What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(126)

“So we can make a promotional appearance.”

“You’re not serious.” One of the paps spotted them and tried to photograph them through the windshield. She’d left the beach house without a stitch of makeup. Her hair was a mess, her T-shirt exactly the wrong shade of blue to go with her wrinkled turquoise shorts, and she’d pulled on her beach sneakers instead of sandals. “I’m not getting out dressed like this.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t care about image, remember?”

“There’s a big difference between not caring about image and going to a decent restaurant in dirty shorts and grimy sneakers!”

Three more photographers pressed against the car, with others darting through the traffic to get to them from across the street.

“We’re not eating,” he said. “And I think you’re beautiful.” He jumped out of the car, transferred a wad of bills to the valet, and muscled his way through the shouting photographers to open the passenger door for her.

Mismatched T-shirt and wrinkled shorts. Bad hair, no makeup…and a husband who just might love her but probably didn’t. With a sense of unreality, she got out.

Mayhem erupted. They hadn’t been seen together in weeks, and all the paparazzi starting shouting at once.

“Bram! Georgie! Over here!”

“Where have you two been?”

“Georgie, is Mel Duffy lying about your meeting?”

“Are you pregnant?”

“Are you still together?”

“What’s up with the outfit, Georgie?”

Bram wrapped an arm around her and pushed through the crowd toward the brick steps. “Give us some room, guys. You’ll get your pictures. Just let us have some room.”

Pedestrians gaped on the sidewalk, patio diners craned their necks, and a trio of perfectly dressed purse designers interrupted their conversation to stare. Georgie briefly considered asking to borrow a little lip gloss, but there was something wildly liberating about standing in front of the world looking her worst.

He put his mouth to her ear. “Who needs to call a press conference when we’ve got The Ivy?”

“Bram, I—”

“Listen up, everybody.” He raised his arm.

Georgie felt dizzy, but she somehow managed to curl her mouth in a Scooter-grin. And then she stopped. No more pretense. She was angry, agitated, and sick to her stomach, and she didn’t care who knew it. She let everything she felt show on her face.

A crowd blocked the sidewalk. As shutters clicked and video cameras recorded the scene, Bram spoke above the noise. “You all know that Georgie and I got married in Las Vegas three months ago. What you don’t know…”

She had no idea how he’d spin this, and she didn’t care. Whatever lies he told were his own to deal with.

“…is that we were the victims of a couple of drug-spiked cocktails, and we basically hated each other’s guts. We’ve been faking this marriage ever since.”

Her head shot up. For a moment she thought she’d misheard. Bram was willing to stand on the front steps of The Ivy and expose it all?

As it turned out, he was. He told everything—a condensed version, but the facts were there, right through the ugly scene on the beach. She studied the determined set of his jaw and found herself thinking of the formidable movie heroes hanging on his office wall.

The paps had more experience with deception than truth, and they weren’t buying a word of it. “You’re punkin’ us, right?”

“No punking,” Bram said. “Georgie’s got this new thing about living an honest life. Too much Oprah.”

“Georgie, are you making Bram do this?”

“Have you two split?”

They attacked like the jackals they were, and Bram shouted them all down. “From now on, whatever we tell you is the truth, but don’t count on us telling you anything we don’t want to, even if we have a movie to promote and need the publicity. As for the future of this marriage…Georgie’s ready to bail on me, but I love my wife, and I’m trying my damnedest to change her mind. That’s all you’re going to hear from either one of us right now. Got it?”

The paps turned rabid, pushing and shoving. Somehow Bram strong-armed the two of them back through the crowd, holding her so tightly that her feet left the ground and she lost a sneaker. The valets managed to wedge the car door open, and she got inside.

As Bram pulled away, he nearly took out the two photographers who’d draped themselves over the hood. “I don’t want to hear another word about ulterior motives.” His dark scowl and unsteady voice left no room for argument. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want to talk at all right now.”

That was fine with her because she couldn’t think of one thing to say.

A circus train of SUVs followed them back to the house. Bram zoomed through the gates, pulled up to the front, and braked to a sudden stop before he turned off the ignition.

His labored breathing filled the suddenly quiet interior. He opened the console and took out a DVD. “This is why I couldn’t come see you earlier. It wasn’t done. I was planning to deliver it tonight.” He set the DVD in her lap. “Watch it before you make any more big decisions about our future.”

“I don’t understand. What is this?”