Chapter Fourteen

Lena

"I can't tell you enough how happy I am with the ratings of the show," Ms. Deedee gushes as she squeezes my hands. "Why, they're the highest we've ever had."

I manage a sheepish grin.

"And here I thought it would be a disaster." She lets my hands go and holds one palm against her cheek. "I mean it started and ended awfully, what with that accident--Cynthia's all better now, by the way--and how Riley walked out. And I thought you two would be bad together because both of you knew it wasn't real, but people are saying you have real chemistry and they love how honest you are and..."

I shift my gaze to the wall behind her as I stop listening.

Does she really need to tell me all this? Well, I understand that she's happy, and as the 'lead actress' of the program I should be happy, too. But the fact is I wasn't acting. And whatever I've gained, be it popularity or praise or sympathy, I lost more.

Can't Ms. Deedee be sensitive even just this once?

Finally, she ceases her monologue, another producer having called her attention. I watch her go, then let out a sigh as I lean against the wall.

Seriously, I don't know if I can stand another person talking about the show.

"Hey." Paula walks towards me. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," I answer. "And a bit overwhelmed."

"Yeah." She nods. "I can hear quite a number of people talking about the show. All good things, of course."

I shake my head. "I don't care. I just want to forget about it, to forget I was ever on it."

Paula leans on the wall beside me.

"I understand. To all of us, it's a show. To you, it's your life. It's your heart. And Riley broke it. Of course you'd want to forget about it, but that's hard when everyone's talking about it."

"Now I know how celebrity couples feel after breaking up."

She shrugs. "Well, you technically are a celebrity now."

I ignore her. "They must have wanted to move on, but they couldn't because the world wouldn't."

Paula places a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Lena. I'm sure all this will pass. Give it time. In the meantime, just hang in there."

I rest my head against the wall. "I just wish it would hurry up."

She pats my shoulder but says nothing.

"Lena?" I hear Kevin's voice from one end of the corridor.

I straighten up. "Yes?"

"Dan wants to see you," Kevin informs me.

My eyebrows arch. "Dan?"

Which one? The one from the editing department? The reporter? The cast member from the sitcom?

"Danny Thurman," Kevin answers.

It takes me a moment to recognize the name. When I do, my eyes grow wide.

"You mean the Head of Marketing?"

"Exactly. Do you know where his office is?"

I shake my head. I've never been there, or anywhere above the fourth floor.

"Fifth floor," Kevin tells me. "He's expecting you."

I nod, then turn to Paula with a puzzled look.

She shrugs. "Sorry. I don't know what's going on, either."

Okay.

She takes my hand and squeezes it. "Good luck."

I look at her. Does that mean I'm in trouble? Why does she look so scared? It's making me feel nervous.

I draw a deep breath. I have no reason to be nervous. The show was a success and I didn't do anything wrong.

Did I?

I try to think as I ride the elevator to the fifth floor. All I can think is that it must have something to do with the show. Did I say something I wasn't supposed to? Did I violate the contract? Wait. Did they find out that Riley and I had unprotected sex?

Finally, the elevator stops. The doors open and I step out. I find myself in a carpeted corridor lined with doors, all looking identical, much like a hotel hallway.

So this is what the fifth floor looks like.

I stop in front of the door that has Dan's name on it. It's partly open so I peek in and find his secretary busy in front of the computer. She stops typing and arches her eyebrows at me.

"Yes?"

"I'm Lena Hunt." I lift the ID hanging from my neck. "I'm here to see--"

"He's expecting you." The secretary glances at the shut door. "Just go right in."

That's what she says, but I still knock.

"Come in," a man's voice says.

I enter the room and find a stocky man in his mid-forties seated behind his desk. He seems to be going through some documents, but he lifts his head and peers at me through his glasses.

"I'm Le--"

"I know who you are." He gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please sit down."

I occupy the one on my right and wait for him to speak.

When he takes off his glasses and clasps his hands on top of his desk, I hold my breath. Whatever this is, it's serious.

"Lena, I'm sorry to tell you that there's a problem with the show," Dan finally says.

My gaze drops to the chair across me. It's just as I thought.

"Well, not with the show. More accurately, something bad happened on the show. Well, not something bad. More of a mix-up."

I look at him for clarification.

He rubs his temples and sighs. "I should just tell you."

Yes, he should.

"You're still married."

My eyebrows arch. What?

"You and Riley Boyle are still married," Dan explains.

My jaw drops as I get to my feet.

"No way. That's not possible. He signed the divorce papers and so did I."

"Yes, but as it turns out, the divorce papers were fake," Dan says as he tucks his hands beneath his chin.

Fake? I shake my head as I look at him in disbelief.

"It seems they got the ones they used from the set of a soap opera."

No fucking way. So all this time, I've been married to Riley Boyle?

"Mr. Boyle has already been informed," Dan says.

"And?"

"He says he wants to see you," Dan continues. "I'm sure this worries him as much as it worries you. He probably already has legitimate divorce papers ready. You'll just have to sign."

"Oh." My gaze falls to the floor.

Where is this tinge of disappointment coming from?

"Can't he just send them?" I ask.

Dan shrugs. "Maybe he wants both of you to sign them in front of a lawyer to make sure nothing goes wrong this time."

I nod. "That makes sense."

But that means I'll have to see Riley again. Can I do that?

My fingers curl into fists at my side as I take a deep breath. Yes, I can. I can't stay married to him, after all. I have to end this once and for all. Besides, I'm not the one who can't stand seeing him. He was the one who left me, who walked out on the show. Ironically, he's the one who now has to say goodbye to my face.

I almost grin at the thought.

"Everything's understood, then?" Dan asks me.

I nod. "I'm sorry for... reacting so wildly."

And making a fool of myself.

