Page 23 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

Where thehellis she?

She didn’t leave a note. No number. No social. No forwarding address.

Just a name I’m pretty sure isn’t real, and a ring thatdefinitelyis.

I grab my phone and start searching for Heavenleigh: Vegas, including stage names, showgirl rosters, and cabaret casts.

It takes two minutes to find Kate, and there are a fuckton of Kate’s.

It takes five to find an article that says “Heavenleigh Kate Riggs,” an up-and-coming country singer. I assume it’s her, but that first name makes no sense.

Perfect. Just perrrfect.

I stare at the empty room, the black ring box, and the bed. The memory of her in my lap, calling me trouble with that cute little smile.

Then I grab the receipt on the desk, the photo, and the marriage certificate, and stuff them in my bag.

Because I don’t know how— yet.

And I don’t know where…But I’m gonna find her.

Meanwhile, my phone buzzes nonstop.

Agent (Call #3):“Pick up, Finn. We need to talk—before TMZ does.”

TMZ (Voicemail):“Finn Callahan, did you really tie the knot in a surprise Vegas Wedding? Fans are losing it. Call us back or we’ll run with what we’ve got.”

PR Buddy:

Bro. Tell me this is fake. If not, CALL ME NOW.

She’s hot. So at least there’s that.

I toss the phone onto the hotel nightstand like it’s a contagious disease, running a hand over my face. I don’tfeelmarried.

But there is a titanium ring on my finger.

Son of a bitch.

I’m so… screwed.

Should I stay? Maybe I should lie low until I know more.

Or, get this annulled before it turns out to be a bad decision.

I look at my watch. The team’s jet leaves in less than an hour. And the guys are already buzzing about parade routes and late-night interviews back home.

I can’t disappear. Not today.

I dress in my wrinkled suit, throw on sunglasses, grab my bag, and head quietly into a hallway full of echoes and the aftereffects of tequila.

My head hurts. My mind is racing, and I have the strangest déjà vu.

It’s like I’m living someone else’s life. Only it’s mine—current time.

If only I remembered more of last night. My head is thrumming, like I ran too many miles. I need oxygen—like a tank of it.

The noise on the plane is deafening. Fuck, even my ears hurt. In fact, everything on me hurts.