Page 90 of Lucky Puck

“Oh no—I mean, I’m sorry. Am I that transparent?” It feels good to admit to someone how I feel even though to Delaney, I’m supposed to be pining away for my new husband. Little does she know my feelings are completely inappropriate and out of the question because they make no sense.

“You’re almost as pathetic as I was as a newlywed. Close call. Maybe we’re tied for most pathetically in love.”

My laugh is nervous this time because she’s wrong. I can’t sound that way. I’m not pathetically in love. My feelings are all about indulging in a little nookie, not about being in love. Maybe I am a teensy bit smitten, but only because Brody is a charmer and sometimes even sweet and thoughtful. That’s a far cry from being in love. I⁠—

“I called shamelessly at the last minute to invite you to lunch with me and Cherry. We’re meeting in thirty minutes if you can make it.”

The invitation saves me from my circular reasoning about my tangled feelings for Brody. It warms me as my mouth reflexively curves up at the corners in a smile. But a trill of nervous tension follows because I like these women and would love to be friends with them, except I’m not really one of them. I can’t expect to have a real friendship based on what amounts to an acting role. It would be like me having a friendship with Carrie from Sex in the City when I happen to meet her during filming the role. The minute she walks off the set, she’s someone else, someone I don’t know.

The right decision, the sensible decision, is to tell Delaney no, tell her I’m busy working—which is what I’m supposed to be doing. I need to finish reviewing that contract.

But dammit, pretending to be Brody’s wife is work too, isn’t it? This charade is all part of my job, and so what if I enjoy it? I should enjoy my job. That’s a good thing.

“I’d love to join you for lunch. Tell me where and I’ll be there.”

It should be no surprise when the host at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Portsmouth knows Delaney and Cherry and seats us immediately at the best table in the place with a view of the harbor. I am, however, surprised when he hands me the menu and greets me by name.

“I’m so glad you’ve chosen to lunch at the Rooftop at the Envio. Ms. Holden, is it? Or do you still go by Brooks?”

My mouth opens, and it takes a beat to recover, though I still don’t know the real answer, so I make an executive decision—and it’s about time.

“Brooks. I’m still Bianca Brooks, intrepid agent with the Jett Agency.”

Everyone is pleased with my answer, beaming approval. The host leaves, promising service.

I lean in and whisper, “I can’t believe he knows who I am.”

“Believe it,” Delaney says. “You’re all over social media with people posting everything they know about you to fill the gap about the mysterious woman who snagged the most eligible hockey bachelor.”

“It’s such a romantic story,” Cherry says. “Dating secretly and then impulsively tying the knot Vegas style.” She sighs deeply.

I nod and agree vaguely, then busy myself with the menu because I don’t have much of a prepared backstory. In fact, Cherry has summed up all the details Brody and I ever talked about. The last thing I want to do is invent details on the fly and then try to remember them and make Brody memorize them.

I try to read the menu while repeating in my head—in case she can read my thoughts—Please, please don’t ask me about our first date…

Delaney speaks up instead. “How did you go from⁠—”

“Bianca!” I swing my head around to see my best friend, former roommate, and soon to be awarded the trophy for best save of the year, Kat.

In my gratefulness for her interruption, I half stand, ready to give her a big hug, but she waves her hand for me to sit. Instead, she pulls out the fourth chair at the table and sits.

“Do you mind if I join you? I hate eating alone.”

“Not at all,” Cherry says.

“Kat, I’m so glad to see you.” I quickly introduce her to Delaney and Cherry. “Kat’s my best friend from home, and she also happens to be an up-and-coming singer-songwriter.”

The two hockey wives are delighted to turn the conversation to Kat and her music career, as I’d hoped, and they pepper her with questions.

“True confession,” Kat says, “the reason I’m here is to be seen.” She rolls her eyes. “A friend of mine told me her publicist says this is the best place in the area to be because they often take photos of guests of note and post them on IG and elsewhere.”

“Brilliant. Let’s ask the server to take a photo of all of us,” Delaney says. “You can post it yourself and talk about lunching with the Whaler’s WAGs.”

I jump from my chair. “How about if I take the picture? I didn’t come prepared for a photo op.” I pull out my camera without waiting for a response because, as predicted, Cherry complains that I look better than fine.

But Kat knows me, and I give her a pleading look. So she saves me again.

“Great idea, Bianca. You’re so good at photographing me. You know just the right angles.”