Page 56 of Good at Being Alive
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“Believe me, you’re flirting,” he groans, running a hand over his face. “And once the show airs, that waiter or vendor isn’t going to be quite so innocent. It could easily be some nutter polishing his guns and listening to the voices in his head.”
I lean against the limestone wall behind me. “But then I miss out on the pleasant stalkers who just send flowers and weird messages on Instagram. You’ve got to take some bad with the good.”
“Rebecca, I’m serious,” he says, with narrowed eyes. He looms over me, which is annoying but at least provides some shade.
Reluctantly, I give up trying to turn this into a joke, since he clearly won’t accept anything less than the truth. “How much worse could it get?” I ask. Regrettably, my voice cracks on that final word. Just when I’ve convinced myself I might be okay, a moment like this occurs to remind me that what I really am is deeply sad, so sad that I’m still somewhat ambivalent about howthings turn out. And I guess I wasn’t all that convinced I was okay anyhow…I cried myself to sleep last night, thinking about Bronwyn sneaking me the code to the deep freezer, and I spent the entire ride to Capri thinking about the fact that it’s something she’ll never get to see. “I’ve lost my entire family. I’m not getting a new one. So how much worse could it get?”
His scowl softens and his hand gently cups my elbow. “Just because you don’t care what happens to you doesn’t mean everyone else doesn’t. If you can’t think about yourself, consider that it might be hard on other people if you weren’t around.”
“The show would be fine,” I reply. “Lars would find you a new wife. A better one.”
“Oddly enough,” he says with a sigh as the crew approaches, “I don’t want a new and better wife. I’m sort of used to the one I have.”
• • •
Just before sunset we take a cab to a lavish home on the quieter side of the island, a home the show will pretend we stayed in.Again.Maybe there’s a quota for how many lies are required to make a reality TV show a hit. I’d think we’d already hit it with our entirely fake relationship, but apparently not.
They’re working on the lighting when we get inside the house. Troublingly, they aren’t setting up on the expansive terrace or in the adorable living area…but in the bedroom.
And it’s a nice bedroom—huge wood canopy bed, French doors wide open and facing the sea—but it’s still abedroom.
“We’re going to be filming another waking scene,” says Lars. It seems a little excessive after the whole hug-on-the-balcony bit.
“Haven’t we covered this already?” Theo asks.
Lars and Paula exchange a glance. “We went over the existing footage, and while the travel scenes are great, the mostengaging moments are of you two alone, on the balcony and at dinner. That’s what’s really going to sell this series—the love story. Basically, we arepretendingto be a travel show, and while some people certainly want to see what Capri is like by day,allpeople want to watch a really attractive couple in love.”
Lars seems to have conveniently forgotten that we arenotin love. Not even a little bit.
“So…is this another hug on the balcony?” I ask.
Lars tugs his lower lip between his teeth. “No. We need to mix it up a little. Today you’ll be waking up together.”
My heart begins galloping in my chest. “Together? You mean in the same bed?”
“It would definitely feed Kylie and Jasper’s theories about this being fake if we showed one of you sleeping on the couch, don’t you think?”
I know he’s trying to manipulate me with the reminder of Kylie and Jasper, but it’s working. I’m not willingly giving those assholes a second of footage to use in their dumb reels.
“Okay,” Theo says, walking up beside me, “so what do we do? Just pull the covers to our shoulders and pretend we’re waking?”
“Pretty much,” Lars says, “except with a lot more skin. I need both of you naked from the waist up.”
“Naked,” we repeat in unison. I’m not sure which of us sounds more horrified.
“You’re newlyweds, remember?” Lars asks. “Bex, you can have the sheet covering your cleavage. Nothing will actually be exposed.”
Theo and I fall to the couch, equally disturbed, while they finish settingup.
He forces a smile. “This is the closest we’ll ever come to sleeping together, Rebecca. Cherish it.”
“Cherish it?” I ask, examining my pedicure, doing my levelbest to appear unconcerned. “I can imagine nothing worse than sleeping with you. There’d be so much nervous fumbling.”
There would be none. He’d be heavy and certain above me, all muscle. He’d be demanding. He’d growl. I’d probably come while he was still trying to undressme.
He raises a brow. “Nervous fumbling?”
