Page 44 of Witch You Would

we’re replacing Doris Twist next season with someone else. Someone younger. Hotter.”

Wow. Just... wow.

“Keep all that on the DL, obviously,” Isaac added.

I nodded. The only person I’d tell was Penelope, because I told her things now.

Except I hadn’t told her about this. There hadn’t been a good time, and it had seemed like some potential far-off thing, and

now I’d had two meetings about it in a week.

What would she say? What would she tell me to do?

Our entrees came only a few minutes after we finished our first course. None of us had gotten soup or salad, apparently. Filet

mignon had sounded appropriately fancy, so that’s what I’d ordered. Both Rick and Isaac got steaks, too, though Isaac’s came

with lobster tails. I didn’t want to think about how much this cost. I wasn’t paying, anyway. Was I? Oh, shit, I should have

asked.

Too late now.

They talked about football and I pretended to care while I ate the best steak I’d ever had.

No wonder my dad brought clients here. Bowls of side dishes sat in the middle of the table for sharing, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fit anything else in my stomach.

As it was, my guts were trying to climb out through my belly button from sheer nerves.

Fake smiles. Fake enthusiasm. Fake appreciation for expensive whiskey. Fake, fake, fake. The whole meal was a Leandro Presto

performance from start to finish, but it was a Leandro I didn’t even like because he let two skeezy dudes think he was one

of them.

Was this a preview of life in LA? Did I really want that life?

Could I afford to turn it down?

A waiter brought the dessert menu, but I said I was too stuffed.

“Take something back to the hotel with you,” Rick said, all mellow smiles and lazy gestures, like a lion who’d just finished

eating a gazelle. “You could give it to your girl, maybe get a little dessert of your own if you play your cards right.”

“Yeah, play those cards,” Isaac said. “Strip poker, ha!”

Thank god Isaac wasn’t staying at the hotel to see us sneaking out of each other’s rooms, or he’d probably make worse jokes.

As it was, his assumptions made me feel like I needed a shower. And not the sexy kind.

Penelope probably would like a fancy dessert, though. I checked the menu and spotted tiramisu. Perfect.

Mary appeared at the same time as the already-packed dessert, ready to take me back to the hotel. Rick stood, shook my hand,

and slapped my shoulder.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said. “Good luck on the last round. Nice work choosing a kids’ charity, by the way. Easy to root for

those. Audiences love them.”

It wasn’t worth explaining anything to him. He wouldn’t get it, and he’d probably think I was a loser for actually caring.

Not everyone in the industry was like this, I told myself as I watched the city pass in a blur of tinted-window golden hour traffic, holding the spelled box keeping the tiramisu cool.

Part of me wanted to call Sam and Ed again, have another bar meeting, but honestly?

The rest of me wanted to forget any of this had happened until the finals were over.

Penelope would want to know where I’d gone. And I wanted to tell her. I just... didn’t know how. Not when she might tell

me to go for it, when it would mean the end of us when we had only just started.

There had to be a solution, and I needed to figure it out fast.

Traffic in the hallway outside Penelope’s room was as bad as Biscayne. PAs heading up to the pool deck or down to the bar,

Liam and Nate talking tech near the ice machine, Amy being dragged to the lounge by Quentin for more piano playing, Dylan

quizzing me on what was in the box. Everyone knew the show would be ending soon, so these last couple of days were like the

time before school let out for the summer, when people were signing yearbooks and swapping contact info and partying their

way out.

Penelope opened her door on the third knock, and I presented the box to her with a flourish and a bow because people were

watching.

“Sweets for the sweet, m’lady,” I said with a grin that was more fake than real, even though I knew she’d be happy.

“Ooh, what is it?” she asked.

“Open it and find out.”

She dragged me inside and closed the door, ignoring a few people whistling in the hallway. After what went down at dinner,

it made me deeply uncomfortable. Maybe I should have stayed outside...

“Tiramisu! My favorite! Well, one of my favorites. Thank you.” Penelope threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. I kissed her back—apparently not enthusiastically enough, because she pulled away.

“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning as she searched my eyes for clues.

“I’m... something.” Staring over the ledge of my life and feeling like I was about to fall instead of flying.

“I’m something, too, but mine can wait. Tell me what happened with Isaac while I eat? Or—”

“Eat, yes.” Where would I even start?

This time, she took the chair at the desk so she could use it as a table, and I sat on the bed, resting my elbows on my thighs.

I needed to rip this revelation off like a bandage, even if I knew it would hurt.

I started with a repeat of why I’d come on Cast Judgment in the first place: charity money, yes, but also publicity and the hope of new advertisers and subscribers and possible job

opportunities. Then I outlined the show offer, leaving out the fake-flirting angle even if it felt like lying by omission.

