I scanned down the page, an invisible hand reached into my chest and began to squeeze my lungs flat.

“This says we have to be in court the end of next week,” I wheezed.

Now that my lungs were thoroughly squished, the cruel hand moved to my heart. I gripped the edge of the countertop, trying to keep myself steady.

This is bad. So, so bad.

Presley moved to my side. “You okay? Want to sit down?”

He guided me to sit on one of the stools and kept a hand on my back. “It’s going to be okay. This is what we expected, right?”

“Yes, but it’s real now. He really is going to ruin my whole life.”

“No he’s not,” Presley assured as his palm glided over my back. “No one has the power to do that, not even that little squirt. We’ve got this.”

“Do we, though?”

He smiled. “Yes. We do. Wait right here.”

Presley went into the garage while I sat at the counter. I heard the door of his car open then close moments later.

He came back inside, strode over to the kitchen island, and placed something on it in front of me.

It was a small velvet box. The kind that came from a jewelry store.

My eyes flew up to find Presley’s. “What is this?”

He gave me an uncertain smile. “Open it and find out.”

When I opened the box and saw the diamond ring inside, my mind went blank for a second. I just sat there breathing and blinking.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “If it’s not your style, we can take it back and get a different one you like better, something that fits your taste.”

Finally my mind came back online. “You bought a ring?”

“Yes. This morning when I went shopping. I put it in the glove box, until, you know, the right time.”

He gestured to the summons on the counter in front of us. “I figure that time is now.”

“You went grocery shopping… and you bought an engagement ring,” I repeated, still trying to process.

He laughed. “Yes, but I didn’t buy it at the grocery store. It didn’t come from one of those little coin-operated machines out front if that’s what you’re thinking. I got it at the Treasure Chest. That’s a jewelry store on Main Street.”

Tearing my eyes away from the gorgeous solitaire, I looked at him.

“Why?”

“Well, you know… I got it in case Randy summonsed us… and he did. So…”

Presley’s face contracted in a frown. “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t the best proposal anyone’s ever gotten.”

He lifted a hand and scrubbed the top of his head, messing up his hair.

“I just thought after our conversation the other day at the press conference, we’d already agreed… you do want to get married right? I mean temporarily—because of the court case.”

My gaze bounced between his face and the stunning ring, which was exactly my taste.

The large central stone was an emerald-cut diamond, and three-quarters of the platinum band was adorned by a collection of round, marquise, and pear-shaped diamonds. It looked very expensive.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I just didn’t expect you to buy a ring, I guess. I hope this is fake.”

Presley didn’t confirm or deny, just lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “We’ve got to make it look legit, don’t we? Those telephoto lenses capture all the details.”

The details of our story—our fake story about our fake marriage.

I nodded. “Right. So… when should we do it? Can we even get a license by next week?”

“Rhode Island doesn’t have a waiting period for marriage licenses,” Presley said. “And I have a friend who works at Town Hall. We could probably get one today.”

“Today.”

I was swamped by a feeling of unreality. Suddenly my hands felt disconnected from my body. My head was spinning, and there was a weird pain in my stomach.

I’m getting married today. To Presley Lowe.

I looked down at myself, at my t-shirt and skort and sneakers.

“I should go change then. Not that it really matters what I’m wearing, I guess. I should at least put on a dress of some kind.”

Presley’s forehead creased, and he shook his head.

“We can get the license today, but we can’t get married today. I’ll need a few days to pull everything together. Besides, my brother Merc has to fly here from San Francisco. And your friend Danielle will need time to get back here, too. Tell her not to worry about the ticket. I’ll buy it.”

“You want your brother to come?” I ask in shock.

And the fact he’d want to fly my best friend here for our sham wedding stunned me.

“Of course,” he said. “He’ll kill me if we do it without him here.”

Presley opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, jotting down a list.

“Your ring is taken care of—I went ahead and bought the matching wedding band while I was there, but we’ll need to get one for me. I’ve already got a tux, but you’re going to need a dress.”

He looked up at me. “Maybe you could go to Saltwater Style at Brady’s Wharf. My sister-in-law Jessica says Chelle there is really good with personal shopping, and they have a bridal boutique on the top floor. I’m sure Jess would love to go with you—she likes that kind of thing.”

“I can just wear the dress I already have,” I said.

Presley’s handsome face contorted into a severe frown. “No, you need a new dress.”

“Don’t be silly,” I protested. “There’s no need to spend money on a new dress when I already have one fitted specifically to me.”

Although after my little cupcake and wine party, it might not fit quite the same. It had already been so tight after months of near starvation I’d barely been able to breathe in it.

“Might as well get some use out of it,” I said. “It probably cost Randy a frigging fortune—he insisted on couture.”

“You’re not wearing a dress Randy Ryland bought to marry me ,” Presley insisted.

Weird. I wasn’t sure why he’d even care.

“Well, okay. I guess we could probably re-sell it later—the ring, too—and get some of your money back.”

“Will you stop worrying about money please?” Presley sounded irked. He gestured around, pen still in hand.

“I know my house probably doesn’t compare to Randy’s Beverly Hills mansion or whatever,” he said, “but I have plenty of money. Just go dress shopping with Jessica. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay if you insist,” I said in an I give up tone.

“I do.”

He pointed at me with the pen. “And don’t get the cheapest dress they have. We’re going to have to put out some pictures or video of the wedding. Get the kind of dress you’d want to wear if this were actually real.”

I gave him a little salute. “Yes sir, husband, sir. Any other orders?”

He cracked a grin.

“Yes. Have fun with Jessica. You deserve some.”