14. Marina

CHAPTER 14

MARINA

T he director has been desperately trying to make it look like we're engaged and active parents, always looking out for our child, always taking her on fun excursions. We've been so busy over the last few days that I'm surprised Lila isn't wailing her head off.

It's the life I want for her — a busy one with loving parents. It's not something I've always been able to give her.

And this isn't the way I want to give it to her. I hate the idea of her growing up and being watched.

As we walk through the park together, I grip the handle of the stroller so hard my knuckles turn white. I'm certain candid photos will be all over social media later, paired with rumors about who I am, where I've come from, why we've got a baby, when we got together. And I'm sure there will be plenty of people who doubt that this is the truth.

I know it can't be stopped, and yet I still don't like the way everyone's looking at us.

Ellis glances over at me. "You okay?"

"I just don't like feeling watched," I mutter, staring down at Lila in the hope that that will make me feel better.

"You get used to it eventually,"

I frown. "Yeah, and you've had loads of time to get used to it."

He shrugs. "You agreed to this."

"I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

"It'll be over soon enough," he says, his words far less reassuring than he thinks they are. "Then you'll never have to see me ever again. Then the public will forget about you, and you can live just the way you want."

"It doesn't work like that," I mutter.

The issue with TV is that it's forever. Even years from now, I'm still going to be known as Ellis's fake wife. I'm always going to be a scandal.

"Hey, you were the one who agreed to be my wife," he says.

I meet his eye, and, against all my better judgment, the twinkle I find there makes my heart flutter. Despite everything, it's getting harder to see how my life looks without Ellis. Despite everything, I keep seeing the way he cares, and it's doing something dangerous to my feelings.

"Just relax," he says. "There's no point in worrying about what anyone else thinks. They'll think it anyway."

"I guess," I shrug. "You probably think I'm being stupid, don't you?"

"No," he scoffs. "You're not stupid."

"Do you think so?" I snap bitterly. The cameras burn as hot as the public's eyes on the back of my neck, and tears start stinging my eyes. It's the exhaustion talking, I'm sure of it.

Being sure isn't making it any easier.

"Hey," says Ellis, his face softening into that concerned frown that just melts me down. "You really think you're nothing special, don't you?"

I don't reply. There's no answer I can give.

His frown deepens. I would give anything to know what he was thinking. "Just stop putting yourself down, okay?"

"Okay," I agree quietly. It's not a promise I think I can keep.

But he thinks I'm special. And I believe he means it. Does he know what he's doing to my heart?

I reach into Lila's stroller, looking away from Ellis to try and change the subject to anything else. At least Lila is something I understand. She doesn't have all the weight of life on her yet. She hasn't had time to develop self-esteem issues or worry about how she's going to make it through the week.

She's still perfect. I wish I could keep her that way forever.

She nestles into my hand, almost like she's trying to breathe me in, and the feeling of her breath on my skin calms me. I run my thumb over her cheek and smile when she grins, her big, brown eyes gleaming up at me.

We keep walking, the sun shining, the leaves on the trees green and luscious, the gravel on the path crunching cinematically beneath our feet. This day could only get better if it were just the three of us.

The cameras aren't exactly easy to ignore when they keep poking over our shoulders and getting in our faces.

We turn a corner and head past a couple of women. One of them says, far less quietly than she probably realizes, "Oh my God. That's Ellis Whitlock — look."

All her friends turn to look, and one of them whispers loudly, "Oh my God! Who's that he's with?"

I tense again, pretending I haven't seen them, and, almost like a reflex, I reach out to grab Ellis's hand. It's big and warm, and he squeezes mine in return. It's almost enough to make me feel safe.

The women gossip the whole time as we pass them. It's impossible to tell if they know we can hear them or not, but if they do, they're utterly shameless as they speculate on Ellis's dating life and make judgments on me. He seems not to hear them at all, not reacting or flinching like I am, but I can feel the tension he's carrying.

He might act like an ass, but he is human too.

We march quickly past them, but it's not until we're out of earshot and we breathe out and slow down that I realize he hasn't let go of my hand.

A warm rush floods down my arm. It's been a long time since I held anyone's hand, and Ellis's slots into mine like it was always meant to.

The uncomfortable feeling of affection rises in me again, and I try my best to stamp it out. It's not fully working.

I can't ignore the thought anymore, the one that's been bubbling up inside me all week. It hits me square in the chest. I'm going to miss this when it's over, despite everything.

What a stupid thought to have.

I haven't enjoyed the acting or the cameras or the work in any way, and I hate the knowledge that Lila's about to be brought up under the leering eye of strangers casting their judgments on me and Ellis.

But I can't deny that it's been nice to have someone to help with Lila. It's nice to feel like all the burden has been taken off me for a change.

It's funny how things happen. How quickly you can see someone one way and then realize that you are completely wrong — almost overnight. How you can grow to like someone you never thought twice about before.

How you can almost grow to love them.

I don't want to speak anything into existence. It's already bad enough that I'm feeling some affection towards Ellis. I'll be damned if it turns into anything else.

At least the camera crew will be getting some useful footage of us today, because we actually look like a real family. Like Lila really could be our baby and we could, in fact, care about each other as we walk hand in hand through the park, chattering inanely.

I have to keep reminding myself what this is for. At the end of the day, I'm doing everything I do for Lila. Nothing else matters.

"I wish she was old enough to go on the swings," says Ellis out of nowhere. "They're the best part of the playground."

I shrug, unable to dispute him. "Yeah," I concede. "Swings are the best. We can go and see if the baby swing is available."

"Babies can swing?" he says, blinking in surprise, and I laugh at him again. He bristles, pushing his shoulders back and drawing my gaze to his neck, his sharp, clean-shaven jawline.

"You really are clueless, aren't you?" I ask with a smile, and before he can answer, I tug on his hand. "Come on. Let's find the swings."

We're in luck when we get there, because there aren't many other children in the playground. I pick Lila up out of the stroller, and I don't know who is more excited at the sight of the swings — her or Ellis.

He holds out his hands to take her, and I give Lila to him with a smile. He cradles her to his chest and carries her over. I roll the stroller across to a bench and sit down to watch them.

Ellis carefully places Lila into the swing and gives her a tentative push. She screeches for joy, staring up at him as if to demand he keeps going. And he does.

Like this, it's easy to see a father and his baby, the sun shining on them, the birds singing in the trees. He is the most relaxed he's ever seemed, a looseness in his limbs, a gentleness in his touch that is worlds away from the Ellis that everyone thinks they know. This is the Ellis that he lets out, just for me and my daughter.

He's right. It does make me feel special.

And when he looks up at me, over my daughter's laughing head as she swings to the sky, and smiles at me…

I want this happiness for him, but most of all, I want it for me too. I want this moment to last forever.