by Nikki Chase
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Megan says. How could she still sound like such an angel when she's done something this destructive? She continues, “It began as an undercover assignment, but somewhere along the way it turned into something more. I swear.”
I remain silent. I can't even look at her right now. There's nothing I hate more than backstabbers. I prefer someone who openly hates me, like those people who come to my office just to scream at me, rather than someone who pretends to be on my side.
“I know it sounds like a shameless lie right now, but everything that has happened between the two of us is real.” Megan’s voice gets more frantic. She's beginning to realize that her source of both money and story is slipping away, and she's panicking. She admits, “Yes, I used to send Michelle progress reports, but I stopped that last night. I cut her off. That's why she's lashing out by writing this article. It's because she knows she won't get anything from me anymore.”
“Save your breath,” I say. Instead of pouring something into a glass, I grab a random bottle.
“Ethan, I’ve never faked anything with you. The person you've been talking to, the person you liked up until this morning, I’m still that person. I’ve been nothing but real with you.”
“How am I supposed to believe you, when you’ve been doing something dishonest since the first time we met?”
“Ethan, please.” Megan’s voice starts to shake as she approaches—I can hear her footsteps getting closer. “Please listen to me. I'm so sorry about how we began. But you have to admit that what we have is real. I know you feel it, too.”
“I don't know what's real anymore.” I chuckle wryly. “Maybe you weren't even a real virgin. Maybe you just said that to gain my trust. I heard virginity restoration surgery is a thing now.”
Megan stops in her tracks. Her eyes grow red and start to water. God, she's good. So fucking good. Maybe she's an actress, too, in another one of her secret lives.
I unscrew the cap of a bottle of whiskey and raise the bottle as I stare her down. “Congrats, you fooled me real good.”
I take a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle, and make my way toward my bedroom. This time, though, nobody's invited, especially not the fake virgin.
I should've known not to trust anybody who’d agree to a fake marriage. I should've kept her at arm’s length, instead of holding her tight against my chest.
I close my bedroom door and lock it. This is what I should've been doing the whole time. She has to live in my apartment as my fake wife, but she has no business burrowing herself any deeper into my personal life.
I put the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand and sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard.
Damn it, the whole fucking bed smells like her. How am I supposed to drown my sorrows when I’m surrounded by her, even in my own home?
If it weren't for Penny, I would've left. Maybe I’d spend the night at some hotel.
On second thought, though, that's probably not a good idea. Megan might decide to invite a whole crew of photographers and writers into the apartment while I’m gone.
One thing’s for sure, I have the worst luck when it comes to marriage. I sure can pick them.
I swear, for as long as I live, I will never get married again. There’s no wedding in my future—whether it’s real or fake.
Megan
Ethan,
Or Mr. Hunter, if that's what you want me to call you, now that you know who I am. Or maybe you don't want me to even utter your name ever again. That's okay, too. I understand completely.
I’m sorry for what I put you through. I will never stop being sorry over that. Every time I hear your name, I will always be gripped by guilt, and I will always yearn for your forgiveness, even if I know it will never come.
I should apologize for not saying goodbye in person, but I don't think you want to see me or hear my voice. I think I’m doing you a favor by leaving, and that makes me sad.
I’m sorry I have to leave. I can't face Eliza or Lana, and I especially can't face Penny.
There's an address on the back of this letter. If you need me to sign anything, just send it over.
In the divorce paperwork, please add that I won’t receive any payment for the fake marriage. On top of that, I’ll pay you back all the money that you have ever paid me. Consider it financial restitution for the hurt I’ve caused you.
Going forward, I’ll make it my new mission to clear your name. Seeing as I’ve failed my previous mission in spectacular fashion, I might not manage to accomplish it. But I’ll try. I’ll do my best.
My pen hovers over the notepad as I think about how to sign off. Best? Regards? Thanks? XOXO? Or…
I draw as much air into my lungs as I can. Maybe there's courage floating in the air that I can absorb. God knows I need it.
It’s dark outside, but there’s just enough light from the neon signs on the skyscrapers for me to make out the letters on the page. I lower my pen and strengthen my resolve.
Love,
Megan
I bite my bottom lip and read the letter again, from beginning to end.
I’ve been stopping to re-read it every time I write a new sentence. At every new paragraph, I decide the whole thing sucks, crumple up the paper, and throw it onto the marble floor of this bedroom.
I won’t call it my bedroom because it’s not my bedroom anymore—not now. I’m not wanted here, so I’m neither family member nor guest.
Ethan doesn't want me in his life, much less in his home. So I need to go.
I keep circling back to this line of thought. It's like there's a debate going on inside me, and both sides keep throwing argument after argument, telling me to stay or go.
I keep coming back to my decision to go, only to question it again after five minutes. As much as I want to believe this can be fixed, in the back of my mind I know that won't happen.
This short letter has taken me two hours to write, so far, and I'm not even done yet.
