Page 3 of Faking the Pass

“Rosie,” my fiancé said in a calm voice. His eyes were wide, though, and they held a spark of panic.

“What’s going on? Did her bag get lost?” I asked.

“My bag?” the expectant mother practically yelled. “What bag? What are you talking about?”

Randy tightened his arm around her back and took her hand, rubbing her knuckles. “Try not to get too worked up, darling.”

Darling.

Ooooookay. So not a random guest.

My insides went cold, my stomach lined with ice. I looked away from the woman’s red, tear-streaked face to Randy’s wary expression.

“Randy?”

A deep breath inflated his tuxedoed chest, and he let it out in an audible gust before speaking.

“Rosie, this is Gina.” There was an extended pause. “My girlfriend.”

It felt like an invisible crane had swung in my direction, and I’d taken a direct blow from the wrecking ball. All the air left my lungs in an instant.

As I couldn’t respond, what with the spontaneous asphyxiation and all, Randy continued.

“I was going to tell you after the wedding. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, in this moment. I guess this has all been harder on Gina than I realized.”

The other woman (or was that my role?) still looked distraught but appeared a bit mollified by his acknowledgement of her distress—and her apparent role in his life.

Randy looked down at her again, adding a shoulder rub to his gentle tone. “We talked about this, Pumpkin. You know the wedding’s not real.”

I sucked in a breath—finally. It’s not?

“I know, but I can’t stand it.” She pointed to the crowded ballroom. “That looks real.”

Gina pouted and rubbed her rounded belly. “And it looked real when I saw the video of you two leaving the airport together, all snuggly.”

“Well, you know what a good actor I am,” he purred.

“You and I will have a much bigger and better wedding—very soon, I promise. Lake Cuomo, right? Or Fiji. Anywhere you like. Pick a date next year after the film comes out and call a wedding planner. In fact, Olivia here is excellent. You can talk to her right after the ceremony and get the ball rolling.”

“What?” the wedding planner yelped, rocking back on her sensible low heels. Apparently she was just as blindsided as I was.

Olivia’s reaction was the only thing assuring me I wasn’t having a very vivid nightmare. In a nightmare, the wedding planner would be just as calm and matter-of-fact about this as Randy was.

And everyone would be naked.

Randy placed Gina’s hand on the wedding planner’s arm and patted it.

“Would you mind taking her up to the bridal suite?” he asked. “She needs to settle down and rest. Today’s not exactly the best day to have a baby.”

To Gina, he said, “Darling, I’ll be up to check on you as soon as this is over.”

The wedding planner shot me a bewildered glance, and I nodded to her. My groom was the one who’d hired her after all—she worked for him, and none of this was her fault.

Besides, he and I needed a moment alone to talk .

As soon as they were out of sight, he smiled at me.

Smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said in a breezy tone. “Obviously the hormones got the best of her. Ready to get on with it?”

I blinked. Blinked again. “Get on with what?”

Surely he wasn’t referring to this nightmare of a wedding.

“Oh right. I guess we need to wait for the wedding planner to get back or the music and stuff will be all messed up.”

“The music,” I deadpanned. “Honestly I’m less concerned about the playlist than the fact that my fiancé has a pregnant girlfriend .”

My voice had risen and continued to rise until I’d nearly shouted the end of the sentence.

“Shhhhh. Keep it down,” Randy said, pressing the air in front of him with his small, manicured hands.

Darting my eyes toward the ballroom doors, I tried to modulate my volume. This was embarrassing enough without the glamorous attendees turning in their seats to gawk at us.

“How could you do this to me?” I hissed.

Randy smiled at me again—the same wide, ultra white grin moviegoers had been swooning over for the past twenty years.

If I’d thought punching him in the mouth might have actually damaged those perfect veneers instead of breaking my hand, I’d have done it.

“You didn’t think this whole thing was for real, did you?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “I mean, we only met six months ago when I cast you.”

My mouth opened then closed again. Open. Close.

“Oh God, you did,” he said.

He shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. I mean I assumed you had someone else in your life, too. We never even talked about being exclusive.”

My jaw literally dropped open. After a few seconds of trying, I finally managed human speech.

“I sort of assumed the proposal made it clear we were monogamous.”

“The proposal that just so happened to occur on live national television?” he asked. “The one that was broadcast over and over again on all the entertainment programs? This is show business, Rosie. There aren’t any real love stories in Hollywood. You should know that by now.”

His condescending tone shamed me. It was echoed by the ever present voice inside me that oh so helpfully reminded me of all my past mistakes and warned I couldn’t trust my own instincts.

How could I have been so stupid?

Again?

I dropped my chin to my chest, my ears growing hot and no doubt glowing like taillights on the highway. I wished I could fold in on myself, forming smaller and smaller shapes until I disappeared altogether.

He was right. I should have known it.

Fans had started shipping us as soon as the announcement went out that Randy and I would be co-starring in Once Upon a Charm .

Anticipation of the movie’s premiere was now at a fever pitch thanks to our “true love story,” which echoed the film’s Cinderella-inspired storyline.

A rags-to-riches story with a fairytale ending. A nobody chosen by a wealthy, highly sought-after man.

As one of the film’s producers, Randy had been nothing less than thrilled by the public buy-in to our off-screen relationship.

He loved to tell the story of how he rescued a struggling actress from poverty and anonymity, presenting himself as a starmaker.

A real-life Prince Charming.

While I’d craved privacy and had sought to protect our new love from invasive attention, he’d been positively triumphant about all the press and was eagerly anticipating a blockbuster opening weekend.

Now I understood.

My face dropped into my hands as my head spun, and my meager breakfast curdled in my stomach.

What a fool I am.

For the first time since her death six months ago, I really was glad my mom wasn’t here.

Today’s event was never meant to be a real wedding but the crescendo of a strategic run-up to a big budget film release.

A PR stunt.

I just wished someone had bothered to tell me.