Assist! My Faux “Showmance” Is Turning Into the Actual Factor! Pricey Remy, For the final six months, I’ve been in a pretend relationship with a pop star. I’m an actor—simply breaking into the massive leagues—and abruptly, I’ve obtained a complete “workforce” round me. You recognize the drill: PR reps, non-public cooks, and even an aesthetician.
(Once I first heard that phrase, I believed they mentioned “obstetrician” and practically handed out. However apparently, an aesthetician offers with pores and skin, not infants.) Remy—have you ever ever met PR folks? They’re terrifying.
They speak at a velocity past human comprehension. And my workforce rapidly determined {that a} faux romance between me and one other rising star—this pop singer—can be nice PR for us each. So, cue the staged paparazzi photographs of me backstage at her live performance, faux photographs of us boarding a non-public jet at Austin-Bergstrom, and tacky snaps of us sharing a Stanley cup on fifth Avenue.
(Two straws, one cup. Yikes.) The issue? I’m really head over heels for her.
For actual. I daydream about braiding her hair, shopping for us matching slankets, and taking her out on a two-person pedal boat. I even fantasize about constructing her a cabin within the woods with a recording studio for her, a dojo for me, and a jetty for us to go fly fishing.
However right here’s the kicker: I can’t inform anybody. My PR workforce has the entire relationship mapped out. We�.