"But I'm really scared. I'm scared you'll play the part so long it stops being an act."
She pouted, eyes rimmed red, the picture of fragile helplessness—the kind designed to make a man fold.
"Deidre really is pretty. Great figure, too. I keep seeing people online saying she's more beautiful than me."
Clyde laughed and pinched her cheek, his voice dropping into the indulgent tone you'd use to coax a child.
"Victoria, no one even comes close to you. Once I deal with my parents, I'm marrying you. Immediately."
"In this lifetime, I will never marry anyone but you."
"Then swear it." She wouldn't let it go.
He smiled, that same doting warmth.
"I swear: if I, Clyde Gilbert, ever marry Deidre Morton in this life, let heaven strike me dead."
Victoria was finally satisfied. She kissed his face, once, twice, three times.
A short while later, Clyde pulled out his phone and made a call.
"Hey, Director Lambert. It's me."
"Looked over the promo plan for Victoria's drama. Next three rounds of talking points are fine. But for Deidre—push another wave onto the trending list. Tomorrow morning."