Phoebe slowed down when they neared the gate and looked behind her. Harley, now wearing a hooded jacket to hide his face partially, whispered, "Now, you follow me. I know a shortcut."
Before Phoebe could protest, he was leading the way to a narrow alley. Phoebe hugged her bag to her chest as she followed. Where's this guy leading me? Is he going to kill me? she thought as they trudged through.
Just as she was considering walking away from him, they reached the end of the alleyway. Phoebe's heartbeat slowed down. But where is he?
"Isabelle!"
Phoebe looked around and saw Harley on the other side of the street, near the back entrance of a hotel. He was motioning to her. Why's he standing there? she thought as she warily crossed the road.
"Isabelle?"
"You never told me your name so I had to choose." "You looked through my files, didn't you?" Harley winked as he led her to the service elevator. "Why are you taking me here?" The implication hadn't caught up with her until then, when she realized where they were. She hugged her bag to her chest and shook her head as she stayed rooted on the spot. "I'm not that kind of girl!"Harley laughed, and Phoebe felt embarrassed. But still. She had to hold her ground. She was, after all, not just a teenager, but also a married woman— erm, girl.
"Don't be funny, Isabelle. My father runs this place, so we'll be safe here. No one taking secret photos and posting on those gossip sites."
Ah, Phoebe thought. She followed Harley to the elevator.
"Besides, you're the one who asked if we could talk. I'm merely obliging you."
Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Fine." The elevator door closed.
"Plus, I know you're married, so there's no use trying to flirt with a married woman, right?"
The elevator shook for a second, and then it went dark.
"Oh my god, what just happened?" Phoebe spoke in the dark, her hands trying to grasp something, someone. She felt her hands on Harley's chest.
"Hey, easy there!" Harley said, laughing. Phoebe took her hands away, partly glad that it was dark and he wouldn't see her embarrassment. "I think the lights went off."
"Oh my god, this is my worst nightmare! How can I—I should call—damn it, there's no signal in here!"
"Yeah, we're in the basement."
"Why do you seem so calm? We're stuck in an elevator!" Phoebe said.
Harley took his phone and placed it near his face so that it would be lit up. "I'm aware," he said.
Phoebe was struck at how gorgeous he was up close but shook her head. She couldn't be attracted to a guy who wasn't her husband. Her husband—shoot! Kent was going to kill her.
"Take it easy. It probably won't last long," Harley said as he sat on the ground. "Sit down. Perhaps now's the perfect time to explain."
Phoebe sat down and rested her head on the wall. "Okay, here goes."
Phoebe told Harley everything—from her childhood spent with Kent because their mothers were so close to the car crash that killed both women, to that trip to New Hampshire where they got married.
"So you mean, you're not really together," Harley said.
"Yeah. I mean, we're still young. Plus, he probably doesn't even like me that way," Phoebe said. And she was surprised to find her voice sounding hurt.
"Why don't you just get a divorce, you know, get real about it?"
"I dunno. Maybe out of respect for our mothers . . . Plus, our fathers will be so disappointed to find out we're not that—he's not that—you know . . ."
YOU ARE READING
Secretly Married (English)
Teen FictionPhoebe Bernal shares a secret with one of the country's hottest stars, Kent Fuentabella. Their secret? They've been married for a year. Of course, no one can know, lest Kent's stellar status goes kaput along with his on-screen love team with the It...