There's more I need to say to him. Since I’ll never see him or talk to him again, I want to say everything that needs to be said.
I bite the top of my pen as the words start to form in my mind. I repeat them a few times in my head before I write them on the letter.
P.S. When I was living with you, I was real and honest most of the time, except for a few minutes at night when I was sending those incriminating emails to my editor. It became impossible for me to play pretend once you accepted me as a member of your family, but it took time for me to realize that. I wish I’d cut off my editor sooner and came clean with you myself. I was starting to hope we could be an actual family, but I guess that was wishful thinking.
Okay.
That’s done.
I could sit here all night and let my compulsive editor side run wild, but then I wouldn’t be able to finish the letter before Ethan and Penny wake up.
I tear out the page from the notepad and fold it. Picking up the balls of paper strewn all over the floor, I stuff them into a pocket in my luggage. I pull my luggage upright with the handle out and give the bedroom one last look.
It’s a beautiful bedroom, especially when the blinds are pulled up like this and I can see the entire city through the glass wall.
I don’t think I’ll ever sleep in a room like this again. Hell, I might not even get to step another foot in a space this luxurious, except if I make it as a journalist and secure an interview with someone rich and famous.
I’ve spent a lot of time in this bedroom, just admiring both the interiors and the views, but right now I don’t really care how nice it is. What matters more is the memories I’m leaving, the hopes and dreams of finally belonging to a family.
I pull my luggage slowly out of the bedroom. One of the little wheels squeaks a little bit, just like it did on move-in day. It’s dead quiet right now, except for that little noise.
I drag air into my constricted lungs as I try to remember every little detail of this apartment. For once in my life, I w
as happy here. I was too dumb to realize how rare and precious that is. And so I carried on like I always had, plotting against Ethan Hunter without a second thought.
I put my folded letter on the dining table. Pulling the wedding band off my finger, I place it on top of the letter, as if it was a common paperweight.
There’s already a piece of paper on the table, I realize as I squint in the dark. It has my name on it. The writing is small, neat, and rounded.
Dad & Megan,
Your dinner is in the fridge, in the yellow boxes. Matt said to microwave for three minutes.
Penny
I smile as I notice the way Penny has replaced the dots over her i’s with circles. There was a time when I used to do that, too.
My heart clenches. Penny knocked on my door earlier tonight, at dinnertime, and I pretended to be asleep. She must’ve had dinner alone, because I didn’t hear a peep from Ethan either. Maybe he’s passed out on his bed, drunk out of his mind.
I wonder what Penny thinks about the situation.
I let out a deep sigh as I realize she probably doesn’t know yet about what I’ve done. That’s why she’s still so sweet to me, remembering to set aside my dinner and leaving a note.
I’ll probably never see Penny again. In a few years, she’ll be all grown up and she won’t even remember me.
Oh, maybe she’ll tell her friends about that time she impulsively made her dad marry his assistant.
And she may even remember how I turned out to be a liar and a backstabber.
But she won’t remember what I looked like, or what my voice sounded like, or what we used to talk about at the dinner table.
I won’t be a part of Penny’s life, or Ethan’s. I’ll be a stranger, who’ll be lucky to be recognized if we ever bump into one another.
I’ll just be watching them from afar. It’s for the best. I won’t be able to hurt them if I can’t even see them.
I tear my gaze from Penny’s sweet little note and make my way out of this place. It’s not my home anymore. I put my finger over the scanner and wait for the elevator to arrive. Soon, my fingerprints will be erased from the database, and I won’t ever be able to come back here.
When the door opens, I have to squint because the light from inside the elevator is so bright.
“…tell me why?” A woman’s voice comes from inside the elevator, loud enough for me to worry that she might wake Ethan or Penny up.
“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, Piper. But that smell is vile. You know I hate pickles,” a man says in a hushed tone.
When my eyes finally adjust to the brightness, I realize Raphael Holt and his wife are in the elevator. They step back to let me and my luggage inside. They smile politely at me, looking like they feel bad about how loud they were.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” the woman called Piper says in hushed tones. “I’m pregnant with your baby, Rafe. Having cravings because of your baby. And you’re punishing me?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I can’t wait for that baby to come out so you can stop being so hormonal.”
“Oh my god, did you just seriously say that?”
“Princess, we’re going out at midnight to buy some disgusting junk food for your cravings. In some circles, I’d be getting the Husband of the Year Award,” he says in the sweetest, most frustrated voice.
“Well, not in this circle, you don’t,” Piper says.
“I love you, but I hate pickles. That puts me in a dilemma when you say you want a kiss. Could we please compromise? I feel like we can solve this if you take one of those mint breath strips after having pickles.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding like she’s still not completely satisfied with the outcome.
Something about the way they interact gets me choked up. I was already emotional from having to leave the apartment and finding Penny’s note on the dining table. I’ve been struggling to hold myself together, at least until I get to my new temporary home.
Now, seeing what I’ll be missing, knowing Ethan and I will never have what this couple has, it pushes me to the brink. I can’t hold back the tears anymore.