He shakes his head. "I'm the one who's supposed to apologize. And I would like to offer my apology in behalf of the network."

"It's not your fault," I tell him. "Wait. Do Ms. Deedee and Kevin know?"

"Not yet. It was the director, Frank, I was talking to."

I nod.

"As for your reaction, it was only to be expected," he says. "Anyone would be livid finding out they're married to someone by accident, although Riley did seem calm. Then again, he's not the type to have his feathers easily ruffled. It must be a result of all those years of competing in the pool."

Indeed, I can't imagine him freaking out over anything.

"Did you know I wrote a lot of stories about him?" Dan sits back. "Or that I was the one who asked him to be on the show?"

My eyebrows rise again. "You did?"

"I used to be in sports journalism, so I watched a lot of his competitions. And once you watch Riley swim a few times, you become a fan. He does it so well, after all. It's too bad he's retired."

"Do you know why?" I ask curiously. "He wouldn't tell me."

Dan shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. I expect we'll find out soon enough."

I nod.

"Anyway, he said he'll send a car to pick you up at the front gate by six. That's when you get off work, right?"

I give another nod.

He offers me his hand. "I sure hope everything turns out fine."

I give him a hopeful smile. "Same here."

~

A shiny black BMW is waiting for me when I get out of work. A man wearing glasses, a navy blue suit and a black baseball cap opens the back door for me and I enter. All through the ride, he says nothing, his eyes fixed on the road. I sit as still as I can, fidgeting nervously with the edges of my cardigan, my hair and the keychain of my backpack.

I try to think of what I'm going to say to Riley. How exactly do you act towards the person who you thought dumped and divorced you?

Do I put on a smile and pretend I'm alright? Do I act like I don't care anymore? Do I cry and ask him why he left me? Do I lose my temper with him?

I guess that depends on how he treats me. If he ignores me and pretends he doesn't know me anymore, then I'll give him the cold shoulder. But if he apologizes with that tender gaze of his...

I shake my head and the strands of hair wrapped around my finger come undone.

Seriously, I don't know what I'll do if he acts like he did at the house, all sweet and caring. After all, we're still married.

Riley and I are still married.

All day long, I've been struggling to believe it. Weren't we supposed to be a married couple for just a week? Wasn't it supposed to be just this dream that we both woke up from?

I draw a deep breath. There's no use torturing myself with my own thoughts. I should just cross the bridge when I get there.

I glance out the window.

Whenever that is.

After a while, the scenery outside changes. The buildings give way to palm trees, then houses, small ones at first, then large ones.

My eyes grow wide. Isn't this the neighborhood where Hollywood stars live? Where billionaires live?

Don't tell me Riley is a billionaire. Then again, he must be fairly rich from all the cash he won in competitions and all his endorsements. Also, only wealthy people send a car and driver when they want to see somebody.

Finally the car pulls into a driveway past a pair of huge cast-iron gates. When I step out, I find myself staring at a mansion. Light from huge chandeliers spills through the glass walls, illuminating wood and marble. The fountains, one on either side of the front doors, are lit as well, the colors changing every few seconds.

This is where Riley lives? Isn't this house too big for just one person?

Just then, the front door opens and Riley emerges in a midnight blue dress shirt and slate gray pants held by a black leather belt. His dark hair is neatly combed back, but the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. I have to force my gaze away from the patch of skin exposed there and look instead into his ebony eyes, which narrow as his thin lips form a smile.

My stomach flips.

Shit.

"Lena," he greets me as he walks down the marble stairs.

So he's acting like we're old friends, huh? Should I act the same?

"Hello," I manage as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

His gaze travels from my jeans up my shirt to my face. "You look great."

So much for acting like old friends.

"You too." I meet his gaze for just a second before glancing at the house behind him. "And your house looks... amazing."

"Nah." He shrugs. "I prefer our house. I mean, the house we lived in. Without the cameras, of course."

I tense, drawing a deep breath as I try to keep the memories from flooding back.

Don't think about them, Lena. Don't remember...

"How are you?" Riley asks me.

"Okay," I answer nonchalantly. "Busy."

"I know."

My eyebrows go up. What does that mean?

"I mean, you must be a celebrity now," he adds. "You must have a lot of admirers."

I frown. What's up with his attitude all of a sudden?

I want to answer back, but I decide not to pick a fight. This is probably our last meeting, so there's no point arguing.

I go straight to the point. "Danny Thurman spoke to me. He said--"

"I know what he said," Riley cuts me off.

Okay. "So you know... about the... mistake?"

He says nothing.

"That's why I'm here," I tell him. "To make things right."

Riley nods and starts walking up the stairs. "Come with me."

I follow him inside the house, down a corridor lined with glass walls, to a great room with all sorts of expensive looking works of art and furniture, and then up a staircase.

Through it all, Riley says nothing.

Is he mad at me? What did I do?

At the top of the staircase, he turns to the room on the left, then suddenly grabs my hand.

Before I can say anything, he opens the door and leads me inside. As my gaze wanders around, I realize I'm in an office. The walls are lined with shelves and a large desk sits in the middle. Maybe this is where we'll sign the papers?

But then I see the man and woman seated on the leather couch to the right of the desk, the man seemingly in his fifties and the woman in her forties. As they turn their heads to stare at me, I realize that the man looks like an older version of Riley with the same dark hair and eyes.

A lump forms in my throat.

Is this man Riley's father? And the woman with the strawberry blonde hair and those brown eyes scrutinizing me beneath almost non-existent eyebrows his mother?

The plaques on the shelf say 'Harold McAllister', though. Wait. The Harold McAllister? That billionaire business tycoon?

What the hell is going on?

Riley steps forward and pulls me beside him. Then he speaks.

"Dad, Mickey, this is Lena, my wife."