The Act

by Stella Gray

  “I just wish people would actually keep their word,” I said.

  All the women I’d spoken with were acting like Claudia. It was exactly the kind of thing she would do—agree to volunteer because it made her feel good, and then when it was time to actually do the work, back out and write a check instead.

  “Keep their word about what?” he asked.

  “Just frustrating charity stuff,” I said.

  He frowned. “You’re working on a Sunday?”

  “I have to!” I said. “It’s my nonprofit.”

  Walking over, he sat on the edge of the bed. Ever since he’d agreed to “respect” me, we’d managed to more or less keep our distance. As if there was this unspoken agreement that even though we were sleeping in the same bed, we shouldn’t really touch each other.

  “Talk to me,” Ford said gently.

  Because I was able to actually prioritize the ex-models—unlike some people—I launched into a brief description of my issues with the flaky socialite volunteer-wannabes without being catty or mentioning the Claudia comparison. An accomplishment of which I was quite proud.

  After all, the last thing I wanted was to let on how pissy I still was about the whole Claudia thing.

  “I just need someone—anyone—to come and teach a short, informative class on something career-related that would be useful for them in real life,” I said.

  I was racking my brain trying to think of who else I could call when Ford cleared his throat. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “Wait, what?”

  “Why not?” he said. “I can talk to them about real estate and business in general—that would be helpful, right?”

  For a moment I just stared at him, surprised and overwhelmed by gratitude.

  “Honestly, that would be amazing.”

  “Cool. Let’s set a date then,” he said, pulling out his phone and looking at his calendar.

  Unlike anyone else I’d dealt with all day, I had Ford written into the schedule in seconds—and then confirmed via pinkie swear. It immediately put me in a better mood.

  It also seemed to dissolve any lingering tension between me and Ford, to the point that after I’d put my laptop away, I felt like I could hang out with him almost normally.

  Over the next few days, we finally started getting into a daily routine as a couple. We were figuring out how to live together, taking turns with chores and meals, learning each other’s rhythms. His apartment even began to feel more like home. And our relationship solidified, in a sense—not into a real marriage exactly, but more like how it used to be. Comforting and safe.

  We woke up around the same time, though Ford got ready for the day a lot quicker than I did. Because of that, he’d usually go to the kitchen and feed Munchkin before making coffee for us. I’d always started my day with a meal, but eating a solid breakfast was apparently a bit of a new concept for Ford. Still, he took to it readily, and we’d take turns cooking.

  I figured out pretty quickly that he liked his eggs with cheese scrambled into them, and I noticed that he quietly changed to turkey bacon after I mentioned my preference for it. We’d sit there eating companionably each morning, secretly feeding Munchkin the crusts of our toast under the table, both of us pretending we weren’t.

  Afterward, we’d catch up on emails while we finished our coffee, and then head out to our separate offices (or my loft, if I had a photoshoot lined up). For the majority of our waking hours, we conducted our lives completely apart, with minimal communication.

  We had a dinner routine as well. Neither of us were much for cooking, so we usually just got takeout, picked up by whoever was going to get home the latest. Whoever got home first would set the wine to breathing.

  We’d eat and drink and talk about work or my nonprofit, and then we’d take Munchkin out for his evening walk. Once we were in bed, we’d revert to beast mode, fucking each other senseless, but the next day we would act like it had never happened.

  All in all, my married life was fun and easy and simple.

  We didn’t mention our problems, and we especially didn’t talk about sex—and how it was starting to feel more and more like the only place where we could really share our feelings without any words at all. At least, that was how it felt for me.

  Right now, it was the best I could hope for.

  Emzee

  Chapter 11

  It was my first Vault Lunch with The Wives since I’d gotten back from the honeymoon. I was eager to see my sisters-in-law and catch up, but also a little nervous. I knew that having lunch with them would require some measure of playing pretend.

