The words hit Sylvia like a slap. All that sweetness—the flowers, the dinner, the holding of hands—was nothing more than a show for the cameras. Her stomach twisted with a bitter sting. She had been played, yet again.
“And you didn’t mind?” Evans continued, as though sensing her growing frustration. “You didn’t hate it. You wanted it too.”
Sylvia’s breath caught. She didn’t know how to respond to that. He was right, in a way. She hadn’t hated the night—far from it. But knowing it had all been orchestrated for the eyes of the public left a sour taste in her mouth.
“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Evans smiled at her faintly, his eyes lacking warmth. “To show them, Sylvia. To show the world—and the feds—that we’re perfect. That our marriage is real. That we’re a team.
