32. Fabricated

32

Fabricated

Auston

Things are going great with Emma, and I’m happy. Truly happy. And I’m eager for what’s to come. I’m even more excited for this movie shoot to be over so I can spend all my time with her. We’ve been running scenes in soundstages most of the week, and I can’t wait to be back on Warlington Lane.

Once the day’s shoot is over, I head back to my apartment, stopping at the Japanese place on the ground floor of my building to grab some dinner. Emma and the girls are doing one of their Instagr am lives for the bookstore tonight, and I didn’t want to be in the way.

I’m waiting for my order when Madison appears next to me, a take-out bag in her hand.

“Hey,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. “What are you doing here?”

“My apartment’s upstairs. What’s your excuse?” I ask, turning away to roll my eyes. Yes, she has dialed it down a little, probably sensing that my relationship with Emma is more than just a fling. But she still seems to pop up everywhere I go. I bumped into her at the cake shop when I was ordering Emma’s birthday cake, and again a few days ago after a meeting downtown.

“Just thought I’d stop to get dinner on my way home.”

“Great. Well, have a good night.”

My name is being called, so I grab my order and rush out of the store, Madison on my tail. I hold the door for her, and she places a hand on my forearm. “Thank you. Such a gentleman.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again, ready to proceed with my evening, but she starts walking in the opposite direction, and we bump heads.

“Ouch,” she says, massaging her forehead.

“Crap. I’m sorry,” I say, a jolt of worry coursing through me as I meet her eyes. As much as Madison can be a royal pain, I don’t actually want her to suffer. Especially not because of me. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.” She winces. “Do I have an awful bump?”

Of course that’s what she’d worry about. I lean in closer and examine her forehead. “No, you’re good.”

“Phew,” she says, leaning against me. “Disaster averted.”

“Right.” My eyebrows shoot up, and I clear my throat loudly. “Well, I gotta go. See you soon.”

She flashes me a bright smile. “Bye, Auston.”

As soon as I’m home, I slump onto the couch and turn the TV on, scrolling through the streaming offerings until I land on an interesting Broadway play. A jolt of excitement hits me. I’ve always loved theatre, and this sounds like the perfect night to take in a performance.

But the more I watch the actors bustling across the stage, the more I wish I could be the one standing up there, performing for an enraptured audience. I’ve always been happy doing movies, and for a long time, I thought that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. But theatre has always been at the back of my mind. Acting in front of a live audience night after night is riskier, but it’s also more thrilling.

Strangely, the imposter syndrome I usually get when I imagine myself on a stage doesn’t hit this time. I would normally shut my hopes down right away, telling myself that theatre is for real actors. Tha t I could never do it. That I don’t have what it takes. But this time, I’m honestly considering the idea. Because it would be the perfect scenario for Emma and me, allowing me to keep acting while being near her. For once, I’m not driven by my fears, but by the possibility of a bright future. By my dreams. We haven’t talked about it yet, but with the movie shoot ending soon, that conversation is inevitable. I would never ask her to uproot her life now that she’s finally found a home again, but I can.

When I wake up, my phone screen shows hundreds of notifications, including ones from popular tabloids, and my stomach sinks. What now?

I also have missed calls from Robyn and my mom. Suddenly, I’m very awake. I unlock my phone and check the first tabloid article. A bunch of pictures of Madison and me flood my vision with the headline, “Lovebirds Back Together!”

Rage creeps up to my neck as I read the sensational piece. Heaving a deep breath, I take a closer look at the pictures. They were taken yesterday outside the Japanese place. In one of the shots, I’m holding the door for Madison, and she’s all smiles. In the next, she has her hand resting on my forearm. In another, we’re standing painfully close as I check her forehead. Scrolling down, I land on more pictures from different days. Madison and me talking when we bumped into each other at the cake place—and looking a lot closer than we actually were.

Dang it. Emma.

I try her phone, but she doesn’t pick up. Of course she doesn’t. This looks bad. Really bad. Anyone would jump to conclusions. The truth is, Madison played me.

I literally jump into my pants before throwing on the first shirt I can find and bolting out the door.

Emma

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying my morning coffee, when an image of Auston pops up on my feed. Actually, it’s one of Auston and Madison. They’re standing close, her hand resting on his arm. I frown, swallowing the lump growing in my throat as I read the catchy headline. “Auston Buckley and Madison White finally back together. More pics in the article.”

All the blood in my body seems to drain as I click on the picture and wait for the article to load. All the while, I resist the urge to bang my fist on t he table so I don’t wake the girls.

At last, the article fills my screen, and the writers didn’t lie. They do have more pictures. Lots more. Taken on different days, since Auston and Madison are wearing different outfits. I examine each shot, my heart clenching. What is this? Could he really be sneaking around with her? After everything that’s happened, the entire ploy to fake-date me just so she would leave him alone? This makes no sense.

I read the rest of the article, and it claims that Auston was dating someone else in desperate hopes that Madison would finally notice him and take him back.

What on earth?

