CHAPTER1
LAUREN
“Lauren! Lauren! Eyes over here!”
Photographers shouted my name as I stood in the designated red carpet area in front of a backdrop. Shoulders back, hand on left hip, right knee bent slightly—I knew the drill. After being a reluctant celebrity for five years, I may have had the pose perfected, but I still didn’t enjoy doing it, especially not when my “husband” had his arm around me, pulling me against his side. In my head, I counted to ninety. A minute and a half was an acceptable amount of time before walking away. Counting also gave me somewhere to go in my head so I wouldn’t obsess about whether I had lipstick on my teeth or a stray chin hair only a high-resolution camera would catch. Or the fact that my husband was touching me in places that felt too intimate now that we were estranged. Maybe if I’d experienced fame when I was a young woman, I’d be better at it by fifty-two.
My husband, Frederic, or Freddy, as the world knew him, dazzled the photographers with his ultra-white veneers and chiseled jawline. God, how handsome I thought he was before I knew what ugliness lay beneath the shiny surface. Good looks definitely weren’t enough to make up for the deficiencies in his character, but most of the world didn’t know the true Freddy or the real me. They saw what was in front of the camera—a picture perfect middle-aged couple attending a fancy schmancy event in New York City. Lucky us.
As we left the press area and walked into the main event in my sister’s opulent new hair salon, he lowered his head, still smiling, and whispered in my ear, “I detest this bullshit.”
At least we had that in common.
People might think he was whispering sweet nothings, but no, we didn’t do that kind of thing anymore. Hadn’t exchanged loving words in more than a decade. To maintain the charade, I gave my head a toss and laughed quietly, as if we were sharing an intimate joke. Maybe I’d become as fake as he was.
“You’ll put up with this dog and pony show if you want to get your next check from me.” I slid my hand into his as I spoke. He had the skin of a man who moisturized religiously. “Just two hours of your time is all I’m asking for this evening. Then you’re free to go out and carouse and do whatever it is you do when you’re in New York.”
When we legally separated three and a half years ago, state law required me to continue supporting Freddy because supposedly he’d been the primary caregiver for our two children instead of working outside the home. In reality, we’d always employed a nanny so Freddy could parent when he damn well felt like it and use the rest of his free time to pursue his sailing hobby, as well as beautiful young women he met along the way. I worked my ass off to afford the lifestyle we enjoyed, and what did all my long hours at the office and lost time with my sons get me? A huge monthly alimony payment to him. On top of what I had to pay Freddy after the separation, I offered to throw in a hefty bonus if he agreed to two stipulations:
1. Keep our separation a secret.
2. Attend at least two public events with me per year.
It wasn’t a bad gig for a European playboy, one who was tangentially related to royalty and was spending his fifties gambling, sailing, and sleeping with women half his age. Somehow, we’d managed to keep our marital issues on the down low, probably because he did his partying in places like Ibiza and San Tropez, not Manhattan.
The party I was forcing him to attend was incredibly important to me. My twin sister Tori and I were co-owners of a high-end matchmaking business called Ms. Match, which, five years ago, spawned a reality show of the same name. Tori was the company’s head matchmaker and star of our TV show, while I preferred to stay behind the scenes as our chief financial officer, making as few on-screen appearances as possible.
As if Ms. Match weren’t time consuming enough for her, Tori had recently started a salon with her friend Jenna, and now they’d added a haircare line to their empire. Tonight they were having a celebration at their salon in SoHo to launch their new product line, and if there was one person who always got my support and loyalty, it was my sister, which meant Freddy was going to show up for her whether he liked it or not.
We walked into the salon, and Tori greeted me with kisses on both cheeks.
“Hey, Lolo! You look beautiful.” Like the rest of my family, she still used my childhood nickname.
“So do you.” I looked her up and down, taking in her fierce tangerine colored body-con dress that accentuated her curves and contrasted with her long dark hair that fell almost to her waist. “That dress is absolutely gorgeous on you.”
She loved bright colors and bold prints, and I was wearing my favorite shade too—classic black. We hadn’t dressed similarly since my mother lost the battle to pick out our clothing for kindergarten.
“Thank you so much for coming tonight.” Tori turned to Freddy. “Hello, Frederic. You’re looking well-rested, as always.”
Freddy ignored her dig. “Bonsoir, Tori. You look fantastique in that dress.”
She did look amazing. Even with the stresses that came from running multiple business ventures, she’d never been happier or more radiant in her life. Some of that had to do with her boyfriend Nick, the first man she’d ever dated who was actually worthy of her. He was a childhood neighbor and friend with whom she’d reconnected last Christmas, all thanks to me, and they’d been inseparable ever since. Now they were contemplating getting engaged, and it was possible my sister would soon become the stepmother to his three teenage daughters. For Tori, life was always about new adventures, while I was the pragmatic twin, less prone to taking risks or walking the untrodden path. At fifty-two, I could see the road ahead of me stretching all the way to the retirement villa, and there was nary a bend or bump in it. The scenery was the same for miles and miles…
God, I needed a drink.
Reluctantly, Tori accepted kisses on both cheeks from my “husband” because, although she despised him for cheating on me, she went along with our deception for my sake. The only other people who knew about our faux marriage were our brother Rocco, his husband Jamison, my two adult sons, and the divorce attorneys who wrote the separation agreement. My mother was aware Freddy and I largely lived on different continents but she never asked why, which was fine by me.
“Freddy,” Tori said, “since you never like to pay for anything, you’ll be happy to know there’s an open bar this evening.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Grab a champagne and say hi to Rocco and Jamison. They want to see you.” She pointed toward our brother and his spouse, who were both dressed in dapper suits.
“Will do,” I said. “And congratulations, the place looks amazing.”
“Thanks, sweetie. I have to mingle and promote. Catch you later?”
“Of course.” I blew her a kiss. “Knock ‘em dead, sis.”
Before opening the salon, Jenna and Tori gave it a complete transformation from a rather grim discount mattress store to what was now a gleaming vision in white and gold with soft pink and coral accents. Clearly, Tori had selected her dress color to match the salon’s decor, which was typical of her relentless attention to detail. She and Jenna had gone big in the literal sense when they designed the place—bold light fixtures descended from the ceilings like clouds, oversized velvet settees anchored the vast waiting area, and huge gilt-framed mirrors bounced light around the room. If I’d placed all of that in the salon it would have looked like a bordello, not a feminine, playful retreat from the sharp edges of the city. I had no doubt they’d book up months, if not years, ahead.
Seeing my sister promoting her new business made me think about our beginning as partners and how far we’d come. Fifteen years ago, Tori asked me to help her start up a small, elite matchmaking service that focused on an extremely wealthy clientele. We opened the doors of Ms. Match with a bank loan, a strong work ethic, and not much else. Now we were worth millions, and Tori was still expanding her brand. We’d recently announced that this would be the final season for our TV show because we both felt it had run its course, and then we received an unexpected offer—a media company wanted our entire catalog for their streaming service. My personal life was nothing to brag about, but professionally, I was a huge success. After Freddy and I parted ways, I decided you can’t have it all, and I should stop missing the things I lacked—like a romantic relationship—and be grateful for my privileged life. Gratitude was easier to come by when I didn’t have to deal with my husband in person.
