All hell broke loose.

“I can’t believe these bastards get away with this kind of crap.” Bram took a vicious swipe at a fly that had the temerity to land on the table next to his coffee mug. He’d once made an art out of shrugging off bad publicity, but now he wanted blood-the photographer’s and everyone who’d printed the photos, from the original tabloid to the online gossip sites. “If I could just get my hands on one of them…”

“Don’t look at me if you’re going to turn violent,” she said. “I’m on your side for once.”

They were sitting outside at Urth Caffé on Melrose sipping cups of organic coffee. Seven days had elapsed since the photos had appeared. Photographers and gawkers lined the sidewalk, and the Caffé’s other customers were openly staring at the city’s most famous newlyweds.

Everything she’d hoped to achieve with this marriage was backfiring. All her friends had called except Meg, who was still M.I.A. She’d had to keep both April and Sasha from flying back to L.A. As for her father…He’d stormed over to the house and threatened to kill Bram. She still wasn’t sure he believed her account of what had really happened, and his resistance to their marriage had only intensified. So much for taking charge of her life. Her self-confidence was shakier than ever.

“Will you smile at me, for chrissake?” His clenched jaw made his own smile suspect, but she played the good soldier and leaned forward to kiss the tight corner of his mouth.

There’d been no more private kisses since the night on the balcony eleven days ago, although she’d thought about that kiss more than she wanted to. She might dislike Bram as a person, but apparently his body was another matter, because the only pleasure she’d managed to conjure up all week had been watching him walk around with his shirt off, or even with his shirt on, like now.

“And this is a date, damn it. Our fifth this week.”

“Bull,” she said, keeping her smile. “This is business, damage control like all the rest. I told you-it’s not a date until we’re both having a good time, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re miserable.”

He clenched his teeth. “Maybe you could try a little harder.”

She dunked her second biscotti in her coffee and took a desultory nibble. At least she’d gained a few pounds, but that was small compensation for being trapped in an impossible situation with the press dogging them…and with a man who trailed testosterone.

He set down his own cup. “People think pictures don’t lie.”

“These do.”

The headlines read:

Marriage Over! Next Stop Splitsville

More Heartbreak for Georgie

Georgie’s Ultimatum! Get to Rehab!

Even Bram’s old sex tape had resurfaced.

They’d been trying to repair the damage by hitting all the paparazzi hot spots daily. They’d bought muffins at City Bakery in Brentwood, lunched at the Chateau, visited The Ivy again, as well as Nobu, the Polo Lounge, and Mr. Chow. They spent two nights club hopping, which left Georgie feeling old and even more depressed. Today, they’d shopped at Armani’s home store on Robertson, Fred Segal on Melrose, then stopped at a trendy boutique where they’d bought a set of obnoxious matching T-shirts they’d never wear anyplace but in public.

They’d only been able to risk a few separate outings. Bram slipped away for a couple of mysterious meetings. She took a few dance classes, went for an early-morning hike, and sent a huge anonymous check to Food for the Poor’s Haitian relief program. Generally, however, they had to stick together. At his suggestion, she was pulling the publicity-hungry celeb’s favorite trick of changing her clothes several times a day, since every new outfit meant the tabs bought a fresh photo. After having spent the past year trying to stay out of the public eye, she didn’t miss the irony.

The other coffee-shop customers had been content merely to stare, but now a young guy with a scraggly goatee and a fake Rolex came up to their table. “Can I get your autographs?”

She didn’t mind signing autographs for genuine fans, but something told her these would be up for sale on eBay by the end of the day.

“Just your signature is okay,” he said, confirming her suspicions as she took the felt pen and pristine piece of paper he handed her.

“Let me personalize it,” she said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

Personalizing a signature devalued it, and his loser’s mouth grew sullen as he realized she had his number. He muttered the name Harry. She signed, “To Harry, with all my love.” On the next line, she deliberately misspelled her last name, adding an e to York, so the autograph looked bogus. Bram, in the meantime, scrawled “Miley Cyrus” across the other piece of paper.

The kid balled up both signatures and stalked away. “Thanks for nothing.”