At first, she was excited for me. Money, fame, money, more money... She knew how big a deal that was. The more I explained,

though, about having to move and travel and possibly give up Mage You Look , the less Penelope ate, until she’d totally abandoned her dessert to watch me with a worried expression.

“That does sound like a lot,” she said hesitantly. “But it all seems like a good opportunity? For your career?”

“Yeah,” I said, smoothing my mustache.

Penelope sat next to me and took my hand. “You do that when you’re nervous.”

“Do what?”

“Mess with your fake mustache.” She laced her fingers through mine. “Do you not... want a show? A bigger-deal one, I mean?”

It had sounded cool when Sam and Ed and I talked about it, way back when my agent—Grandpa Fred’s agent—had first asked whether

I would want to be on Cast Judgment . We’d joked about buying Leandro clothes from nicer thrift shops, replacing our busted coffee table with one that had four

same-sized legs, having good booze instead of paint thinner that had to be mixed with something to be drinkable. A bigger

apartment, new cars, all our student loans paid off. Red carpets, award shows, hiding in bushes from paparazzi.

We’d dreamed, but we hadn’t really expected anything to happen. The idea of me getting an actual show offer was on the same

level as the Cuban retirement plan: buy lottery tickets and hope for the best.

“Gil?” Penelope asked. “Are you worried about your brand or something else?”

So many something elses.

“Do you think you won’t be able to do a good job?” She squeezed my hand. “You’re awesome. You can totally hang.”

She was being so careful not to say anything about us. Was she trying to be supportive, or did she not think we had a future

together? Isaac and Rick definitely wouldn’t want Leandro to have a girlfriend tagging along... not that she was, technically,

since we hadn’t talked about it...

Leandro couldn’t even have a girlfriend!

He wasn’t real! He’d never take Penelope out to eat, or to see a movie, or to sneak-read books at the store because we couldn’t afford to buy them.

If someone saw Penelope with Leandro, and then with Gil, they’d either figure out who I was or they’d assume she was cheating on me. With myself. What a fucking mess.

I shook my head and laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was dark and bitter, like day-old coffee grounds left in the cafetera.

“What are you thinking?” Penelope asked. “You sound... not good.”

I wasn’t. Had I said I was on a ledge? More like I’d dug a pit and fallen into it, and I desperately needed a ladder to get

out.

I thought back to what I’d told Sam and Ed, about having to decide between the future Isaac wanted for me, where all my dating

was fake or secret, or... something else. And I knew, finally, without a doubt, that I wanted something else.

I didn’t want to have some fake life, with or without Penelope. I wanted her. I wanted us. We couldn’t have that with Leandro

standing in the way. He was a problem, and I had to fix it.

A sense of clarity settled on me. The fake dating needed to end. If it did, she and I could be together for real. That was

the solution I’d been searching for. That’s what we had to do.

I let go of her and stood up. “This isn’t working. This thing we’re doing. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.”

Penelope flinched, and her face shut down. “Right. Okay.”

She didn’t get it. “People already think we’re hooking up, and Isaac wants us to keep it up after the show airs, but it’s

going to be a really big problem for us later.” And I wanted a later. I wanted a lot of laters with Penelope. For me, not

Leandro.

“So you want us to stop,” she said.

“I think it’s better if we do, yeah. Before things get worse.”

Penelope blinked, over and over, her face turning red. “I didn’t think it was going that bad.”

“Not yet. But after? We’d have to be so careful, all the time. Sneaking around. Trying not to get caught, so we wouldn’t get dragged on some gossip site.”

She swallowed hard. “I guess. It all seemed easier before, when we first started. But you’re right. It would be a mess. Especially

if you get this show.”

“Show or no show, you deserve better.” I fell on my knees in front of her, grabbing her hands. “You deserve something real.”

“I do,” she whispered. “So do you.”

I kissed her knuckles, feeling relieved. We still had to figure some things out, but this felt like a good first step. She

could be just friends with Leandro, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about weirdness later.

Penelope smiled, and I smiled back.

“You should go,” she said, her voice raw. “So people don’t think, you know . . .”

I extremely had not intended to leave yet, but... “Right. Yes. Good idea.” It was only for a couple of days. We’d have

plenty of time later to be together, in every way I’d imagined and ones I hadn’t yet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, standing up, still holding her hands. “You’ve got your lucky card?”

Penelope nodded.

“Then we can’t lose. Don’t worry. We’ve got this, Jelly Bean.”

I gave her one last kiss on her cheek, quick and sweet, so I wouldn’t be tempted. She walked me to the door without saying

another word.

“Wait,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “There was something you wanted to tell me about?”

“Another time,” she said. “You’ve been in here too long already.”

True. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Sure.”

I was halfway to the elevator before I replayed that one word and realized she had sounded sad. Unless I was imagining things?

Probably stress getting to me. I couldn’t wait for all of this to be over, so we could finally start figuring out our life

after Cast Judgment . Together.