My Bride Chose Her Publicity Stunt novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Number 214
At the courthouse Lena hands the slip and Wayne's ring to Brandon and marries him first, and the clerk says the license was filed three weeks ago; Wayne films it, and Maura slips him a card.
When the clerk finally called number 214, my fiancée took our appointment slip out of my hand and gave it to her best friend.
I had held that slip for three hours.
"You've waited so long, babe, and I love you for it," Lena said, and squeezed my hand.
"Brandon and I will do the photo signing first, so the press is gone before your turn."
"Then you get me to yourself."
Brandon Pendleton smiled at me.
He took the wedding band out of Lena's tote bag, the one I'd paid for, and pushed it onto his own finger.
It went down to the knuckle without a tug.
"Relax, man," he said. "I'm a publicist. We sign a form, we pose by a flag, we post it. Ten minutes."
"It's just photos," Lena said. "Trust me."
She had said the same thing at breakfast, with her hand on my cheek.
Lena had picked the band sizes herself, because she said she wanted to surprise me.
Then she took Brandon's hand and walked toward the registry door.
Forty people in that lobby lifted their phones.
Everyone in the county knew Lena Montague's face.
Her photographer ran ahead of them, backing up and shooting.
Neither of them looked back at me.
I stood there holding an empty ring box.
For seven years, Brandon had been Lena's stand-in whenever the cameras came near.
When a photographer caught me walking into her house, she posted pictures of herself and Brandon in matching pajamas that same night.
When our engagement leaked in January, she sent Brandon a thousand red roses and called him her person.
I had put up with every one of those, because she said the stand-in was what kept me safe.
I sat down on the bench and checked my phone.
Lena had texted from twenty feet away.
*Almost done. Love you. Trust me, I'll make it up to you tonight.*
I read it three times.
Fifteen minutes went by. Then thirty.
A woman beside me whispered to her friend, "Is that really Lena Montague getting married?"
"She's marrying her publicist," her friend whispered back. "Everybody knows they're a thing."
I stood up.
My number was supposed to be called next.
The clerk looked up from her desk when I reached the counter.
"I'm here for the next slot," I said. "Wayne Burdick. I'm with Lena Montague."
She typed something and frowned.
"Ms. Montague's party finished at 2:41, sir."
"That was her friend. I'm the groom."
"The license was issued to Lena Montague and Brandon Pendleton," the clerk said. "The application was filed three weeks ago."
She said it loud enough for the whole lobby to hear.
"There's no application with your name on it."
Three weeks.
Three weeks ago Lena had picked out my suit.
The registry door opened.
Lena came out with Brandon's arm around her waist, holding a certificate against her chest.
Her photographer was already shooting.
The whole room started clapping, because they thought it was a surprise wedding.
I walked straight up to her.
"Lena, what did you just sign?"
She did not even blink.
"Wayne, please don't make a scene," she said, smiling for the lens. "We'll fix it tonight. It's for the image."
"For the image," I said. "You married him."
"It's paperwork, man," Brandon said. "Come on. Don't ruin the day."
"Then take my ring off."
Brandon reached for the band.
Lena put her hand over his, and the ring stayed where it was.
"Not until the photos are done," she whispered.
I looked around at the lobby.
Forty phones were pointed at us, and every one of them was waiting to see what I would do.
So I took out my own phone and filmed all of it.
"My name is Wayne Burdick," I said, loud and clear. "I've been Lena Montague's fiancé for eight months and her partner for seven years. Three weeks ago she filed to marry Brandon Pendleton. She just did it, and she told me it was for photos."
The clapping stopped.
Somebody in the back said, "Oh my God."
Lena's smile finally slipped.
"Maura," she said, without turning her head.
A woman in a black blazer stepped out from the wall behind her.
Maura Flaherty had run Lena's security for four years.
She took my elbow.
"Sir, we're leaving," she said, loud, for the cameras.
She steered me past the metal detector, past the guards, out through the glass doors into the sun.
Then, without moving her lips, she slid a card into the pocket of my jacket.
"Don't answer any call from her tonight," she said quietly. "By morning she'll tell everyone you're a stalker."
"Why would you help me?"
Maura let go of my arm and looked straight back at the doors.
"Because I have seven years of proof," she said. "Call me before she gets to the press first."
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