13. Ellis

CHAPTER 13

ELLIS

L ila is having a nap when Simon approaches us with his next great idea.

"Date night," he says.

"What?" I say, thinking I must have misheard.

He says it again slowly, like I'm stupid. "We want you to have a date night. Together. You know, as a couple?"

"Why?" I say, outraged.

The director's face darkens. "It's been going so well with Lila lately, so we would love to get a bit more on you and Marina, all right? You know, the life behind the famous face, that kind of thing. What would you say is a typical date night for you?"

Marina and I share a panicked look.

One of us needs to say something and quickly, but we both flounder. This is something we forgot to prepare. We were so busy worrying about the baby, we forgot we were meant to be married.

"We like to have a quiet night," says Marina quickly, plastering a very fake smile over her face. It doesn't cover the concern behind her eyes. "We're usually just so busy all day. Sometimes, once Lila is down, it's nice to just sit and have a meal with candles, nice music, good food. Stuff like that. Just spend some real time together."

I throw her a look, glad that she said something. A quiet night isn't exactly my idea of fun, but I guess if we go out to a restaurant, at least I won't have to think about anything. It's about as inoffensive as it can get.

"Great," says Simon, clearly without meaning it. "I'll get some childcare organized for Lila, all right? Then later this afternoon, that's what we'll do. Dinner date."

"Great," echoes Marina, down to the sour expression. It looks like she wants to go on a fake date with me as much as I want to go with her — which is to say not at all .

Lunch comes and goes, and I try to sneak off to my room to hide from everyone, only to get swept into a conversation with one of my accountants who tells me that the news of us filming the show has broken, and already we're seeing an uptick in sales.

Finally, some good news.

The afternoon starts with a bustle of everyone packing up to go, babysitters coming to watch Lila, and the makeup artist touching us up before we leave. This filming business is way more effort than it looks. Actors must be insane to want to do this.

I don't know how the production team manage it — probably with a lot of money — but when we finally get out of the apartment, we get driven to the highest-rated Italian restaurant in the city, and nobody else is there at all.

"The place is booked out just for us," Simon tells us as we step inside. "They've agreed to give us everything we need."

"Nice," I say, and for a change I mean it.

Marina snaps her mouth shut, realizing that she's been gawping at the place. She clasps her hands together in front of her, her eyes wide as she absorbs the high-end décor. They've put her in a date dress, something flashier than she usually wears, and the loose fabric of the skirt shows off her legs, while the neckline reveals more cleavage than I've ever seen.

It's hard not to stare.

We get seated at the table, and a waiter scampers over with menus. Around us, some of the runners and other members of the crew have sat at some of the other tables to make it look like other people are actually here.

Later, I should check that they got all their meals on the house.

"What can we get you to drink?" asks the waiter, a red-haired kid who can't be older than twenty-two, even if his acne is screaming sixteen.

"Name your finest champagne," I say. "Tonight we're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?" asks Marina, frowning at me.

I catch her eye and say, softly, "You and me."

She lets out a tiny gasp, and I look away. Profits must have done something to my head, because that was dangerously close to letting out a real feeling for a woman I'm supposed to be doing nothing but acting with.

"Okay," she says, hiding her blush behind the menu. "It looks fancy here. What's good? I assume you've been here before?"

"I assume you haven't."

"This is way outside my price range," Marina scoffs before clamping her mouth shut again, like she just said something she wasn't supposed to.

I decide not to push it. "Any of the pastas are usually good, though I'm feeling the risotto."

"I do like risotto," she says with that forced smile I'm becoming so familiar with.

"And," I add, "we'll get some garlic bread to share." It isn't a question. What kind of Italian meal is it if you've not got any garlic bread?"

"Good," grins Marina, her face softening. "Anything with garlic is the best."

I nod in firm agreement. "If I could shake the hand of the person who invented garlic bread, I would."

She catches my eye again, and despite the cameras looming over our shoulders, the world seems to fade out around us, like nothing else matters. It's only because we've spent every second of the day together all week, but this very nearly passes for time to ourselves. And it very nearly feels good.

It can never feel natural with everyone watching, but for a second I lose myself in the fantasy that it is just us. That that smile is for me, and not for show.

"I guess you must come out to places like this a lot," Marina says.

I shrug. I can hardly admit to her that I have no friends worth speaking to, so I say, "I go out with business interests relatively often. Clients like when you wine and dine them. But other than that, not too much. I can only see the point of going into restaurants with other people. It's sad on your own."

"Yeah, me too," says Marina, her eyes glittering under the chandelier. "That's why I never go out."

