The following days were filled with laughter, but also with terrible body aches. I had decided to continue training with Mel, even knowing it would be difficult. I didn't give up, even though every muscle in my body protested with each movement.
Back at my family's house, my mother and nanny began to suspect something. They thought Mel was forcing me to do something improper because—in their words—I looked "terrible."
"Mom, I'm fine," I repeated for the sixth time.
"My girl, you don't look fine at all. Please, tell us if you're eating properly, if they're treating you well…" my nanny asked, her voice full of concern.
"Yes, nanny, I'm fine," I replied, though a grimace of pain escaped my face.
That small grimace was enough for both of them to look at me with distrust. It hurt even to breathe, but even though my body screamed in pain every day, I was determined not to give up.
"What is that woman making you do? Let me see your torso," my mother asked urgently.
She gestured to my nanny, who grabbed my arms as my mother yanked up my blouse.
"What are you doing?!" I complained, struggling.
I didn't fight too hard because I saw the surprise on my mother's face when she realized there was nothing wrong with my body. She quickly lowered my blouse, her expression embarrassed.
"Why are you doing that?" I reproached, looking at both of them.
"Sweetheart, it's just that you never explain why you're so sore and exhausted," my mother replied, frustrated.
"I already told you: I'm just exercising, nothing else," I insisted firmly.
They exchanged a silent glance. I knew they didn't believe me.
"Do you really think I can't work out?" I asked indignantly.
"My girl, you don't have to lie to us. Besides, we know you'd never actually exercise," my nanny reproached me.
My blood boiled. How could they doubt me so much? I stood up indignantly from the couch and, staring at them, said firmly:
"I do."
"Sweetheart," my mother took my hand, "it's just that you never do it for pleasure, never. And once you even said you had a good figure, so why exercise?" she reminded me gently, though with a hint of severity.
That wasn't entirely untrue, but I could still do it if I set my mind to it—and I had already decided to.
"But now I do, and that's why I look like this," I emphasized firmly.
My mother and nanny, though still doubtful, didn't insist further. Still, their looks made it clear that they didn't entirely believe me.
On Sunday, while shopping with them, I ran into Amber, who was also shopping with a friend I didn't recognize.
Noticing her presence, my mother gave me a knowing look and approached Amber. With perfect naturalness, she started chatting with her friend, giving us some privacy.
"How have you been?" Amber asked nervously, her lips trembling slightly.
"Good," I replied awkwardly, unable to hold her gaze for long.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable, heavy, as if the words refused to come out.
"I miss you," Amber whispered so softly I almost didn't hear her.
I looked at her intently, feeling a knot form in my throat.
"I miss you too," I confessed in a whisper that barely escaped my lips.
Amber smiled warmly, as if those words were the balm she had been needing. Then she took my hand gently, squeezing it softly.
"I don't want to be away from you," she said, with the same knot in her throat that I carried. "I can come back home, I can come back to you," she asked, anxious and hopeful.
I smiled foolishly, carried away by the moment's illusion, but the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. The memory of Mel suddenly came to mind.
"Amber, you can come back… but I'm living with Mel," I warned carefully.
Her expression changed immediately. She let go of my hand and frowned, clearly annoyed.
"You're living with her?" she asked, her anger obvious.
"Amber, it's not because she or I wanted this. We simply had no other choice," I tried to explain.
"There's always a choice, Judith," she reproached me sharply.
"Amber, if you'd let me explain…"
"I don't want you to explain, Judith. The last thing I need is for you to tell me you sleep in the same room with her, because 'you have no choice'," her gaze was harsh, almost impossible to hold.
I had to look away, unable to deny it. It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't completely false either. I did sleep in the same room as Mel, although she slept on the sofa and I on the bed.
Amber immediately caught my silence, my lack of denial. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and her voice cracked in reproach:
"You sleep with her?" she accused me, unable to hold back.
Two store employees turned toward us as soon as Amber raised her voice. I felt all eyes on me and knew, in that instant, that I couldn't cause a scene. I had to maintain appearances, even though desperation was consuming me inside.
"Amber, please, I can explain… but not here. Can we go somewhere more private?" I pleaded, my voice trembling.
She, however, didn't give in. With firmness, slightly lowering her voice, she responded:
"No, Judith. I will not be the mistress again."
Those last words were almost a whisper, but the annoyance seeped through every syllable. I felt as if the ground had opened beneath my feet. Amber turned and walked toward my mother and her friend, leaving me there, alone and devastated.
My mother, who quickly noticed what had happened, approached me with a concerned expression. I told her what had happened in a few words, my throat tight with emotion. With the best intentions, she offered to speak with Amber. But I hurried to stop her.
