Chapter 147 - The Fake Engagement (2/2)

”If you say that you hired Claire Monteverde as a pretend fiancée, you also said earlier that both you and Miguel fell in love with her, and you were the lucky one. Does it mean you're currently in a real relationship now? That there's no pretense, anymore?”

”Yes,” Gabriel says ”It's a long story, a crazy rollercoaster ride, and I would love to tell you that in another time. But now let's just stay within the—”

”But how can you be sure that she really loves you? What if she only wants you for your status and money? After all, your 'relationship' began as a paid arrangement, right?”

Gabriel sighs. He looks at the reporter who asked that question; it's a lady he has never seen before. Maybe some newbie one of the newspapers sent here. And if that's true, should he feel offended that media outfits are now just sending newbies to his press conference? He glances at Claire; she's still standing there, partly hidden in the shadows, and he could feel what she feels. Face the music, he tells himself. Tell everything. The truth shall set you free. Besides, the question makes sense—how does he know, really?

”Trying to answer that in a practical sense reminds me of an old line from an old novel,” Gabriel says. ”To a man born blind, how do you explain sight? What words do you use? To know if Claire really loves me is to know and feel that she smiles the way she smiles because of me. But you know what? I am happy. And that's the only thing that matters. I'm happy to see her, to be with her, to discover what life has yet in store for the both of us. Does she really love me despite how our relationship started? Yes, I believe so, and the proof of that is largely invisible. It happens in those little magical moments that I could no longer describe to you. It happens in those moments that I'm only grateful to have the privilege to experience. I regret ever lying to the world about Claire. Because the truth is, who cares about a person's status in life when it comes to love? Who cares if you're rich or poor or stupid or underprivileged? I lied because I was so conditioned by my upbringing, about the world I build every single day. I lied because I was blind to the truth. And Claire cured me from all that blindness. This may be sappy, or corny, but when you're in love, the corniest lines become music to the ears.” Gabriel pauses, gazing at them all. ”And we're all here, in this room, on this bitter-sweet morning, because of that love.”

Some of the ladies in the crowd, supposedly veterans in the newsroom, begin sniffling, so moved by Gabriel's nȧkėd declaration of his feelings. One of them, sitting in the front row, timidly asks, ”What now, Gab?”

Gabriel smiles. ���Well, we're just trying to enjoy our lives, one moment at a time.” He stands up, finally. ”Thank you all for coming. I appreciate it.” He leaves. The reporters chase him with more questions, but his security detail jumps in, making sure Gabriel gets out safely, back in the comfort of Claire's arms.

”That was quite a show,” Gary says, turning off the TV. ”And in the gentle words of that same reporter, 'What now, Boss?”

Patrick scoffs. ”Here's something. A senator was just discovered in bed with a fourteen-year-old prȯstɨtutė,” Patrick reads off his computer screen. ”Go and interview not the senator, but that prȯstɨtutė. Talk to her, talk to her friends, check if she has a mother, paint a sob story. Go get it. No time to waste. There are ten freaking blank pages in this week's issue because of Gabriel's stunt, and we need that by nightfall. Go.”

”Sure,” Gary mutters. How low he has instantly fallen—from covering the country's richest man, to talking to teenaged prȯstɨtutės. It's mighty hard to get motivated from this; you can't get anything better than a story about Gabriel and Claire. There's no coming back from that. And as he steps out into the morning sun, Gary Smulder, esquire, eight-year on-and-off reporter for this stupid little publication, is thinking about quitting. He turns back and gazes at the yellowed signage of Muckraker magazine hanging above the front door; yeah, he thinks. Anywhere else is better than here. Like Gabriel, maybe it's time to face the music.