Take Two (The Jilted Bride #1)(7)

I spluttered the wine back into the glass and began coughing. People in the restaurant became quiet and shot curious glances over to our table.

“Are you alright sir?” the waiter rushed over.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. Could you bring me some Jack Daniels please?”

“Certainly sir.”

“Are you out of your mind, Selena Ross?” I whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Marriage? Are you crazy?”

“We can always say things didn’t work out six months from now.”

“Selena, we’re not in love. We barely even like each other any—”

“Don’t sit there and act like that’s shocking Matt. Us dating each other is what the public wants. It’s what they need.”

The waiter set down the Jack Daniels.

“Why do we need to get married?” I took a large gulp of whiskey. “What’s wrong with the pseudo dating we’re doing now? And actually, you know what’s better than an engagement? A breakup.”

“No, no, that’s not true. Engagements definitely get more press and I’ll need all the extra press I can get if I want this next role. I need to show that I have a domestic side.”

“Jesus, Selena. Do you hear yourself? What happened to you? Is fame all you care about?”

She sipped her wine. “Yes.”

The waiter set down the first course and another glass of Jack Daniels.

“Two months,” I took another gulp of whiskey. “That’s as far as I’m going with this charade.”

“Great!” she smiled and looked around the restaurant. When she was sure no one was looking, she slid a small box across the table. “It’s from Lorraine Schwartz. I had my assistant pick it up today.”

“You want me to propose here? I don’t think there are enough people around…Plus, the paparazzi won’t be able to fully capture the moment. I’ll take you to the right place after dinner.”

Her eyes lit up and she leaned over to kiss me. My stomach was churning at the mere thought of proposing, but I wasn’t going to turn down the chance for more exposure. If we were going to do this, I wanted to do it right.

The next morning, I awoke to an empty apartment. There was a note on my pillow from Selena: “I had fun last night—Mrs. Matt Sterling : )”

There were a lot of words that described fake-proposing in Times Square, and I was pretty sure “fun” wasn’t one of them.

I sighed and walked over to my window. New York was gray today, unusually gray. It was the type of day that forced me to remember things I wish I had forgotten, the type of day that forced me to see how empty my life really was.

I had no real friends, just leeches who insisted on stroking my ego so they could enjoy the perks of fame. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize they were “leeches” until it was too late. It was years after my first hit film—years after partying every night, bedding endless models, and making tons of “fast friends”—when I realized fame meant perpetual loneliness.

My mom had warned me about it, told me how she’d seen countless stars turn into shells of themselves and become remnants of who they used to be. I always thought I was different, until I became annoyed with her lectures and cut her off completely.

Over the past two years, I’d definitely become a shell of myself, a “casualty of the high life” as my mom would say. Photo shoots, premieres, and parties were no longer exciting. I was only happy when I was reading stage plays alone on my yacht, when I was far removed from paparazzi, fake friends, and press commitments.

My cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Congratulations Mr. Number One at the box office! Summer Nights is officially on track to debut with $25 million!” Shelby practically screamed.

“Thanks Shelby.”

I’d almost forgotten about Summer Nights. We finished filming it last year, but the distribution contracts dragged on for too long and it wasn’t released when it should have been. I didn’t even go to the premiere.

“And I’m reading all about your night with Selena Ross,” she cooed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to propose?”

Because I wasn’t!

“I guess I was just nervous.”

“Aww! How romantic! Listen, I’m still in talks with Ralph Lauren’s people regarding your contract. I’m flying out to meet with them today and I’ll touch bases with Joan about any schedule changes later. I’ll talk to you—”

“Wait. What were the local numbers for Summer Nights?”

“You’re number one in the country Matt! Why do you care about local numbers?”

“Shelby,” I pressed.

She sighed. “The local numbers for New York were among the lowest, about $700 per screen.”

“Okay thanks.”

I called Joan. “Where are you?”

“I’m in route sir. I just picked up your suit from Tom Ford. You’ll need to wear it for your interview session with GQ today.”

I forgot all about that. Jesus, she’s the greatest.

“Before you get here, I need you to print out the local reviews for Summer Nights.”

“Yes sir. See you in half an hour.”

I didn’t feel like doing an interview today. The interviewers always asked the same questions: “What’s it like to be a high profile actor?” “What are your favorite types of roles?” “How’s Selena?” “How do you stay in shape?” “What do you do in your free time?”