"No, Mom. She has to talk to me. Only me. I don't want her getting ideas or anyone else intervening," I asked, holding back my tears.
My mother nodded slowly, understanding my stance. In the end, she agreed with me: Amber had to hear me out and face me, even if she refused. Her silence, her flight, her refusal seemed like an act of immaturity we couldn't allow.
Night fell with a strange weight. I returned to the residence with Mel, trying to leave the incident behind. However, on the way to the room, laughter echoed from the living room. I stopped, confused. I approached cautiously, and what I saw left me even more bewildered: Mel was sitting on the sofa, laughing with a woman I didn't immediately recognize, as I could only see her back.
"Hi, darling," Mel greeted enthusiastically, jumping up. She walked toward me and enveloped me in a sudden, warm hug.
I understood that gesture immediately: her visitor must not know our marriage was fake.
"Hi, darling," I replied, hugging her back and planting a kiss on her cheek.
"How was your day?" she asked, with apparent casualness.
"Very good, but…" I trailed off, looking toward the woman in the living room. Then I recognized her: it was the model Sara Mackenzie.
Mel, as if barely noticing my distraction, chastised herself:
"How rude of me! Darling, this is Sara Mackenzie, my friend. And Sara, this is Amber Preston, my wife."
She introduced us with that confident assurance of hers that always left me speechless.
"It's a pleasure," I said, extending my hand.
Sara looked at me with a teasing smile, one of those that unsettles and casts doubt.
"The pleasure is mine. Finally, I meet the woman who got Mel to say 'yes,'" she commented in an ambiguous tone, halfway between joke and mockery, taking my hand.
I could only respond with a polite smile.
Sara and Mel were very close friends, so close that she told me anecdotes from their university years. In those stories, she described Mel as someone slippery, always disappearing from parties before anyone could convince her to have even a single drink. The curious thing was that, despite her apparent discretion, she had half the university at her feet.
And if you ask what happened with the other half, the answer is simple: they didn't know her because Mel often went incognito. At first, it was on her parents' advice, for security reasons, but when she revealed her face, the situation changed drastically. Now, people weren't pursuing her just for being a Castle, but also for her magnetic appearance.
First-year students melted just at the sight of her passing by; upperclassmen, on the other hand, dared to flirt openly with her. For Sara, this was a real torment, as she had to intervene countless times. Mel, with her almost childlike naivety when it came to matters of the heart, thought that all these people just wanted to be her friends. She continued the conversation naturally, unaware that what they were really after was to seduce her.
It could be said that, thanks to Mel, Sara discovered that there really was at least one person in the world capable of confusing flirting with simple kindness. Mel was that unique being who didn't understand insinuations and often ended up in embarrassing situations from which Sara had to rescue her.
On more than one occasion, Sara lost her patience out of frustration. She recalled an anecdote she had told me in detail: one afternoon, tired of her friend's romantic blindness, she confronted her.
"Why are you flirting with me?" she asked, annoyed, convinced that Mel was playing with her.
Of course, Mel didn't understand what she meant. Her bewilderment was so genuine that Sara realized, at that moment, the absolute lack of intuition her friend had regarding romantic matters. From that day on, she started observing her more closely. And what she saw left her between laughter and disbelief: it was always the same, with girls and also with boys. Everyone interpreted Mel's cordiality as an attempt at seduction, when in reality, she didn't even perceive it.
Sara even questioned whether her friend truly didn't notice or if, on the contrary, she was a masterful heartbreaker in disguise.
But the truth revealed itself on an unexpected occasion. Sara had gone on a date with a girl and, by chance, they ended up at the same restaurant where Mel was. She sat with her companion at a nearby table, directly behind Mel, who didn't see her because she was facing away.
Sara's curiosity was piqued. She had the perfect opportunity to confirm her suspicions. She didn't pay much attention to her date; her ears were focused on catching every word coming from her roommate's table. She wanted to know if Mel was truly as innocent as she seemed or if it was all a carefully constructed façade.
That moment became a definitive test, a kind of silent experiment with which Sara sought to uncover the truth behind Mel's enigmatic romantic clumsiness.
Mel's date spoke of trivial things; Mel, very proper and polite, responded as if it were an ordinary conversation. Everything seemed to unfold normally until her companion dropped a fairly direct hint for anyone: she suggested that Mel accompany her to her dorm.
It was the kind of obvious suggestion that anyone else would have understood in seconds. However, Mel's response was so bewildering that Sara couldn't contain her laughter.
