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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LENA

I just want one day without Decker. Is that too much to ask?

Mixing some self-tanner into my vanilla lemon lotion, I pray it’ll overpower the unpleasant scent of the fake tan.

I’ve been slacking on my self-care lately, which means I haven’t made time for my typical bronzing spray.

As I wait for it to dry, I text Joss—my best friend since forever and the only person who has a knack for keeping me calm in situations like this—for the fiftieth time today, desperate to tell her about what my mom and Antonia have tasked me with.

Even if I can’t let her in on the full secret, according to my contract.

I stare at my screen, hoping she’ll finally respond.

She’s notorious for opening texts and never replying.

After text number fifty-one—okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration—it becomes clear I won’t be hearing from her anytime soon.

Sighing, I drop my phone to the counter.

Folk music drifts from a bluetooth speaker nearby as I hum along and dig through my makeup kit, my fingers already caked in the shimmery residue that coats everything inside this pink bag.

Despite the fact that my Vista City home has ample space and a smattering of full vanities spread throughout the three floors—just a few of the reasons it’s one of my favorite properties—I still find myself crawling onto my bathroom counter and into my sink to get ready.

It’s a habit I formed when I started wearing makeup in middle school, and I can’t bring myself to break it.

Something about it is comforting. These days, it’s refreshing to be granted a little time to myself, even if it isn’t long.

I revel in the moments I can step away from everyone and be alone, but now that I have Decker, those are practically nonexistent.

An ethereal song echoes through the marble-tiled room.

It’s haunting, beautiful, the type of song I wish I’d written.

I itch to step up a third and harmonize—something I rarely get to do as a solo act.

Giving in to the urge, I let my hum swell into something more.

Singing centers me enough to flawlessly apply my eyeliner on the first try.

I release my bangs from their Velcro roller, still miffed by the bleached chunks that flank my fringe.

I wonder what my mom would say if I showed up at our next meeting with pink ones instead, or if I went absolutely feral and cut them out.

A twisted satisfaction unfurls at the thought.

My aesthetic is something that’s been fine-tuned throughout the years.

However, as much as I’d love to watch her lose her mind, bringing any attention to myself outside of my fake relationship is the last thing I need.

When the playlist ends, I reach for my phone just as a notification rolls onto my screen.

I deflate when I see Joss is still MIA. It’s an email alert.

Something new from Antonia. My eyes roll out of my head when I open it.

It’s an outline of ideas for my “candid” photo shoot today.

Something she cooked up to help Decker and I “soft launch” our relationship and to ensure we have plenty of coupley photos once we go full-public with this stunt.

A bitter laugh bursts from my lips. This is the farthest thing from candid.

This much meddling makes everything I do feel so counterfeit.

Sometimes it feels almost yucky how contrived half my life is.

And yet, people believe it. And I benefit from it.

When Antonia gives me the go-ahead, and I scatter all these meticulous breadcrumbs across social media, I know my followers will gobble them up.

I know Antonia’s plan will work—they always seem to be foolproof—and I know everyone online and in the media outlets will collect these bite-sized nuggets of information and speculate until I fully launch—aka: “hard launch”—my fauxmance with Decker. It’s all so perfect. Too perfect.

A second later, I get a text from my mom. In true Blythe Lukowski fashion, she’s stepping into Antonia territory with a few photo suggestions of her own to inspire Decker and me. Three dots appear, and then her text pops onto my screen.

Momager

Remember, the goal of today’s post is to merely get people talking. Don’t give away that it’s Decker just yet. No face, no jersey, nothing too specific to him. Antonia says we need to drive up speculation until you’re trending online. I had a few things in mind. Standby.

As if Antonia needs any help doing her job, screenshots of other people’s couples’ photos populate our text exchange one after the other, and I quickly mute our chat. What happened to the whole “this is why we have employees” thing?

I glance at the time. Decker should be here any minute.

Something deep inside me flips. Whether it’s my heart or guts, or nerves, I’m not sure.

I feel so completely out of touch with myself lately, but the thought of Decker—despite how insufferable he can be—does something to me.

