Katrina: “For one thing, he bought me this beautiful necklace for my birthday.”
A camera zooms in on the Elsa Peretti diamond heart necklace that’s draped around her long, slender neck. She wears it perfectly. The audience oohs. A bolt of jealousy tears through me.
Brandon: “Yeah, I picked it out myself at Tiffany’s.”
Rage replaces my jealousy. You bullshitter!
Brandon continues. “The same place I bought her ring.”
Katrina flashes a dazzling smile and her dazzling ring. Another close up.
Letterman: “Whoa! That’s some rock! Six carats?”
Katrina: “Oh, Dave. You’re off by four. It’s ten. And it’s flawless.”
Letterman chuckles. “I was never good in math. So, Katrina, how does it feel to be marrying People Magazine’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’?”
He holds up the magazine and a camera zooms in on it.
Katrina flings her mane again. “Oh, Dave. I’m so excited! It’s going to be the wedding of the century!”
Letterman: “I heard it’s being televised live on TV. A special edition of your reality series.”
Katrina: “Yes! On Saturday, May twenty-third. We’d love for you to come.” She turns to Brandon. “Right, darling?”
Brandon: “Sure. Everyone and their mother is going to be there.”
I detect sarcasm in his voice. He shifts a little in his seat.
Letterman: “So Brandon, let me ask you—how do you feel about the media referring to you and your fiancée as Bratrina?”
Katrina chimes in before Brandon can say a word. “We think it’s so clever. Move over Brangelina.”
I want to smack her.
Letterman: “Katrina, could I share an excerpt of one of the love letters Brandon sent you before his accident?”
What! He wrote her love letters?? A painful lump forms in my throat.
Katrina: “Of course, Dave. I’ve kept them all.”
Brandon’s eyes widen while the talk show host holds up a sheet of paper that’s on his desk. Letterman clears his throat.
Letterman: “Katrina, you are the moon and the stars. My whole universe. I will love you for all eternity.”
The audience gushes a collective oooh while Brandon blushes. Nausea washes over me. I swallow it back as Letterman holds up the letter. It’s typed, but for sure that’s Brandon’s signature. How many more did he write her? A sickening feeling uncoils in my stomach.
Letterman: (chuckling) “I have to hand it to you, Brandon; you’re quite the poet. Do you remember writing this?”
Brandon: “Um, uh, actually no.”
Katrina: “Oh, Brandy-Poo. You wrote so many you’ve forgotten.”
The audience laughs with Katrina. Letterman joins them while Brandon breaks into a sheepish grin. The laughter dies down.
Letterman: “So Brandon, how does it feel to be working again? You gave everyone a scare with that accident.”
Brandon: “I’m fully recovered. And it feels great.”
Letterman: “Hey, do you mind if we show a clip from an upcoming episode of Kurt Kussler? My wife and I love your show. So does my son.”
Brandon: “Sure. Go ahead.”
The show cuts away to the clip. My breath hitches. It’s the shower scene between Kurt and Alisha. Why did he pick this scene of all scenes?
My eyes stay glued on the TV screen. I relive every moment of the rehearsal shower I took with Brandon. Bile rises in my throat as a red-hot ball of fire ignites between my thighs. I have the urge to touch myself and I do. I’m a hot wet mess.
The clip fades to black and the audience applauds madly.
Letterman: “Whoa! That was intense. Do we have any more surprises to look forward to?”
Brandon grins fiendishly. “Yes. The season finale is going to end with a mind-blowing twist.”
Letterman: “Since I read you’re writing it, can you give us a hint?”
Brandon: “My lips are sealed.”
Even I don’t know what it is. He’s been very secretive about it.
Letterman: “One last thing before time runs out. What are you two lovebirds doing for Valentine’s Day?”
I don’t recall seeing that question on the list his publicist prepared. My stomach knots up with anticipation. I totally forgot it was Valentine’s weekend.
Katrina lights up. “Oh, Dave, I’m so glad you asked. Brandon is taking me to Paris for the three-day weekend! And Gucci too. Right, baby boy?”
What! He never mentioned that to me. He’s taking her to Paris? The City of Love? My fingers fly off my clit while my heart tumbles as if it’s been shoved off the Arc de Triomphe. A sharp pain hits me in the pit of my stomach.
I’ve had enough. I hit the remote. I make one call and thank God there’s another man who loves me. I turn out the lights. And will myself to sleep before a volcano of tears erupts.
Brandon