16. Marina

CHAPTER 16

MARINA

" P lease, baby, come on. We're going home. We'll be okay once we get home. Hush, sweetheart, please."

I'm bouncing her and hushing her, but Lila isn't having it. She's not at all in a mood to be comforted or quiet. All she seems to want to do is scream.

The crew have been gone for half an hour, and Ellis is glaring at me like he can't wait for us to go away and leave him alone. This is such a nightmare.

Much as I love my daughter, babies can be awful when they're like this.

"Come on, baby," I try again, cradling her to my chest, feeling tears pricking at my own eyes. "Let's just get home."

"You can stay here," says Ellis. "If you want to use the nursery, you can. Might be easier."

I shake my head. "Oh, Ellis, thank you but we've already stayed too much this week. We shouldn't take up more of your time."

He shrugs but doesn't move. "I have the space. Lila's comfortable here. I mean, look how much she's screaming to want to stay."

Despite everything, I let out a laugh at that. Ellis can be funny when he tries.

"Honestly," he continues, holding out his hands as if he wants to take Lila. "I insist. Stay the night."

I sigh, unable to argue anymore. After all, he's right. It is easier. And Lila does like her bed here. We've stayed nearly every night this week so far, and it's taken such a strain off us.

I've even managed to get a little more sleep than I usually do.

"Okay, fine. Thank you," I say. Lila launches into a new round of sobbing, like she doesn't understand what's going on at all. I hush her again, with no success.

"There's nothing to thank me for," scoffs Ellis, folding his arms. "If anything, I should thank you ."

"What for? We haven't done anything."

"You've saved me a massive headache," he says with that oh-so-familiar look of confusion squeezed between his eyebrows. "Where else was I going to find a woman and a baby at such short notice?"

I bark a bitter laugh. I know he doesn't mean it how it sounds, but this is coming from the mouth of someone who's spent the last two weeks trying to persuade me that I'm special. I mutter, "Nice to know that's all I'm useful for."

This is the kind of teasing we've been engaging in all week, but it does sting to think that that really is what I'm here for. Without Lila, he never would have asked me at all. Without needing a role filled as fast as possible, I would never have crossed his mind again.

It's stupid, but lately I've felt like Ellis and I have been getting to know each other properly, almost like real friends. Like this whole fake marriage thing could nearly work out. Which is ridiculous because I just would never want to marry someone like him, but there's still part of me that almost wonders what it would be like.

More and more, I keep catching myself thinking about this. Every time I see his face and think about how handsome he is. Every time I notice him smiling at me and Lila. Every time he says something that's accidentally too kind and he stops himself with the kind of frown you do when you're throwing up a mask.

He's decided he has to show everyone a fa?ade of sternness and coldness, but I feel like I'm getting to see the real Ellis, the one underneath all the acts. And it's felt good.

I know that's the whole point of the reality show — to trick people into thinking he has feelings — but I can't help but feel that he actually might. At the very least, he adores Lila. That's something he isn't faking.

"Will you help me?" I ask. "She always seems to settle better when you read to her." His mouth drops open like he's not sure what to say next. I love taking him by surprise like this. It humanizes him. "It's okay if you don't want to."

"No, no," he says quickly. "I'd love to."

"She was like this last night too, when we got home. She just wouldn't settle."

And she's proving my point beautifully still, kicking against me like my arms are the worst place she could possibly be. She must be tired. God knows I'm tired, but I'm a grown-up. I know how to deal with it.

"Have you slept at all this week?" he asks, his mouth a thin, concerned line.

I try to ignore my thumping heart. "Not much — but a little more than usual. But that's just life with a kid."

"Go sit down," he commands. "I'll take care of her."

"Really?" I ask, my brain stalling.

"Really." His voice is so forceful that I can't do anything but accept.

"Okay," I say, the energy sapping from my body.

It should feel strange to entrust my child to this man who, by all accounts, is the least child-friendly man alive. This is a man who is famous for being callous, for hating people and loving business. This is a man who is said to not care about anything or anyone.

But he takes Lila into his arms, and she starts crying at him and snotting all over his shirt — and he still smiles.

Having a kid has done something really wonderful to him. Lila's made him into a real human being. Nobody is ever going to look at him the same after this, though they will probably question whether this is an act. And they'll be wrong.

This kind, loving Ellis is the true one. I'm certain of it.