Leaning over the sink, I check the blend of my blush and wipe a smudge of berry lip gloss from the edge of my mouth.

Then I check my teeth. I tell myself it’s definitely because I’ll have a camera in my face soon and definitely not because Decker will be in my house in a few short minutes.

If I have to pretend with someone, at least he isn’t bad looking.

In fact, he’s pretty cute, if you’re into that giant, beefy kind of thing.

Despite having a relatively attractive partner for this whole ruse, after my breakup with Callum, I wish I didn’t have to pretend at all.

I wish I were far, far away from anything to do with falling in love—even if it’s the pretend kind.

A spore of hope sprouts on my moldy, out-of-commission heart.

What if everyone has already forgotten about the whole King’s Music Hall thing?

What if I no longer have to pretend that Decker Trace has— barf —captured my heart?

To see if my wishful thinking is more than a simple fantasy, I do some online searching.

First, I enter Allister King’s Music Hall.

All I find are articles about “rebuilding the historic dressing rooms,” and not far below is every single article Antonia read to me last week in my mom’s office.

My fingers type at their own accord, and I check on Gable’s Restaurant and Lounge.

In the photos, its back wall is still in shambles, but luckily, the owner was cleared of the insurance fraud he’d been accused of when the place he’d been trying to sell for months went up in flames.

I click the screen off before I can read any more.

I never meant for someone to get accused of a felony, but I also never thought throwing a drink—okay, a bottle—at someone would spark such a dramatic fire.

And while I’m on the subject of improbabilities, I never expected Callum to be unfaithful to me either.

When I showed up in his dressing room that night, ready to forgive him, I was convinced he’d take me back.

Instead, Callum laughed and doubled down on the sentiment that we were never a good match.

As if his words didn’t sting enough, he said he worried for my sanity that I still hadn’t come to terms with it.

An overwhelming weight presses down on me as that night replays in my head.

The next thing I type is not something I’m proud of.

I wish I were a stronger person. If I were, maybe Callum Porter’s most recent comings and goings wouldn’t be filling my search screen.

My stomach sinks as I scroll through. Instead of whisperings of our “reconnection” and our “hot night at Kings”—though those articles are present—what I see is speculation.

Speculation about some girl he’s been seen out with.

A girl who remains nameless. Only a picture of him sitting across from some blonde, gazing into her eyes—a blonde who has her back to the camera, of course—in a way that makes my chest feel like someone has taken an ice pick to it.

I instantly miss the way he used to look at me.

The ice pick lodges deeper. Is this her?

Is this the girl he left me for? The one he cheated on me with?

A burning fury overcomes me, and before I can think twice, I’m logged into Instagram, uploading a photo, and clicking post. If Callum was working on a soft launch of his newest conquest, then I’ll soft launch harder.

Thirty seconds later, large, mottled gray eyes stare back at me.

Princess is incredibly photogenic. Within seconds, comments start flooding the photo.

They all say the same thing. Heart emojis, dog emojis, a few words here and there about how cute she is, and then I find the one that sparks the kind of speculation I was hoping for, the kind of theories Antonia and my mom were wanting to garner from my photo shoot today.

But I’ve taken matters into my own hands and expedited the process.

Everyone online is speculating about my ex, why not me too?

It’s my turn to show that I’ve moved on. Kind of.

I chew my lip, scrolling through the comment section as people reply to one another.

LuxLuver365: So cute!! You got a dog?!

SadGirl_247: Call me a weirdo, but as soon as I heard Decker Trace and Lena might be a thing I started following him on here too. This is def his dog.

LenaLux4Lyfe: I second this. I only follow Decker because of the rumors. Can confirm it’s his pup, she’s the only thing he posts about. Her name is Princess.

LuxLuver365: LENA, ARE YOU TELLING US WHAT I THINK YOU’RE TELLING US??? EEEE!!! I’M LITERALLY DYING OVER HERE!

Listenin2Lena: Lena deserves the kind of man who has a soft spot for animals. And the dog is SOOO CUTE too!

LenaLux4Lyfe: She’s cute but have you seen HIM?!