  Everything had changed since our last ladies’ outing…and at the same time, nothing had. Because regardless of the devil’s bargain I’d made with the senior Malones to make the Bratva go away (which had to remain a secret from everyone), I was still so in love with Ford that it hurt. And I was pretty sure he was still in love with Claudia. I’d never escape her shadow.

  Day to day, I’d been able to keep up a front of not caring about the true state of my marriage—and ignoring the countdown to the divorce I’d agreed to—but I had my doubts that I’d succeed in such subterfuge around Tori and Brooklyn. Those two were like bloodhounds. They’d know something was up, something beyond the fact of the marriage being a joint deception by me and my husband.

  Not only that, but the nice, new normal that Ford and I had established was something that I cherished. Going to lunch with my sisters would pop the happy little bubble of normalcy we’d created. Some selfish part of me wished I could just cancel on them and continue living in my fantasy version of reality.

  But no. That would only make things harder for me later. May as well get my heart thrashed as often as possible. Remind myself not to get too attached to the lie.

  Luckily, with Tori’s due date so close, I knew the focus wouldn’t be on me for long.

  “I still can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt!” I crowed after we’d ordered.

  We were at Jiao, prepared to stuff ourselves silly with every variety of perfectly cooked Chinese dumpling, spicy kimchee, and crunchy, vinegary-sweet cucumber salad.

  “I know,” Tori said, rubbing her stomach. “Stefan is so excited, he’s barely slept.”

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her. “Besides excited-slash-nervous, I mean.”

  She smiled. “I feel great, actually. I’m ready. Ready to have this little girl in my arms and ready to be not-pregnant anymore. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Awww,” Brooklyn and I cooed. The feeling was mutual.

  “And how was St. Barts?” Brooklyn asked, turning to me. “I want all the details. Especially the sexy ones.”

  Her baby bump was more noticeable now, and like Tori, she seemed to constantly, reflexively touch her stomach.

  “It was love at first sight,” I sighed, the memories coming back full force. “So pretty, and so relaxing—way less of a party vibe than our Bahamas trip. And the beaches are incredible. White sand, clear water, and we had the most amazing weather. Did you know they have wild iguanas just crawling around everywhere?”

  “That is so cool,” Tori said. “Did you take advantage of the touristy stuff? Snorkeling?”

  “Yep,” I said. “And we went windsurfing almost every day. And the food!”

  “Maybe Luka and I should plan a trip there before the baby comes,” Brooklyn mused. “I heard there are nude beaches. Did you two check any of those out?” She winked at me.

  “Um, and our private villa was the best,” I said, anxious to change the subject. “Here, I have tons of pictures saved on my phone. You can see for yourselves. Look at that infinity pool.”

  As they oohed and ahhed, the waiter returned with our food. Just as we started to dig in, Brooklyn’s phone buzzed in her purse.

  “I’m so sorry, let me just check that real quick,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from the caterers for Tor’s baby shower.”

  Jumping on the opportunity to get the
ir minds on something besides my personal life, I finished chewing a dreamy truffle and beef dumpling and said, “Speaking of, we should probably talk logistics for the party, yes?”

  With that, the conversation completely moved away from me. There was plenty to discuss—who was doing what, where it would be, who was invited.

  It seemed almost as involved as planning a wedding.

  We spent the rest of the lunch focusing on making a list of all the things we needed to do, dividing responsibilities between myself and Brooklyn, and picking a theme.

  “Something cute,” Tori said. “Colorful. And not just pink everywhere. Are there any more tofu and mushroom?”

  I passed her the requested dumplings, took out my phone, and began browsing Pinterest for ideas.

  “Winnie the Pooh?” I suggested.

  Tori wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I feel like we should avoid anything involving ‘pooh’ for as long as we can.”

  We all laughed.

  “How about a woodland theme?” I suggested as I continued scrolling. “With animals.”

  “That’s cute,” Tori said. “I like that direction.”