A lump forms in my throat as tears prick my eyes. Before I know it, I’m openly crying, right in the elevator with Raphael freaking Holt and his wife.
“Hey, are you okay?” Piper asks, her voice full of concern.
“Yeah,” I say in between breathless sobs. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, but I can’t keep up with the deluge pouring from my eyes and nose.
“Do you want a tissue?” Piper pulls her bag over her big pregnant belly and digs inside. She holds out a rectangular plastic packet of tissues and I take it. She steps closer and puts her hand on my back. She asks, “Can we help you with anything?”
“No, I’m okay.” There I go again, lying. I guess it’s part of my nature now.
But I don’t want to be a burden to this nice couple. They were probably just on their way to buy some burgers and didn’t expect to meet a crying girl in the elevator.
“Are you sure?” Piper asks again.
“Yeah. Thank you, though.” I blow my nose into a piece of tissue.
When we reach the ground floor, Raphael grabs the handle of my luggage and pulls it out of the elevator for me, while Piper keeps asking me if I’m okay. They offer me a ride, but I refuse. Finally, they leave me on the entrance porch of the apartment building.
I draw some curious stares from the valet attendants, but they oblige when I ask them to call a cab for me.
Standing there with my luggage and my blocked nose, I can’t even begin to separate all the different emotions I’m feeling.
I’m sad, of course. That’s self-explanatory. There’s a gaping hole in my chest where Ethan and Penny used to reside.
I’m also angry, mostly at myself, but also at Michelle. I guess it’s my own fault for trusting a tabloid journalist.
Writing celebrity news has never been my dream goal, so I should just leave that world and go for what I really want.
If nothing else, this extraordinary experience as Ethan’s fake wife has opened my eyes to see what I really need to do with my life.
After a short period of rest, my plan is to start a new life somewhere else, somewhere far away from Ethan and Penny. I don’t think I can stay in this city anymore.
Every time I see a skyscraper in the city, I’d remember the way it looks from my bedroom in Ethan’s apartment. I’d fall apart every time.
No, I can’t do that.
Maybe I’ll come back in a few years, when the pain has subsided.
But for now, I need to disappear.
Megan
“Hey, I saw your article on Chatter Magazine. Everybody’s talking about it in my yoga class this morning. Congrats!” Kira exclaims as soon as I pick up the phone.
“Thanks,” I say flatly. I’m still not in a celebratory mood, even though it has been a week since I left Ethan’s apartment. “It wasn’t hard to pitch that article. Honestly, I only had to mention my name and they were practically waving money in my face, pressuring me to immediately sign an agreement to not talk to other media outlets so they could have an exclusive.”
It took no time at all for me to find a gossip tabloid to print my story.
After the news about the fake marriage broke, people were hungry for more information. The more sordid the details, the better. People are like vultures that way.
So when I called Chatter Magazine, which is also The Goss’ biggest rival, they were eager to print my story.
I’m the one in the eye of this media storm, after all. I knew I was going to sell them a ton of copies and make them a truckload of money.
“Who cares?” Kira asks. “Everybody uses their connections to get ahead in this world. You and I, it just so happens that we weren’t born into well-connected families, so we have to use all the advantages that we do have.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I thought you’d be more
psyched about it. You’re on the cover and everybody knows your name now. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“I don’t know, Kira. I don’t know anything anymore. I think my old plan of making a name for myself in celebrity news and then moving on to something more serious is stupid. I don’t want to be writing about some old actor’s hair plugs or some celebrity couple’s divorce rumors when I’m forty. I want to do something more respectable.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like, actual undercover exposés, political scandals, or human rights violations in underprivileged countries. I want to actually make a difference, you know?”
My mind flies back to Melanie, the journalist who interviewed Ethan on that fateful day. I want to be like Melanie when I grow up, conducting serious interviews and writing serious articles on serious subjects.
“Wow. You’ve changed,” Kira says slowly.
“Yeah. I don’t know. Being on the other side of things kinda gave me a different perspective, Kira. I feel bad for intruding on people’s privacy, even if they’re public figures. They’re just people like you and me, who sometimes want to be left alone. Their work happens to be in the spotlight, but that doesn’t give gossip journalists the right to intrude.”
Kira stays silent for a few seconds before finally saying, “I don’t know, Megsy. You’re the journalist here. I don’t know enough about the ethics of things to make any meaningful comment. But in the end, it’s your career. You decide what you want to do. If you want to switch gears, then go for it.”
“Yeah.” I don’t know what kind of a response I was expecting from Kira. I guess I just need a sounding board. It’s not like I have anyone else to talk to, now that Ethan’s out of my life for good.
Like me, Kira’s just a twenty-something who has no clue what to do with her life. If she doesn’t have an answer for herself, then how could I expect her to have an answer for me?
“So I take it everything you wrote in that article is true, then? I guess that’s a safe assumption, considering how weird you’re being right now.”