Page 48 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Memes

I pace as I chew on my fingernail. The incessant hum of the TV drones on in my ear, wearing my last nerve. The headline blares across the screen: Bancrofts—Fairy Tale or Fakes?

Three women sit at a curved table, debating my personal life on national television. Like a B-list actress, ex pop-star, and lackluster comedian, are experts.

“The popular gossip column Whisper Wire broke a story that the marriage between real estate heiress Nicolette Atherton and Reginald Bancroft, the future Earl of Silverbrook, have been faking their relationship this whole time. And it’s all for the money.

” Leave it to the actress to state the obvious.

“I run a successful business, too! Who is their fact checker?” I yell at the screen as I search for a contact number at the station.

“Now, Brittani, that’s a bit of a harsh summary.” Thank you, Amber! I always liked her music. “They never claimed to be head over heels in love. How much of this was built up by the media?”

How the hell did this happen?

We’d been careful to curate an image of a happily married couple for the press. Sure. Doesn’t everyone only post the good moments on social media? Every photo, every moment of our relationship has been one hundred percent real.

At least for me…

“Here, suga’, chomp on this and give your poor finger a break,” Anna calls as she pushes a plate across the counter.

Turning my back on the morning talk show, I stomp across the open-concept living room to the adjoining chef’s kitchen that David remodeled when Anna moved into his house.

It really is beautiful. If I wasn’t so fucking stressed, I’d take the time to compliment the way she’s offset the navy lower cabinets with pops of yellow. Antique blue and white china plates hang on the wall in an abstract pattern to balance the homestead touches with modern flair.

Even decor can’t distract my inner voice today.

I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been.

Maybe that’s why I’m so scared.

Lifting the pecan brittle to my mouth, the mix of sweet, crunch, and salt mollifies me slightly.

The only one of our trio missing a sweet tooth, I normally bury my stress in cardio or alcohol rather than Anna’s treats.

None of my normal go-to’s helped today. The apartment felt too quiet and memories of Reginald haunted every corner.

“You never care about what the press says. Why is this upsetting you so much?”

“I don’t need this bad publicity right after the gallery show. It’s going to kill any momentum I’ve built up.”

That’s not the real reason.

I shove another hunk of brittle into my mouth, hoping the loud crunch shuts up the little voice at the back of my head. Even Anna’s homemade salted caramel can’t work miracles though.

You’re worried they’re right. He only married you for the money. He’s never said he loves you. You both pretended so well even you bought the lie.

Hook. Line. And Sinker.

Anna eyes me across the counter, one blond brow arched. “You sure about that?”

“What else could it be?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No.” I avoided the thirty-odd calls from him. Yes, I am aware that is not the most mature response. I need time. Time to gather my thoughts. Time to shove all these feelings into a box far in the back of my heart.

She hums noncommittally but thankfully drops it as she measures out ingredients for her next round of stress baking .

The only sound is the continued debate on the talk show. They’ve moved on to reading out social media posts about us. #ReginetteGate is trending.

Yay.

“Here.” Anna dumps out the concoction she’s made onto the floured surface with a plop. “Kneading dough is good for stress. Have a whack.”

As I take my frustration out on the dough, Anna dusts off her hands and picks up her nearby iPad. “Whoa.”

“What?” Her chocolate eyes dart from the screen to me, like she’s unsure what to say. “Come on, Anna. What is the picture?”

Her freckled nose wrinkles up adorably. “You remember that meme where the thief is looking at Rapunzel?”

My mind goes completely blank. “Huh?”

Her brows pinch as she stares at the screen again. “How about the one about that El Dorado movie?”

The ball of dough slams onto the counter with a hard thud. “What the fuck are you talking about, Anna?”

She sighs. “It looked a whole lot like that.” She slides the tablet across the island so it faces me.

Filling the screen is a photo of Reginald and me at the Red Hearts Gala. I’m looking off camera, smiling at someone. Reginald stands next to me, arm wrapped around me with one hand possessively splayed along my ribs. Instead of joining in the conversation, he stares at me, eyes filled with longing.

“The point of the meme, is that we wish so hard that someone would look at us like that, because we’re too busy looking away to notice when they do.”

Hope flares in me. Timid and fragile, but real.

“RoyalRobin13 says ‘you can’t fake this’, a laughing Reginald Bancroft is definitely a new look for the previously gruff bachelor,” reads Amber on the TV. The screen shows another shot of Reginald and me from that night, capturing the moment I made him laugh on the red carpet.

The next picture is from the same event, a posed picture on the red carpet. “‘Fake, fake, fake. Please cancel them’, says BrightonWay4. I completely agree,” Brittani chirps.

A candid some paparazzi shot while we were walking downtown in New York shows next. Reginald’s arms overflow with shopping bags he insisted he’d carry himself. We were both starving, so I held up a hot dog for him to bite as we smiled with chipmunk cheeks. It had been a fun day .

“I’m sorry, Brittani,” Amber interrupts, “but I completely disagree. There’s no way even professional actors can be this on 24-7 and there are plenty of candids exactly like this. Everything I’ve seen points to a happy and healthy couple.”

They launch into another round of debate. No longer able to take it, I grab the remote and turn it off with a groan, shoving another square of brittle into my mouth. It does little for my mood.

Anna comes closer and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You don’t need to be strong all the time, Nic. I get that there are things you’re not ready to tell us, but I hope you can tell someone.”

My mind immediately goes to Reginald. How easy it is to open up to him.

How much he understands me. How the unending loneliness dissipates with him.

I’m scared if I let the walls down completely—if I let him all the way in—he’ll have the power to break me.

I never want to feel the heartbreak I felt in my childhood again.

You already do. The voice whispers. You’ve never stopped feeling alone.

“What if he leaves?” I whisper.

My cell phone vibrates on the counter, a harsh interruption to the quiet moment. Reginald’s name flashes across the screen.

“What if he doesn’t?” Anna asks. The phone buzzes a couple more times, then falls silent again. “So, are you in or out?”