  “I love that,” Brooklyn agreed. “And I’ll bet one of the botanical gardens has a pretty tea room type space we can rent, with lots of plants and greenery. It will be adorable.”

  “Oooh, look at these cute fox face cupcakes!” I said, showing them my screen. “And these porcupine cheese logs.”

  Brooklyn was writing everything down. “I know exactly the right bakery to call,” she said. “We can get the decorations on Etsy. Maybe lean into the Fantastic Mr. Fox vibes?”

  “Yes!” Tori’s eyes were sparkling. “Just don’t go too crazy—I’d love something small and intimate, maybe a dozen or so guests.”

  “Not me,” Brooklyn said. “When it’s my turn, I want the biggest, loudest, most Instagram-worthy baby shower ever. Piles of confetti and flowers and balloons. Hint, hint.”

  I laughed. “We can make that work. One baby shower at a time, though.”

  She and Tori exchanged a look, and then smiled at me with a conspiratorial gleam in their eyes. My stomach sank a little.

  “What?”

  “It’s just, well…” Tori looked at Brooklyn and then back at me. “I’m pregnant. Brooklyn’s pregnant.”

  “Yes, and?” I asked.

  “I guess we’re just thinking…that you’ll be next,” Brooklyn said teasingly.

  Everything seemed to freeze in that moment. I’d done so well ignoring all the real feelings I had for Ford. Allowing myself to settle into a simple routine with him, one that kept my heart safe, keeping in mind the impending divorce and the fact that our marriage could never become something more than a ruse. And now this.

  “Oh no,” I said, forcing a laugh. “We’re both too focused on our careers right now to even think about getting pregnant.”

  With horror, I realized I was parroting Ford’s parents, and I gulped down my jasmine tea to cover my frown.

  “Still. It can happen when you least expect it,” Brooklyn said.

  “Plus we’re way too young,” I said.

  “I mean,” Tori said with a grin, “I’m younger than you are, Em.”

  “Honestly, it’s just too soon for us,” I tried again. “A baby is a lot to think about.”

  I wasn’t prepared for this topic to be on the table.

  Somehow, I managed to put on a happy face and redirect the conversation back to Tori’s baby shower, but inside I was secretly imagining what it would be like to have a baby with Ford.

  Would it have his chin, and those deep dimples I loved? My gray eyes and shyness? I couldn’t help thinking about how cute it could be, a baby Ford/Emzee. A Fordzee.

  I’d never thought of myself as motherly—especially since I’d missed out on the whole mothering experience that most people got—but now that the idea was in my head, I could almost picture it. It made my chest feel tight and my heart warm.

  Because it wasn’t just a baby I wanted to share with Ford. I wanted a whole life. No matter how much I kept telling myself that I could make it through this next year without getting too attached, I hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to deny myself the things I really wanted. Which was a real life, and a real marriage. I wanted everything my sisters had.

  I realized then that Tori and Brooklyn really did feel like my sisters. Even though I couldn’t tell them absolutely everything that was going on with me.

  God, I wished I could just let down my guard and be real with them. Spill the whole truth about Ford, and the Bratva, and the horrible but necessary deal I’d made with Ford’s parents. But if I told them about the Bratva’s threats, I’d be betraying my brothers, especially Stefan, to whom I’d promised secrecy.

  This bargain I’d made with the Malones was my opportunity to save our family. To protect my brothers, their wives, and their unborn babies.

  It was what I wanted.

  But I couldn’t deny the twinge in my heart at the thought of having a baby with Ford. Or the desire to turn to my sisters and say, “Hell yes, I’m totally next. Ford and I are going to start trying right away.”

  Instead, I had to lie to them. I had to smile and lie and deflect. It was becoming second nature.

  Would there ever come a time when I didn’t have to lie to everyone I cared about?