"That can't be true." It comes out too forcefully, more like I'm chastising her than expressing my surprise.

She shrugs, her eyes darting around the room. "Turns out friends are hard to keep when you're too busy to do anything because you've got a baby."

"Yeah, but you're young and beautiful and kind. Why would anyone not want to hang out with you?" I say, then reach for the water just to do something with my hands because that was far too complimentary. It was far too honest.

If I'm not careful, she's going to realize that I do feel more than a passing indifference towards her. And it's not going to be reciprocated at all.

Marina's mouth drops open, and she reaches for her drink too. "You think I'm beautiful?"

I fumble to recover my cool, and say whatever's in my head. Which turns out to be a stupid thing to say. "I mean, you did give us one of the worst interviews I have ever seen, but yes, I would have considered hiring you if you hadn't said anything, because you did look good."

"You can't hire people for their looks, Ellis. What century are you from?"

I shrug. "It's not the only thing, obviously, but I do run a company called Beautiful Fitness. Looks do kind of come into my consideration, and you did score well on that one."

"Shame I messed the rest of it up, then. I could have really done with some of those benefits."

"You won't have to struggle anymore," I say firmly, clenching my fists to stop myself from bringing them down on the table. "I'll make sure of it."

She blinks at me like she can't believe what she's hearing, and maybe it is ridiculous to say, but she doesn't deserve to struggle. Nobody does. I might not like other people very much, but I don't want them to suffer.

I want Marina to be happy more than anything.

It's not the first time that thought has occurred to me, and it isn't getting any less alarming. I think I might really be attracted to her. I think it might be becoming a problem.

"You're a good man," she says softly. "Why do you let people get the wrong idea about you?"

"They don't," I say, forcing my face back into a neutral expression. There's been far too much emotion today already. "I am exactly the man everyone thinks I am."

"That's not true, though. I've seen you with Lila. I've seen you with me . People say such awful things about you. Why do you let them?"

"No publicity is bad publicity." I take a swig of my drink, hoping it will magically transport me out of here.

"Is everything really just about business with you?"

For a second, I think I might be about to answer her honestly, but then the waiter comes to save me, shattering the moment. "Champagne, sir, madam. Are you ready to order?"

"I'll have the mushroom risotto," I say, not even glancing down at the menu. I sit up straight, giving off an air of confidence as I try to cover for the fact I always get the same thing.

"I'll have whichever pasta you recommend," says Marina, refusing to commit to a decision.

The waiter nods as he writes it down. "Okay, surprise pasta it is. Anything else?"

"A side of garlic bread," I say.

Marina thanks the waiter as he takes the menus from us, and I do too, which earns me another look from her.

I don't like that she's seeing a different me. I know that's the whole point of this, but I've held on to my reputation for so long that someone peering through the cracks of the fa?ade feels like being torn open and examined.

"I'm surprised you don't to go out to eat more often," Marina says, picking up the conversation again. I tense, not fully wanting to carry it on. "I'd have thought you'd have so many friends to go out with, your calendar would always be full.

I shrug. Forcing myself not to frown, I say, "Friends are hard to keep when you're always busy."

To my relief, she spares me from the but you're rich! Rich people have loads of friends! comment that I can see bubbling on her tongue.

There's no way that she can understand how I've spent my whole life focused on nothing but my career. I have nothing outside my work. I've never had time for it.

All the friends I do have are vapid or colleagues. I haven't had an honest conversation in years.

Not before Marina.

"Anyway," I say, firmly changing the subject, "shall we?"

I pop the cork off the bottle and pour the fizzing champagne into her glass. "To success," I toast, holding my glass up. "To you and me."

"To you and me," she echoes, clinking her glass against mine and looking deep into my eyes.

I don't look away.

Does she feel it too? This whisper inside, this force that's trying to pull us together? It's clawing inside my chest, wanting to make me confess to her, to tell her more than that she's beautiful. To tell her that I want to be here with her and I'm glad we found each other.

This was never meant to be real. But as she sits across from me in the low lighting, her cheeks pink and lips drawn into an exquisite smile, the ache of loneliness that I've been feeling wails inside me, and I wish that this was real.

I wish this wasn't for show.

I can barely bring myself to think it, but I don't hate being Marina's fake husband.

In fact, I almost wish she could be my wife.

We've definitely been acting more like a couple this week, ever since the painting. Something between us has clicked, and it's easier to get along with her now. I find myself saying things I barely even knew I could.

At what point does pretense become real?

At what point am I going to fall in love with Marina, with no return?