"Thank you," I say again, then drag my feet through to the living room so I can slump down onto the sofa.

It's just like the first night I stayed over, all over again — Ellis reading Lila to sleep, me sitting on the sofa, trying my hardest to fight the exhaustion and stay awake. And failing.

Tomorrow, it will be two weeks since we started filming. Despite everything, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Ellis to tell us to get lost. But he never has.

So often last week, he seemed in such a hurry to get rid of us, like we were just dead weight to him. Parasites infecting his space. A necessary evil to achieve his aims.

But today, in the other room, I can hear Ellis reading his favorite story: The Chipmunk and the Squirrel. It's one of those charming picture books written in verse about an angry squirrel named Carl, and the chipmunk who he learns to be friends with. I can hear Ellis through the wall doing his particularly funny squeaky voice, and it makes me laugh to myself.

I lean back on the sofa, shut my eyes, listening to the murmurings through the wall, letting relief wash through me in waves that I don't have to do it myself.

The sounds of the story must lull me to sleep too, because when I open my eyes, Ellis is sitting next to me with a bowl of pasta and a glass of wine. "Thank you very much," I say, my mouth dry from the nap. I take the glass from him as he offers it to me. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Not for long," he says, putting his own empty plate down. "And I figured you needed a rest, so I didn't want to bother you."

"Has anyone ever told you how generous you can be?" I ask, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

"Generous?" he scoffs. "Generous? I'm not generous."

"All right," I say, but raise both eyebrows high at him to show that I don't believe a word.

We sit in silence for a while as I start eating, but then I decide I'm not actually done. We're getting closer. And I want to know more about him. "You might not think it, but you are one of the most generous people I know. This asshole act you put on… it's not who you really are. I know that. Why do you keep pretending?"

"I'm not pretending," he says unconvincingly, taking a swig of wine.

"Ellis, there are no cameras now. You don't have anything to prove."

"How did I find you?"

"What do you mean, how did you find me ?"

"How do you make me feel like this? Like you care about me? Like I want to be better. For you."

My mouth drops open again, my lips wavering as I tried to figure out what to say next. I can't think of anything, so I just take my bowl of pasta and start forking it into my mouth. The creamy sauce coats my tongue, filling me with warm satisfaction.

"This is great," I sigh. "Did your chef make this?"

"Yeah, I get pretty much all my meals prepped for me. Tom's a good guy, and a great cook."

I smile. "I can see that. It must be nice to have someone to cook for you."

"You should try it sometime," he says casually, like having a chef is something a normal person can have at all.

"Yeah, right. It's easy when you're a billionaire."

He grins wryly, very nearly in embarrassment, and then I remember that, technically, I'm now a multimillionaire myself.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," I say. "We weren't exactly struggling before — sure, things were tight but I could make rent and eat just fine — but this? Millions? This is going to make such a difference to us. This is more money than I could ever have dreamed of having."

"It's nothing to me." He shrugs.

"Do you ever think about how crazy that is? That a million dollars is nothing to you?"

Ellis's face has flushed slightly, the sharp lines of his cheekbones pink under my interrogation. I guess he doesn't often get made to think about how lucky he is. "My family were always rich. We always had indulgences. I guess I never really thought about it."

"Your parents are gone, aren't they?" I ask, then quickly throw my hands up. "I'm sorry if that's too personal. You don't have to answer."

"No, it's okay," he says, his face falling. "You're right. They're both passed, and we weren't that close anyway."

"Still, it's never easy to lose a parent," I say, reaching out for his hand.

He takes it for a second, squeezes, then pulls away. "I guess not."

I get the sense that the conversation is over, so I decide not to push it any further despite my burning curiosity.

To change the subject, Ellis flicks on the TV, channel-hopping until he stops on a baseball game.

"Sports? Really?" I say.

"I like sports," he says defensively.

"If we have to watch sports, can't we watch hockey?"

"You like hockey?"

I jut out my chin. "I like a lot of things. I just don't like baseball. It's too long, too boring."

"All right, all right. Let's see what they've got."

I smile as he changes the channel. It's not often that he lets me win the argument so easily. Not that it really was an argument. It wasn't heated or upsetting enough to be called that.

"Are we becoming friends?" I ask impulsively.

Ellis just grunts in response. I think that tells me everything I need to hear.