"Of course I'll accompany you," Mel replied with complete seriousness. "We should leave soon, but I'll leave you alone at the door of your building because I don't want your roommate to think badly of me."
Sara's laugh rang out so loudly that both Mel and her date looked at her, confused. At that moment, Sara knew with absolute certainty that her friend lacked that basic common sense that everyone else took for granted.
To smooth over the situation, Sara leaned toward her own date and, with an awkward smile, explained that she had to go with her friend to help escort her companion. Her confused date accepted. Sara didn't want the evening to become any stranger. Thus, throughout the walk to Mel's date's dorm, Sara carried the conversation, doing her best to remain courteous. In the end, the young woman said goodbye without more, grateful but a little confused and disappointed.
Back at the residence, Sara couldn't contain herself. As soon as they closed the door to her room, she confronted Mel directly. Mel, caught in the act, had no choice but to admit the truth: she really didn't understand those hints. Sara, half-amused and half-exasperated, explained some of the phrases she should avoid at university and, above all, which ones could lead to misunderstandings.
While telling this story, Sara was so amused that I couldn't help but wonder silently: Then she knows this is a fake marriage, right?
"Judith, if you think she's flirting with you, it's better to ask her directly," Sara advised, winking at me.
Then she took a sip of tea and carefully placed it on the coffee table. I looked at Mel, who just shook her head. She seemed to have nerves of steel or, perhaps, nothing bothered her at all.
"By the way, I have to go now," Sara informed us, gracefully rising from the sofa.
Mel also got up to say goodbye to her.
"Mel, darling, I'm leaving. And when I come back, you promised we'd go to the beach," she reminded her in a tone that was both sweet and commanding.
"I already told you I can't," Mel contradicted her, her expression serious.
"Oh, come on, you owe me this," Sara insisted, pinching her cheek confidently.
"I'll see what I can do, as long as you give me notice," Mel warned, though her voice sounded more like an agreement disguised as resistance.
"With you, it's always a 'give me notice,' never a 'I'll drop everything to go with you, Sara,'" Sara feigned heartache, placing a hand on her chest as if Mel had broken it.
Mel just smiled and calmly added,"I'll walk you to the exit."
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Judith," Sara said, giving me a warm hug.
Before letting go, however, her lips came close to my ear, and she whispered something that froze me:"Make sure you don't fall in love with her during your remaining year with Mel."
I froze, unable to react, and then watched as she left with Mel, who accompanied her to the exit. What had that been? Her words echoed in my mind like a warning, and I didn't understand why they had unsettled me so much. I decided I needed to find out if Sara felt something for Mel. It wouldn't be easy, but at least I could try.
My plan was to bring up the topic during breakfast and ask strategic questions. However, uncertainty kept me from sleeping. So, in the middle of the night, I called her.
"Mel, are you awake?" I whispered cautiously.
"Yes. Is something wrong?" she answered, her voice sleepy.
"Are you sure?" I insisted, lifting my head to look at her.
"Honestly, no before, but yes now," she replied, clearing her throat as she sat up slightly.
Then I launched my questions about Sara, careful to make them sound like simple curiosity. She responded normally, nothing out of the ordinary between friends. Until, suddenly, Mel surprised me by turning the intrigue back on me:
"What did Sara say to you?"
I had no choice but to tell the truth. I recounted exactly what she had whispered to me. I expected Mel to laugh as she usually did in situations like this, but this time she didn't. Instead, she got up from the sofa, turned on the nightstand lamp, and sat at the edge of the bed, looking at me seriously.
"Judith," she began firmly, "first of all, Sara is my friend. She has never seen me romantically. And even though the tabloids say she's single, the truth is she's been in a relationship for over three years."
She paused briefly and continued,"You should also know that she knows our marriage is fake. And you're probably wondering: if she knows, why did I greet you so sweetly in front of her? Here's the answer. First, because I asked her opinion on my acting with you… and, of course, on your acting as well."
"So, how did we do?" I asked, curious, awaiting her verdict.
"We're great actresses," she confessed proudly. "And, well, there were employees around, and it's no secret that everything we do ends up reaching my grandfather's ears," she reminded me casually.
"And about what Sara said, don't pay attention to it," she added, downplaying it.
She gave me a serene smile and, as if nothing had happened, turned off the lamp to go back to the sofa and sleep.
......................
Mel
"Judith!" I shouted, startled. "Are you okay?" I immediately asked, scared as I saw Judith.
Just seconds ago, a weight had fallen on her foot.
"Can I?" I asked carefully, leaning down to remove her shoe.
Judith nodded silently. I took off her shoe and sock, and I could see that one side of her foot was red. I pressed gently.
