Faking Forever (First Wives #4)(62)

“And we thought it would give everyone a chance to talk about us after we leave,” he added.

Lori grinned and hugged Shannon.

After the shortest round of farewells Victor could remember, he and Shannon stood in the elevator in silence. Her shoulders started to shake.

Victor placed his arm around her and pulled her close. He had no idea what had spurred the sorrow pouring from her, but he was thankful he was there to catch it.

He handed the concierge his valet ticket and escorted Shannon outside to the fresh air.

She tilted her head back and drew in a long breath.

Victor turned her toward him and placed his hands on the sides of her face.

Her dark eyes glistened, her lips attempted to smile.

“You don’t have to fake it with me,” he told her.

His words seemed to prompt a small gasp from her lips. He wanted to fix her, whatever it was that was making her unhappy. He settled for brushing away the tears that had fallen from her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she started.

He placed one of his thumbs over her lips to stop her. The flash of lights from a passing car drew her eyes across the street.

Shannon’s expression shifted, her eyes narrowed.

Victor glanced over his shoulder and realized that what he thought were passing cars were actually two men holding long-lens cameras pointed in their direction.

“What the . . .”

“Paparazzi,” she said in explanation.

She stiffened, her head tilted higher.

“They’re not here for me,” he said aloud. Only the flash of their cameras kept buzzing the night air.

“I doubt they’re here for me either. I’m just a bonus.”

The valet drove up in his car, and Victor hastily helped Shannon inside. By the time he had tipped the driver and slid behind the wheel, Shannon was talking on her phone. “Let Wade and Trina know the cameras have arrived.” She paused, looked out the window as they drove away. “Only a couple. No, I’m fine . . . I love you, too.” She hung up.

Victor sped away from the lights. “That was a first,” he said as he switched lanes.

“I’m sorry in advance.” Her soft words cut through him. “Although I doubt they care much about me any longer.”

“You mean you’ve dealt with them before?”

She regarded him from the passenger seat. “Are you suggesting that you didn’t google my name at one point or another?”

Okay, he was guilty of that. “Well . . .”

“Where do you think those pictures came from? Some were from the press hired by my ex-husband, but the majority were circulated by the opportunistic photographer looking for gossip.”

“They didn’t find any on you.”

She stared out the window. “That didn’t stop them from trying, or making up what would sell newspapers.”

The more she talked, the less sadness he felt surging off her.

He kept her talking.

“This was my first. What was yours?” He knew, on some level, he was inviting conversation about her life with the former governor. He welcomed it. He wanted to know this beautiful, poised . . . sad woman sitting beside him.

“It was choreographed,” she told him. “Shortly after we announced our involvement. I walked out of our engagement dinner to the flash of a dozen cameras. He leaned in, twisted my ear. ‘Smile . . . you’ll get used to it.’” She sighed. “I smiled, froze . . .”

Victor glanced over, watched her staring out the window.

“I’m just now waking up.”

Victor reached out his free hand and placed it on her arm.

She offered a soft smile.

“You think they were there for your friends Trina and Wade?”

“Undoubtedly. When Trina visits on her own, the cameras are harder to find. When Wade is here, there is a pretty good chance someone is hiding in the bushes.”

Victor turned off the freeway and kept heading west.

“That can’t be easy.” He couldn’t imagine his life under a microscope.

“It takes a strong disposition, and someone without secrets.”

He hadn’t thought of that angle.

“Do you have any?” she asked out of the blue.

“Secrets?”

“Yeah.” She watched from the corner of her eye.

He thought of the question and searched his mental database. Page after blank page came up.

“Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.” Shannon’s voice deflated.

He raised a hand in the air. “No, no . . .” He paused. “Damn, I’m boring,” he finally said.

He heard a small laugh from her side of the car. “Everyone has something.”

No . . . high school didn’t count, college . . . he studied, he worked, did the typical things kids did who were actually trying to finish school in four years. Then decided four years was too long and left after two. Nothing newsworthy. His business was clean. Really boring.

Shannon shifted in her seat, waiting.

“There was that time in the Bolivian jail with that little cartel situation . . .” He lifted a hand from the steering wheel. “But the name change and plastic surgery seem to have gotten them off my scent.”

Shannon’s shoulders started to shake until finally her laughter broke.