The Fake Out: Chapter 39

By the time we were to begin the photo session, I’d been poked, plucked, and pinched to within an inch of my life. But when I looked in the mirror, even I had to admit I looked good. The dress was the perfect shade of green for my hair and skin color. Long and flowy, it cinched at the waist and fell to almost the ground where it touched a pair of simple gold sandals. Sergio was right; I did sort of feel like a seductive wood nymph.

I hoped Chris liked the dress and the hair and the whole package. It was foolish, but it mattered what he thought. I wanted him to like me. In a purely fake way.

Yeah, I know, I was even lying to myself.

With a deep breath, I went in search of the Sterns. All the sisters were in the kitchen. We spent several minutes gushing over each other. As one does. Luke Sterns arrived next, dressed in khakis and a yellow button-down shirt that complemented his blue eyes and graying hair. He made his rounds, telling all his daughters (and me) how nice we looked, but when Margot arrived, he only had eyes for her.

She did a twirl and smiled at him. “Do you like it?”

“It suits you,” he said, his eyes warm.

“Love you.” Margot planted a kiss on his cheek.

It suits you. Chris said that, often even. I guess I knew where he’d gotten it from. Although it was clear it meant something much deeper when Mr. Sterns said it to Mrs. Sterns. But Luke and Margot were in a class all their own. If happily ever afters really existed, they seemed to have found the closest thing to one.

A petite woman dressed all in black and a harried expression entered the kitchen. “I’m Louisa, Charles’s assistant. He’s ready to begin now. Some rules first. Follow all instructions. Don’t look directly at the camera. No rabbit ears of any kind; they make him angry. Understood?”

We all nodded.

“You with the glasses.” She pointed at me. “Those must come off. Charles doesn’t allow glasses.”

“I can barely see without them.”

She snapped her fingers. “Off. Now. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, I slid them off and tucked them in a pocket. The world grew blurry around the edges, like a filter on a photo. Everything felt a little surreal. Maybe this was the best way to get through this whole experience.

“Where’s Chris?” I asked Aggie as we walked into the backyard.

Oak trees framed the open grassy area. Back here was also surrounded by the white picket fence. A flower garden took up a quarter of the yard and right now, colorful tulips and daffodils danced happily in the breeze.

“Right there,” she said. I squinted until I could make out a tall blue and khaki shape standing at the far end of the yard. I waved; I think he waved back.

Charles Thackery had a large camera and a stern expression. We learned quickly that he didn’t talk to us directly but used Louisa as his spokesperson. As such, she was never more than two feet away from him, shouting orders out.

The Sterns took family photos first and I waited on the edge of the lawn until I was summoned. I slipped my glasses on once or twice when Louisa wasn’t looking and admired how they all looked together.

“You.” Louisa pointed at me. “Come. We’ll start on the pictures of the two of you now.”

Nervous energy zipped down my arms and I shook it away.

This was not real. This was not real. This was not real. So why did it feel so real?

I set my resolve as I walked toward the blurry figure of Chris. I’d get through this the way I did everything else. With whatever it took.

He frowned. “Where are your glasses?”

I squinted up at him. “Charles doesn’t do glasses.”

“Really?” Without any explanation, Chris turned and stalked over to Charles. The two men had a conversation that involved a lot of hand motions from the photographer and a lot of glaring on Chris’s part.

A full minute later, Chris returned. “You can wear your glasses.”

I hesitated. “I don’t mind not wearing them. Whatever gets us through this whole thing the fastest.”

“I mind. I’m not letting anyone take another picture of me unless you have on your glasses.”

“Oh, good grief. Don’t go all weird alpha male on me now.” I pulled the glasses from my pocket and slid them on. “Better?”

He smiled. “Yes. They suit you.”

Did my heart forget to beat for a half-second when he said that? Yes, yes, it did. Did I pretend it didn’t? Also, yes.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said.

“There’s that sunny disposition I know and love.”

“Charles would like Mae to stand in front of Chris,” Louisa said with lot of exaggerated hand gestures in case we were slow on the uptake. “Good. Yes. Now put your hand around her waist and rest it on her stomach. Excellent. And now, Mae, turn your head and look up at Chris. No. No. No smiles. Be very serious. Better.”

“Woohoo,” Betsy called from the patio where all three sisters watched. “You two look hot.”

“Go away,” Chris yelled back.

“No, thanks!”

And it went on. More and more positions which probably looked great in the photos but made me feel like a human pretzel. There was one where we had to sit on the ground and wrap ourselves around each other. It was complicated and strangely clinical. Like putting together IKEA furniture but with hand positions and head tilts.

An occasional catcall or round of applause burst from the patio. One of the sisters got paper and markers and they all began to rate our poses from one to ten like we were Olympic competitors.