"Ouch!" she complained, wincing in pain.
"Does it hurt a lot?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"Yes…" she affirmed with a sigh.
Seeing the swelling, I knew it was best for a doctor to examine her; I needed to make sure there was no fracture. Without thinking twice, I lifted her in a bridal carry.
"I'll call the doctor to check your foot," I said as I walked toward the bedroom.
I carefully laid her on the bed and immediately dialed. Dr. Smith answered right away, and after I explained the urgency, he assured me, "I'm on my way."
After hanging up, I turned to Judith."Are you okay?" I asked again, watching her touch her foot.
"It just hurts a little," she whispered.
"I don't just mean that," I clarified gently. "You've seemed distracted since this morning."
She sighed without replying. I took her hand in mine, trying to convey support.
"It's okay if you don't want to tell me now," I reassured her tenderly. "Rest a little, I'll go meet the doctor."
I looked at her a moment longer before getting up and leaving. After some time, when the doctor finished the examination, he confirmed that Judith was fine: it was just a small bump. Still worried, I asked if it would be necessary to get X-rays to ensure her foot was perfectly fine, but he dismissed the idea. He explained it wasn't necessary and recommended only ice, rest, and staying in bed for the day. According to him, the foot would feel much better the next day.
Even with that reassuring diagnosis, I couldn't fully relax. I stayed attentive to her all morning, entering her room every hour to check if she needed anything. I wanted to make sure she didn't feel pain, that she didn't strain herself in the slightest.
When it was time for lunch, I asked Nicholas to bring me Judith's meal tray. Carefully, I carried it to her room.
"Excuse me," I said as I entered with the tray in my hands. "It's time to eat. Fernanda, our chef, made you a soup to help you regain energy," I explained, placing the tray on the nightstand.
I picked up the plate and, without thinking much, decided to feed her myself.
"It's good, right?" I asked, paying attention to her expression as she smiled softly.
"Yes, very good," she answered sincerely.
"Fernanda's only condition for us to take back the tray is that you finish everything," I joked, trying to cheer her up.
Judith gave me a small smile, and that was enough to make me feel relieved.
"Have you eaten yet?" she asked me sweetly.
"I'll eat after you finish," I assured her, bringing another spoonful to her.
Judith wiped her mouth with the napkin before speaking again."Can I ask you something?"
"Of course," I replied with a smile.
"You know I hurt my foot, right?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes, I know," I answered, brushing it off.
She let out a subtle laugh."So you know I can eat on my own."
I froze, the spoon halfway to her mouth, until I realized the obviousness of her comment. Faced with that revelation, I had no choice but to laugh too.
"You're right," I continued laughing as I fed her another spoonful. "But you're injured, so I'm going to pamper you," I added with a knowing smile.
"Does that mean I'll have to do the same?" Judith asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course, or did you think I'd leave you alone?" I feigned indignation before letting out a light laugh.
"Well, since I have no choice, I'll do it," she smiled, finishing her meal calmly.
"And look, you're done," I told her, showing the empty plate.
She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, as if she couldn't believe she had finished so quickly.
"We also have fruit. Do you want some?" I asked.
"Yes, I want one… are there apples?" she said, trying to see the tray.
"Yes. Do you want it…?"
"Yes," she replied immediately. Then she picked up the apple and added, teasingly, "This one I'll eat myself."
"I won't insist on giving it to you; I don't want you to bite my hand," I joked.
"Hey! You say it like I'm a little dog," she protested, though a smile played on her lips.
I just laughed and took the tray to remove the rest."I'll be back in a few minutes," I told her before leaving.
The afternoon passed normally. After lunch, we spent time together watching movies and giving our critiques, which were more destructive than constructive, because if we didn't like the story, we shredded every plot detail with sarcastic comments.
Later that night, almost at dawn, I got up restless. My energy was over a hundred—I couldn't sleep and needed to drain it somehow. Frustrated, I silently slipped out of the room and went to the gym. I immediately got on the treadmill, running as fast as I could, hoping to tire myself out soon.
The problem was that missing my energy-draining routine for two weeks was already catching up with me. I just hoped this session would help me fall asleep. I ran for an entire hour, but even though I was tired, I still felt accumulated energy. I stopped anyway: I had to try to sleep, because the next day I would need to drain the rest no matter what.
And so it went. I subjected myself to an exhausting, grueling routine, although even that wasn't enough to prevent me from running again at dawn.
At least that day, Judith's foot was already feeling much better. She finally agreed to rest for at least a month to avoid a more serious injury. That small victory gave me some peace, though I still wrestled with the whirlwind of energy inside me that seemed never-ending.