As compelling as the story sounds for an outside audience, I’m not buying this. Not one bit.

“Hey,” Hayley mumbles, yawning as she shuffles into the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head as I bring my gaze back to the screen.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” She pulls up a chair next to me. “You’re wearing your pissed-off Emma look.”

I glance at her. “Really?”

Her eyes fall to my phone, and the pictures of Madison and Auston on display. “Wait. No!” she yells.

“Hey!” Alice calls from her r oom. “Some of us are sleeping.”

“Sorry,” Hayley calls back. “But you’d better get your butt in here. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“No, we don’t.” I set down my phone. “This is fabricated. I know it.”

Alice rushes into the kitchen with a frown. “What’s going on? Where’s the fire?”

“Well, maybe there isn’t one,” Hayley says, wincing. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“There isn’t,” I confirm, taking a sip of my coffee.

Alice sits down across from Hayley and shoots her a questioning glance.

She explains, “There are some compromising pictures of Madison and Auston, but apparently, they’re fake.”

“What?” Alice grimaces. “Let me see.”

I reluctantly hand her my phone, and she almost brings it to her nose to scrutinize the pictures. “Nope. Definitely not photoshopped.”

“As if you’re an expert,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And I’m not saying the pictures themselves are fabricated. More the situation.”

“I don’t know,” Alice says as her eyes roam the article. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Positive.” I nod with resolv e. And I mean it. Auston would never do this to me. “She’s been after him for a while. This is just another lame, desperate attempt to get him to buy in.”

“You might be right,” Alice says, handing me back my phone.

“I know I am. How many times have we seen this happen in books, huh? The infamous Miscommunication trope that breaks the couple up.”

Both Alice and Hayley shiver. Yeah, it’s the number one most-hated trope in this household.

“I’m not going to be that girl,” I say, locking my screen. If Madison thinks she’s getting to me with this pitiful scheme, she has no idea who she’s dealing with. Auston and I waited ten years to finally be together. It’ll take a lot more than a little tabloid scandal to separate us again. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll call Auston.”

“You go, girl,” Hayley calls after me. “See? I knew you were the perfect romance-novel heroine.”

With a shake of my head, I march to my room, a smile spreading on my face.

I drop my phone on my bed, then step into the bathroom to get ready. When I return to my room, showered and dressed for the day, I have ten missed calls from Auston. Frowning, I call him back, a nd he answers on the first ring.

“Emma, it’s not what you think,” he says in a reckless tumble of words, out of breath. “She manipulated everything. I swear.”

“Are you running right now?”

“I am,” he says. “I’m here, actually. In front of your apartment.”

“What!” I rush to the window and see him standing at the base of our building, catching his breath. “I’ll be right down.”

I hurry downstairs and swing the door open. He lunges forward to close the space between us, clutching my hands. “I’m so sorry. It’s all Madison. I would never do that to you. She ambushed me—probably called the paparazzi too. This whole time, she wasn’t leaving us alone, she was orchestrating ways to bump into me so she could weave this little narrative. Emma, you have to believe me.”

“I do,” I say, squeezing his hands. “I believe you. This has Madison written all over it.”

“Really?” He arches his eyebrows, then drops both hands to his knees with a breath of relief.

I smirk. “Of course. You have that little faith in me, huh? I might be new to the real-life relationship game, but I’m highly educated in fictional ones, and this is such an overused source of conflict in roman ce novels, I’d be blind not to notice it in real life.”

“I thought . . .” he says, standing back up. “She played her cards so well, made it look so real.”

“I know, and we’re going to have to do something about her. She can’t keep getting away with this. Her games have gone too far.”

“I agree,” he says, propping a hand on the wall for support. “What do you suggest? I’m guessing you’ve read a book or two about that as well, right?”

I laugh. “We’re not going to go all Dark Romance on her. But I think you should call her out in public. Make it crystal clear that this rumor was fabricated by her and that you’re definitely not—nor will ever be—interested in her. That those outings in the past were solely for publicity, and that you’re now asking her to leave you alone.”

“You’re right.” He nods. “That’s the only thing that’ll finally make her stop. I thought about calling her out before, but it felt cruel. Now, not so much. She doesn’t seem to get the memo when I try to be nice and salvage her reputation. It’s time we do this the hard way.”

“You don’t have a choice,” I add as he takes my hand again. “People need to see her for who she really is.”

“I’m lucky to have a girlfriend as smart as you,” he says, pulling me toward him and drawing a giggle out of me. “Most girls would have jumped to conc lusions, and this would have been a totally different conversation.”

“But I’m not most girls,” I say, intertwining my fingers with his.

His forehead bumps with mine. “No, you’re not. You’re my girl.”

A flock of butterflies take flight as he kisses me, right there on a slowly-waking-up Warlington Lane. I wrap my arms around his neck, and something scratches my hand. I roam my fingers over it and realize it’s the tag of his shirt.

No, I’m the lucky one. Because I have a boyfriend who hurries out of his apartment without taking the time to properly dress, just so he can run to my side.