by Stella Gray
“Brooklyn, how about you? What do you love most about living with Luka?”
“His avocado toast,” I blurt. Kyla throws her head back and laughs, as if I was joking.
“I make her breakfast every morning,” Luka interjects. “I like taking care of her.”
Kyla smiles. “It’s very apparent how much the two of you care for each other. Which brings me to the one thing everyone wants to know. Are you planning on having kids?”
I hesitate, and Luka squeezes my hand. We look at each other and once again, I silently thank him for taking the lead. I’m supposed to be the one who’s good at putting on a presentation for the world, but today it’s Luka who’s excelling.
“We’re just enjoying the wedding planning right now, and our time with each other. We’ll all just have to wait and see what the future brings us.” He grins.
“Time will tell,” I agree.
The interview winds down, Kyla leading out with a few chitchat questions. Luka and I take turns answering, but I’m in a daze. Everything about this interview seemed so real.
I can’t get my heart out of it.
His hand is on my knee again, absently running a thumb over my kneecap as if he’s subconsciously trying to comfort me. Did he mean it, about seeing what the future brings us?
What’s happening here? It’s all for show, yes. I know that. Yet I can’t help but fantasize that his words had actual meaning. That he wasn’t just placating the press with sugar-coated lies.
He aced the interview so hard that I find myself envisioning what our life could be like. If we had a house with a yard. Kids. Family dinners, holidays with the rest of the Zorics, vacations. The future we’ve painted could be real, not just words.
This doesn’t have to be a sham.
Brooklyn
Chapter 23
An image of Julia Roberts tossing her bouquet into a packed church pew as she bolts from her wedding in Runaway Bride ripples through my head.
My wedding is two weeks away and I’m daydreaming about calling everything off, walking away, and forgetting all about Luka Zoric. Ditching this arrangement once and for good.
I’m sitting at O’Hare Airport, waiting to board my flight to LA. It’s raining outside and I can’t help thinking it’s a sign that I need to get the hell out of Chicago and never come back. The past few days with Luka have me completely confused and twisted up in knots—ever since our interview with Kyla, I haven’t been able to keep my head straight. I know the image we’ve created isn’t real, but the more time I spend with Luka, the more it feels real. But I can’t let myself be seduced by the lie. It’ll only cause heartache later.
Still, I’ve seen so many instances of what could be for us. This dream doesn’t have to be just a dream. What if everything we’re faking could be real? I don’t know what I want anymore.
I haven’t slept in days as my mind cycles through all the what-ifs and analyzes every word Luka has said to me to try to determine if there’s hidden meaning behind what I’ve been taking at face value. The interview really threw me. I was still reeling from how gently Luka held me in the supply closet at the photo shoot and how much my possessiveness had turned him on, and then he had to go on national television and talk about how he’d fallen for me at first sight. Was that total BS? Or was there some real truth to it?
Do I risk my pride and face him and confess the feelings that are creeping in, or do I wait it out and see if anything blossoms on its own…or if things resume to what they’ve always been? Putting myself out there doesn’t seem like the best option right now. Not with the wedding so close. All I need is his emotional rejection to stain a day that’s already tainted with lies.
And if what I’m feeling are real feelings, and he has them, too? Then what?
We can’t possibly have a real life together. Not when this whole thing started out as a sham…and especially not with the secret I’m keeping from him.
The stress is accumulating, and I need to temper it before I explode or do something stupid like run away from my wedding—and my picture-perfect future.
I flip my cellphone over in my hand and glance to see if I have a text from Mateo. He doesn’t know that I’m coming. Nobody does, aside from the people I have an appointment with tomorrow afternoon. Another blip of guilt courses through me. Mateo is staying at his condo in LA for a job this week, which works out perfectly for me. I need an alibi, so to speak, to cover for what I’m doing tomorrow, and I need time with my bestie so I can unwind and relax from all this emotional pressure. I’d texted him earlier to call me, but I haven’t heard back yet.
After I’d gotten the call this morning about the top-secret appointment, I’d packed a light bag and headed to the airport without even notifying Luka. His schedule is packed today and by the time he gets home, I’ll be curled up on Mateo’s sofa drinking wine.
I grip the phone tightly and glance at the ceiling, feeling suddenly terrible that I didn’t give Luka a heads-up. I’d thought about it, but I wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t raise his suspicion. We have an unspoken thing where we come and go as we please. Lately, neither of us has gone very far, and never overnight. He comes home every night and so do I. But maybe I’ll luck out and he won’t notice I’m missing until my plane is already in the air.
My phone chimes, and joy pumps through me when I see that it’s Mateo.
“Hey!” I’m so excited to speak to him. It feels like forever since we’ve caught up.
“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. What’s going on? You sound stressed.”
Of course he knows how I’m feeling even though I’ve only said a single word. He knows me better than anyone…even Luka.
Aware of the people seated all around me, I lower my voice and turn toward the window for a measure of privacy. Below, I can see planes taxiing on the runway. “It’s the wedding. Well, not just that. I guess it’s everything.” I tell him about the photo shoot and the interview and how sneaky feelings are weaseling into my common sense.
He’s quiet, as if he knows I’m not quite done. “A part of me wants to call off the wedding,” I finally say. Dread floods me as I say the words out loud. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”
“Oh, Brookie, you’re never lacking on the drama lately, are you?”
“I never used to have any drama!” I exclaim.
“I know. You were so boring. And look at you now.”