Bram slumped back in the chair and muttered, “What the hell kind of life is this?”

“Right now it’s our life, and we need to make the best of it.”

“Do me a favor and spare me the Annie sound track.”

“You’re a very negative person.” She made her point by launching into the chorus of “Tomorrow.”

“That’s it.” He shot to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

They set off down the sidewalk, their hands linked, his bronze hair glistening in the sun, hers desperately in need of a cut, and the paps trailing close behind. The trip took a while. “Do you have to stop and talk to every little kid you see?” Bram grumbled.

“Good photo op.” She didn’t reveal how much she loved talking to children. “And who are you to complain? How many times have I had to stand around while you flirted with other women?”

“That last one was sixty if she was a day.”

She’d also had a big mole on her face and bad makeup, but Bram had admired her earrings and even given her an eye-smolder. He did that a lot, she’d noticed, bypassing the beauty queens to stop and chat with their homelier sisters. For the space of a few moments, he made them feel beautiful.

She hated it when he did nice things.

Still, his generally foul mood had lifted her own, and when she spotted a pretty flower shop, she pulled him inside. The interior was fragrant, the flowers beautifully arranged, and the clerk left them alone. Georgie took her time studying the arrangements and finally chose a mixed bouquet of iris, roses, and lilies. “Your treat.”

“I’ve always been a generous guy.”

“You’re going to bill me, aren’t you?”

“Sad, but true.”

Before they got to the register, his cell rang. He glanced at the display and flipped the phone shut without answering. He was on the phone a lot, she’d noticed, but seldom where she could overhear. She held out her hand before he could pocket the phone. “Lend it to me, will you? I need to make a call, and I forgot mine.”

He passed it over, but instead of punching in a number, she flicked through the display to the most recent entry. “Caitlin Carter. Now I know your lover’s last name.”

He snatched the phone back. “Stop snooping. And she’s not my lover.”

“Then why won’t you talk to her in front of me?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He headed for the counter with the bouquet. As he stopped near a florist’s cart filled with frilly pastel blooms, she was struck by the contrast between his confident masculinity and those lacy flowers. Once again, she felt that distracting sexual stirring. This morning she’d even made an excuse to work out with him just so she could watch the show.

It was pathetic, but understandable. She was even a little proud of herself. Despite the current chaos stirred up by the photos, she was experiencing lust at its most elemental, separate from even a minimal amount of affection. Basically, she’d turned into a guy.

Bram gave her the flowers to carry from the shop. They’d been lucky enough to find a rare parking space close by, but they still had to get through the crowd of noisy paps stalking the sidewalk in front.

“Bram! Georgie! Over here!”

“Have you two patched up your fight?”

“Make-up flowers, Bram?”

“Georgie! Right here!”

Bram pulled her against him. “Stand back, guys. Give us some room.”

“Georgie, I heard you saw a lawyer.”

Bram shoved the burly photographer who’d gotten too close. “I said to stay back!”

Out of nowhere, Mel Duffy emerged from the swarm and lifted his camera toward them. “Hey, Georgie. Any comment about Jade Gentry’s miscarriage?”

His shutter clicked away.

Georgie felt sick. Her envy had somehow poisoned that defenseless fetus. Duffy had told them the miscarriage had happened in Thailand nearly two weeks ago, only a few days after her Vegas wedding, when Lance and Jade had been about to join up with a U.N. task force. Their publicist had just released the news, saying the couple was devastated but that doctors had assured them there was no reason they couldn’t have another child. All those phone messages Lance had left her…

Bram didn’t say anything until they were nearly home. Then he turned down the radio and gazed over at her. “Tell me you’re not taking this to heart.”

What kind of woman resented an innocent, unborn child? She was nauseated by guilt. “Me? Of course not. It’s sad, that’s all. Of course, I’m sorry for them.”

His knowing expression made her look away. She needed a gigolo, not a shrink. She adjusted her sunglasses. “Nobody wants something like this to happen. Maybe I wish I hadn’t been quite so upset when I heard she was pregnant. That’s only natural.”

“This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know that.”

“Your brain knows it, but the rest of you is seriously screwed up when it comes to anything associated with the Loser.”