Betsy acted as announcer. “The newly engaged couple have been asked to do the Sit-Squat pose. It looks simple, but has a high level of difficulty. The judges will be looking closely at form. Let’s watch.”

“Stop it. I have to be serious,” I yelled. “Charles said so.”

Betsy ignored me. “And let’s see the judges’ scores.”

“I give them a nine,” Aggie said.

Millie held up a 6.5.

“Ouch,” Betsy the Announcer said. “There’s always a judge from East Germany and she has spoken. Let’s see what the Sterns-Sampson team do next.”

“Charles is almost done, but he would like to do some photos of the couple kissing,” Louisa announced.

“What?” I turned around so fast my dress got twisted in my legs, and I was about five seconds from a Grade A faceplant on the Sterns’ lawn when an arm grabbed me around the waist and caught me.

“Whoa,” Chris whispered. “Watch out, or someone will think you don’t want to kiss me.”

“I don’t,” I insisted, righting myself.

His eyes narrowed. “I guess you’ll have to suck it up.”

Louisa showed us the spot Charles wanted us to stand in. “Now, turn to each other and hold hands.”

Our fingers entwined; our eyes met. That’s when every single thought I had about staying objective flew out of my head. Because it was a powerful, heady feeling to stand like this. Although we stood several inches apart, I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I stared at his neck, studied the edge of his jaw, and his bottom lip which looked soft and full.

I swallowed and closed my eyes.

“Get closer.” Louisa stomped up to us, put a hand on each of our backs and shoved. The inches between us disappeared. “Better. Now put your forehead to her forehead. No, don’t pay any attention to Charles. He’ll be walking around you while he’s taking photos. Perfect. Don’t move.”

“This might be worse than that mattress last night,” Chris whispered.

“No talking!” Louisa said. “Look deeply into each other’s eyes. More. More. Look deeper, dammit.”

“Yeah, look deeper,” I said, holding back a laugh.

“Do you think she had a career in the military before this? Maybe drill sergeant?” Chris said.

In my periphery, I could see a black shape slowly walking around us.

“Now, Mae, turn your head toward me,” Louisa said. “And rest it on his shoulder. Yes, that’s good.” She directed Chris to put a hand on my back and told us not to move.

Judging by the ratings the sisters held up, this was not going to be a good photo.

“And now, let’s get the photos of you kissing, please,” Louisa said.

I leaned back and met his eyes. “Let’s just do it and get it over with.”

Chris grinned. “I’ll make it fast.”

Before I could blink, his lips pressed against mine and… he was done. It barely met the dictionary definition of a kiss.

I was sad. Sad because that wasn’t the kiss I wanted. And confused because I shouldn’t want a kiss. And then mad because I was sad and confused.

“What was that?” Aggie yelled. “That was the worst kiss I’ve ever seen.”

“Boo. Negative ten points from me,” Millie said.

“Well, it looks like the judges are very disappointed with what’s just happened here and, ladies and gentlemen, their scores are reflecting that,” Betsy the Announcer said. “Will they try again for a higher score? Let’s watch and see what happens.”

Millie faked a yawn. “I thought Chris would have more game than that, but I’m not really surprised.”

“Shut up,” Chris growled. “Why do I have so many sisters?”

“’Cause you’re lucky,” Betsy said.

Louisa clapped her hands, demanding attention. “Can we have some quiet, please? Charles would like you to try it again but slower and with more passion.”

“I can do passionate,” Chris said.

He lifted my head and gazed down at me. Something was happening behind his eyes. Something different. Something serious. And it was mesmerizing.

He slid my glasses off, carefully folded them up, and slipped them in his shirt pocket. One of his hands slid around my waist and settled low on my back. He pulled me closer.

My fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Instead of speeding up, my heartbeat grew slow and lazy.

With his other hand, Chris cupped my cheek. “Try not to enjoy this, okay?”

“As if.”

It started out slow and sweet, a brush of his lips to the corners of my mouth, then one right in the center. Tiny, whisper kisses. Almost-there kisses. Teasing me with kisses like he did with his words.

Frustration built in me. I tried to take control. My hands slid from his chest to around his neck, fingers twisting into his hair. I pulled him closer, begging for a proper kiss without uttering a single word.

He smiled against my mouth.

I growled.

Just like that, the kiss changed. This kiss had purpose. The people and sounds around us faded and it was just Chris and me. A wave of relief tore through me, some secret knowledge that this was always meant to happen. This wasn’t just pleasure; there was a rightness to this, a missing part of me clicking into place.

Mine, I thought. Mine.

But there was also an edge of desperation. Like we both knew it wouldn’t ever happen again.

Because this was for show; it was fake.

But fake had never felt so real.