Chapter 2
"The day we left was overcast.
The production crew's car was supposed to arrive at nine, but I didn't get up until eight-thirty and packed at my own pace."
Charles hadn't come home the night before. He'd had his things sent over ahead of time, two TravelPro suitcases lined up neatly by the front door.
I opened my suitcase and started packing: my laptop, power bank, charging cables, travel adapter, and three law books I'd bought last month named Family Law Handbook, Employment and Labor Contracts, and Women's Rights Protections.
So I could study divorce property division and figure out how to protect my own interests as much as possible.
Then came snacks: chips, chocolate, beef jerky, and coockies. When the suitcase wouldn't close, I dug out a tote bag and stuffed the food into that. Last came the sleep mask, earplugs, and neck pillow.
"The doorbell rang just as I zipped the suitcase shut.
""Hello, Ms. Lane. We're with the show."""
The staff were polite, helping carry my luggage while sneaking glances at me. I knew what they were thinking: 'a rich man's wife carrying her own bags, so where was her husband?'
"Charles already headed out ahead of us. He'll probably meet up with us on the way,"I told them. It was a lie. I had no idea where he was either, but strangers didn't need to know that.
There were three cameras set up in the car, and a producer sat in the front passenger seat, turning around to chat with me the whole time.
"Ms. Lane, we'll be filming you around the clock, so just pretend the cameras aren't there. If anything makes you uncomfortable, let us know anytime," she said.
I nodded, put on my sleep mask, and said, "I'm going to nap. Wake me when we get there."
The producer froze for a second. She'd probably never seen a guest this unpredictable. The first episode had all the couples traveling separately to build suspense.
Any other wife would have been talking to the camera about her husband, her marriage, and her expectations. I went straight to sleep.
I slept for forty minutes. When I woke up, the car had stopped at a rest area. The producer said carefully, "Ms. Lane, Mr. Grant still isn't here. There's traffic on his side. Why don't you get out and grab something to eat first?"
It was already eleven-thirty. I bought a cup of instant noodles and sat on a bench to eat while the cameraman filmed me up close.
"Ms. Lane, aren't you worried about Mr. Grant?"the producer asked.
"Worried about what?"I looked up at her.
"Worried that maybe… something happened to him on the road?"
"He has a driver, an assistant, a secretary, and bodyguards,"I said, counting them off for her. "There are probably more people in his car than in mine. What exactly am I supposed to worry about?"
"You really have a great attitude,"she smiled.
"Three years of practice."
When I finished the noodles and tossed the cup into the trash, a black luxury van pulled into the rest area. The door opened, and Charles got out in a charcoal-gray suit, his hair perfectly in place.
The cameras swung toward him at once. I stayed where I was and waited for him to reach me.
"Been waiting long?"he asked.
"Forty minutes," I answered.
He paused, probably not expecting me to answer that directly.
A staff member beside us hurried to smooth things over. "Not that long, not that long. Ms. Lane just finished lunch."
Charles looked at the tissue in my hand, then at the cup of instant noodles in the trash, and his brows drew together slightly. "Let's go,"he said.
I nodded, walked right past him, and got back into my own car. The two cars drove one after the other to the filming location.
On the way, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Charles: [Eating instant noodles in public isn't a good look.]
I looked at the message and sent back one word: [Oh.] Then I added: [Mr. Grant, that 1.5-million-dollar contract doesn't buy the right to control what I eat. If you want to manage me, you'll need to pay extra.] He didn't reply again.