  Emzee

  Chapter 12

  Pacing the lobby of the building where Danica Rose Management’s offices were, I told myself not to be nervous. Jorge, the head of security, gave me a nod each time I passed the reception desk, but it didn’t do much to calm me. I couldn’t help worrying that Ford would be a disappointment.

  Yes, he’d said that he would come and teach a workshop for See Yourself, and yes, we’d confirmed the day and time and we’d even talked about it this morning over breakfast…but there was a part of me that wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t let me down.

  The fact was, everyone else who’d agreed to help with the nonprofit had found a way to back out at the last minute, and they were all from the same world that Ford was. It was hard not to be wary. In my experience, those who occupied the highest social and economic circles could be a bit lacking in the area of personal responsibility. And although things had been going well with Ford lately, there was no guarantee that he’d come through.

  I checked my delicate Shinola watch for about the hundredth time and smoothed down the front of my skirt—my favorite black pencil skirt that usually helped me feel powerful and in control—and resisted the urge to call Ford and demand a status report. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be here for at least another twenty minutes, but that didn’t make me any less neurotic. My girls were counting on this seminar.

  Before I could complete another circuit of the lobby, Ford came strolling into the building, looking absolutely delicious in a dark suit with a charcoal patterned tie. As Jorge took Ford’s ID to get him checked in, my husband’s eyes focused on me.

  “What’s wrong? Did you think I’d bail?” he asked.

  “No!” I lied. “I’m just…excited. Why don’t I show you up to the conference room?”

  He nodded, but I caught his eyes wandering down the length of my body. It seemed that he liked the way my skirt hugged my curves. I couldn’t help thinking he would probably like it a whole lot more if it was shoved up around my waist.

  “Lead the way,” he said, a wolfish gleam in his eyes.

  We stepped into the elevator and suddenly Ford was all business, going over all the main points he’d be covering in his presentation. “It runs just under an hour long, and then I figured I’d just take as many questions as we have time for.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said.

  The doors dinged open and we stepped into DRM’s offices. Ford frowned a little as I led him down the hall toward the large conference room I’d reserved.

  “Do you not worry that some of the women might have a hard time being here?” he asked, glancing around. �
�I mean, with everything that happened before…with your father, and the agency…I don’t know, maybe they’d have some kind of post-traumatic stress?”

  I nodded, impressed that he’d given the issue some real thought.

  “That’s actually the whole reason I hold most of our classes over at the studio space nearby. But it doesn’t have the audio-visual setup that we need today, and since you’re speaking about business, it seemed the more appropriate venue.

  “Don’t worry, though—the email I sent out specifically mentioned that we’d be in the agency’s offices for your seminar, and I called all the girls who signed up to confirm that they were comfortable with the location. So we’re good to go.”

  “That was smart of you,” Ford said. “And compassionate.”

  I felt my stomach do a little twist at the compliments. “Thanks. And here we are.”

  After I opened the door, I gestured for him to enter first.

  The conference room was mostly ready, with a projector and a screen and some cables laid out so Ford could plug in his laptop and get started. As he set up, clicking through a few files and getting his PowerPoint open, I took a seat in the far corner and set down my bag.

  “We have water, but do you want me to grab you a coffee before the girls arrive?” I said.

  “Thanks, but I’m properly caffeinated for the day,” he said, and then seemed to notice my bag and notebook on the chair. “Are you staying for the whole thing?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Is that a problem?”

  “Why, Mrs. Malone,” he said, smiling. “Do you not trust me to run this workshop?”

  “Why, Mr. Malone,” I responded. “Do you think this program would have survived after the very first guest lecture if I didn’t sit in?”

  It wasn’t just that I was there to keep the speaker on track—there was always the very real concern that some of my girls might have a hard time relaxing with a man in charge of the room and only other models around. Choosing a safe venue was only half the battle. After all, the male power dynamic was exactly what had harmed most of these ex-models in the not-too-distant past. My goal was to help them, not put them in situations where it would be difficult for them to focus and therefore succeed.