That look, the way my fifteen-year-old already knew when I was lying, it broke something loose inside me.
I forced a smile.
I couldn’t let Jordan walk in with Percy and reduce me to the sad, discarded wife.
Not in front of my children.
Not in front of the neighbors who had watched our family for twenty years.
I opened my laptop and searched for something I’d never imagined typing.
“Actors for hire, private events, discreet.”
An agency near downtown responded within the hour.
Something I’d never imagined typing.
The woman on the phone was efficient.
As if hiring a fake boyfriend was as ordinary as ordering catering.
“We have someone available Saturday. His name is Clark. Very professional.”
“Just for a few hours,” I said quickly. “He doesn’t have to do much. Just stand next to me. Maybe smile.”
“Of course. He’ll play the role you describe.”
“He doesn’t have to do much.”
