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She sniffed, peeking back at me, throwing some serious shade, her eyes narrowed slits. “I can’t believe you got engaged and didn’t tell me.”
I groaned and flopped back in the chair. How had everyone seen the article before I did? “Why do you think I’m here? It was… very sudden,” I said by way of an explanation.
“I didn’t even know you were dating someone, let alone in a serious relationship.”
Me neither, I thought to myself. Instead, though, I said, “It was casual at first, and he didn’t want the media to get a hold of our relationship and make it into something it wasn’t.” There, that wasn’t a lie.
Gran’s lips tugged, and she couldn’t resist turning to face me. The left side of her body had been affected by her stroke, and while her recovery had come a long way with physiotherapy, her left hand still sat limp in her lap, and when she smiled at me, it was lopsided, the corner of her eye sagging. I was grateful every single day for this woman. She was my last surviving relative, and I would do anything for her happiness and wellbeing—even this.
“Are you happy?” she asked, her voice slightly slurred.
I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes! I’m happier than I’ve been in years,” and I was surprised to find that wasn’t a lie either.
She reached her hand out, and I leaned forward to take it, her skin soft and dry. “Tell me all about your man.”
This shouldn’t have been what left me stumped. I didn’t know much about Max that I hadn’t learned by searching him up on the internet. “Well, he’s an actor, obviously,” I said slowly, drawing it out to play for time while I scrambled for something to say. “Very handsome…” She needed something more substantial than that. “He’s respectful, makes me laugh. Follows rules even when he doesn’t like them. And… he challenges me, pushes me to try new things, even if it scares me, but I know everything will be okay because he’s got me.” My heart was beating too fast inside my chest, making my skin feel warm.
She made a little aww. “Where did you meet?”
“Work,” I said without thinking.
Her eyebrows jumped. “At the mechanic? Did he bring his car in?”
“Uh-huh. Yep.” Lying to her made me feel icky, so I distracted us by passing her the danish. “Here, I got you your favorite.”
Her eyes lit up, and she took the pastry and dug in. I kept an eye on her to make sure she didn’t have trouble with chewing or swallowing, because that was a common problem after a stroke, but the therapist had been working with her, and Gran seemed to be doing really well. I was so grateful to be able to help pay for her care, and it was a reminder of why I was going through with the lie. Money, plain and simple, nothing more.
Golden Years was absolutely the best place for her. They had a supervising nurse, Noelle, that made sure the residents had the best care possible, while still maintaining their independence. The place was clean and bright, and besides the amazing comfort and care they provided here, Gran had also made a lot of new friends. She was happy.
Any lingering doubt I’d had about whether this was the right decision evaporated. A little bit of media attention? I could deal with that. I would learn to smile more. Keeping my hands to myself? Well, that was a whole other problem.
Why, oh why, did I make up those stupid rules?
8
Max
By the time the layer of foundation had set, I hadn’t even been sitting for five minutes, and I swore my butt was already falling asleep. I made a mental note to request a better chair for next week. I wasn’t one to use my fame to get my way, but I would if it meant getting a damn cushion for my ass.
The makeup artist’s name was Victor, and I found I liked him quite a lot because he didn’t talk much, which meant I didn’t have to make awkward small talk. He simply got down to task. First there was a layer of sunscreen, then foundation, and of course, next would come a layer of powder to cut down on sheen. He would accent my brows, add contour as needed for the lighting of the scene we were filming. It was an awful lot of makeup to give me a “natural” appearance.
My phone pinged with an incoming text, and I picked it up off my lap to peek at the screen. It was yet another message from Patrick Carson, asking for celebrity gossip or a news tidbit. If I’d thought our transaction was complete after the Chatter article came out, I was sorely mistaken. It had only served to open a door between us, and now the asshole thought he owned me. He’d been texting nonstop the past couple of days, acting like we were friends now, all because he thought he knew some deep, dark secret about me. So what if he thought he had a little bit of dirt on me. That didn’t make us besties, and I certainly didn’t owe him anything.
Sighing, I dropped my phone back on my lap, ignoring him. I knew there was no answer I could give him that he would like.
“Close your eyes,” Victor said, crouching down in front of me, wielding a tiny brush. I was more than grateful to block out the bright light. I sighed and decided to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep.
My phone pinged again, and I groaned softly. “Do you need to get that?” he asked, pausing mid brushstroke.
“I hope not,” I muttered. If it was Carson again, I was going to lose it. When I looked at my phone this time, though, the acidic annoyance I’d been feeling shifted to a strange fluttery sensation.
Arlo: Should I cut my hair?
Once I’d moved past the giddy excitement the mere sight of his name caused, I frowned. Why on earth would he ask me that? I quickly texted back: No, please don’t. I love your hair.
When he didn’t say anything else, I assumed that was the end of it. I closed my eyes again, the backs of my eyelids painted with images of Arlo with his soft hair splayed across my pillow. Gods, why the fuck did I agree to his stupid rules. We should’ve immediately given in to the sizzling chemistry that burned between us.
The makeup artist had moved on to my hair by the time my phone pinged again.