“You didn’t have sex with her? Am I supposed to sit here now and guess what did actually happen?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what? What the hell happened, Julian? Clearly something, because we’ve never had a conversation like this before.”

“It’s just that . . . it’s complicated.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat. “Tell me nothing happened. Say, ‘Brooke, they’re a total scam, a complete distortion,’ and I’ll believe you.”

She looked at him, and he looked away. It was all she needed to know.

For a reason she didn’t understand herself, Brooke felt all the rage disappear in an instant. She didn’t feel better or at all comforted, but it was like someone had drained her of all her anger and replaced it with a deep, cold hurt. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.

They sat in silence, neither one of them daring to say a word. Brooke was shaking now, her hands, her shoulders, everything, and Julian was staring at his lap. She thought she might puke.

Finally, she said, “I got fired.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Yeah, just now. Margaret said the higher-ups question my ‘commitment to the program.’ Because I’m never there. Because I’ve taken more days off and switched more shifts in the last six months than people do in ten years. Because I’m too busy following you all over the country, staying in gorgeous hotel suites and wearing diamonds.”

Julian dropped his head in his hands. “I had no idea.”

There was a knock at the door. When neither of them said anything, Natalya stuck her head in. “We need to do a final run-through with both of you and then start moving out. You’re due on the red carpet in twenty-five minutes.”

Julian nodded and she closed the door again. He looked at Brooke. “I’m so sorry, Rook. I can’t believe they actually, uh, laid you off. They were lucky to have you, and they know it.”

There was another knock at the door.

“We’ll be right out!” she shouted, louder than she’d planned.

The door opened anyway, and Leo appeared. Brooke watched as he carefully arranged his expression to one of peacemaker, consensus builder, understanding confidant during hard times, and she immediately wanted to puke.

“Leo, can you give us a minute?” She didn’t bother hiding her dislike.

He walked in and closed the door behind him as though he hadn’t heard her. “Brooke, I know this can’t be easy right now, trust me, but you two have to be on that red carpet in less than thirty minutes, and it’s my job to make sure you’re prepared.”

Julian nodded. Brooke could do nothing but stare.

“Now, of course we all know those pictures are a load of crap, but until I can get to the bottom of it and force a retraction”—he paused here to give everyone a chance to process his power and influence—“I would like you both to be ready.”

“Okay,” Julian said, and looked at Brooke. “I guess we should probably work out our official response to any questions as a couple. Show a united front.”

Brooke realized the anger she’d been feeling at the beginning of their conversation had slowly become a deep sadness. What happens when you barely recognize your husband anymore? she wondered. Julian, who used to complete her thoughts, now seemed incapable of understanding her at all.

She took a deep breath. “You two can decide on your own ‘official response,’ and I don’t particularly care what it is. I’m going to finish getting dressed right now.” She turned to Julian and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll go with you tonight, and I’ll smile for the cameras and hold your hand on the red carpet, but the moment that ceremony is over, I’m going home.”

Julian stood up and came to sit next to her on the bed. He pulled her hands into his and said, “Brooke, I beg you, please don’t let—”

She pulled her hands back and moved a few inches away. “Don’t you dare try to put this on me. I’m not the reason we need a huddle and an official statement to the press. You two work it out.”

“Brooke, really, can we just—”

“Let her do her thing, Julian,” Leo announced in a voice rich with wisdom and experience, accompanied by a look that said, At least she agreed to go—can you imagine the PR nightmare if she bailed? Take it easy, give the crazy wife a little space, and you’ll be on your way to the stage in no time. . . . “Do what you need to do, Brooke. Julian and I will get everything straightened out here.”

Brooke stared at them both before walking back into the living room. Natalya pounced on her immediately. “Jesus Christ, Brooke! What the hell happened to your makeup? Someone fucking find Lionel!” she screamed as she raced toward the back bedroom. Brooke took the opportunity to slip into the third, blessedly empty bedroom, lock the door, and dial Nola.

“Hello?” The sound of her friend’s voice almost made her cry all over again.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Are you in the dress yet? Can you have Julian take a picture with your BlackBerry and send it? I’m dying to see you!”

“Listen, I only have two seconds before they find me, so—”

“Find you? Are you being stalked by some sort of awards show killer?” she laughed.

“Nola, please just listen to me. Everything turned into a horror show. Pictures of Julian and some girl. I haven’t seen them yet so I don’t really know, but they sound bad. And I got fired for missing so much work. Look, I can’t explain it all now, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to get on a red-eye right after the ceremony, and I was hoping I could come to your place? I have a feeling our apartment is going to be completely staked out.”

“Pictures of Julian and some girl? Oh, Brooke, I’m sure it’s nothing. Those magazines will print any trash that floats by their desk, true or not. . . .”

“Can I stay with you, Nola? I have to get out of here. But I’ll totally understand if you don’t want the drama right now.”

“Brooke! Shut up this minute. I’ll call and book your flight myself. I remember from a project I did in L.A. that the last red-eye to New York is at eleven on American. Do you want that one? Is it enough time? I’ll also book you cars to and from the airport.”