I huff a little laugh. “Thanks…I think.”
Mateo sighs. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do. Emotions are just products of hormones. They come and go, you know? He’s being sweet and loving because it’s part of the game. Or maybe he’s really starting to fall for you. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because in a few years, it will all be over and you’re going to walk away with everything you ever wanted. Maybe you need to focus on that, on the reasons you agreed to this marriage in the first place.”
I take a deep breath through my nose as his words sink in. He’s sassy and full of himself, but Mateo is a surprising voice of reason. He’s right. No matter what I think I feel, no matter what lies ahead for me and Luka, I have to keep my eyes on the ultimate prize.
“Thanks, Mateo. I knew you could talk me down from the ledge.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You free tonight? I’ll be landing at LAX in about four hours.”
I laugh at his excited holler. In a rush of profanity and rambling sentences he hangs up, only to call me back a few minutes later, right before I board the plane. I can hardly keep up as he excitedly chats about the impromptu bachelorette party he just tossed together with some friends of ours who are in town, too. By the time I get to my seat, I’m genuinely excited to get to LA, despite the growing guilt that I didn’t mention it to Luka.
I try to rest during the flight and figure out what I’m going to tell him. He can’t know the real reason I’m going to California. No one can. Several possible scenarios
play through my mind, but why make it complicated? All I have to say is that I wanted to get away and see my bestie. Even better, friends wanted to throw a very impetuous West Coast party for me since they couldn’t make it out to Chicago for the bachelorette party that Tori and Emzee had hosted, and how could I refuse? I’ll call him as soon as I land to explain. That should erase the guilt…I hope.
Mateo is waiting for me when I get out to the curb to stand in the taxi line, surprising me by being there. He whisks me off for a late lunch and then to his condo, and before I know it, we’ve been talking and laughing so much that Luka slips my mind and I never make the call.
Until my phone suddenly rings and all the excitement drains from my body. Mateo goes quiet and makes an exaggerated anxious face when he realizes who’s calling. Excusing myself, I go to the bathroom, shut the door, and answer the call.
“Hey,” I say cheerfully.
There’s a beat of silence that makes my chest hurt. Damn, I can’t believe I didn’t ward this off by calling him first. “Where are you, Brooklyn? It’s almost 10 p.m.”
I clear my throat and compose myself. “About that. So, Mateo decided to throw me a very impromptu bachelorette party with some friends out in LA, so I got on a plane and—”
“You’re in Los Angeles.” His voice is hard, the tone rising just enough that I can feel his anger through the phone.
“I—yes, I am in Los Angeles.”
More silence and I imagine he’s clenching his jaw the way he does when he’s getting sudden emotions under control. Right now, I wish I was one of those people who didn’t feel guilty or anxious over anything. Both are tearing through me right now.
“With Mateo.” It’s not a question.
My cheeks go hot. “Yes.”
“I see.” His tone is even harder, with an edge I’ve never heard from him before. “Be honest with me, Brooklyn. Do you have something going on with him?”
Luka shocked me the other day when he expressed pride over the way I stood up to Heather. He’s done it again right now with the pure jealousy in his voice. He’s always been a little standoffish about my relationship with Mateo and I’ve never lied to him about our friendship being just that, friendship. I thought he’d come to accept it, but now, I’m not so sure.
He’s jealous. And I kind of like it.
A small grin pulls at my lips. Maybe Luka does care about me.
“You know things between Mateo and me are strictly platonic,” I remind him. “It’s never been otherwise, and it never will be.”
“Regardless,” Luka says gruffly, “don’t you know how shitty it looks for my image if the paparazzi get more pics of you partying it up with another man, weeks before our wedding? Did you forget what happened the last time you two went out to a club? We nearly had a fallout thanks to the pictures that got circulated.”
His words are like a bucket of ice water over me. Of course. His image. His reaction had nothing to do with us. It was about all the ways I could potentially screw up his PR.
“Don’t worry,” I say quietly. “We’re just going to dinner and our friends will be there.”
“When can I expect you back home?” he asks.
“I’m just here for the weekend,” I tell him. “I’ll be back Monday.”
“Fine. See you then.”
He hangs up, and I stare down at my phone feeling like my chest is caving in.
I can’t believe I thought there was something more blooming between us. I’ve really let my own emotions override common sense lately. Of course Luka doesn’t actually care for me. This is still, and always has been, just a business deal. One we made to elevate Danica Rose’s image, which by proxy means Luka’s, too. That’s all I am to him—a means to an end.
The next morning, I slide into a black leather chair across from the head of Elite Image, Austin Spears, who greets me with a smile. I’m feeling zero anxiety about being here at their swanky Hollywood office. There’s a pit in my stomach over this meeting and what I’ve agreed to do for Elite, but for once, it’s not filled to the brim with guilt.
If anything, I’m even more motivated to see this through.
“Glad you could make it.” Austin slides a piece of paper across the mahogany desk. “Here’s our official offer. I’m sure you’ll be more than pleased with the terms.”
My heart begins to pound, my palms growing damp as I read the contract. They’re offering to make me the premier face of Maxilene cosmetics. International contracts. More dollar signs than I’ve seen in my life. I’m trembling by the time I’m done reading all of the perks Elite is offering in exchange for the terms we privately discussed before.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and read it again. At least, I try to, but the words begin to jumble. This offer is a much bigger deal than what Danica Rose is currently giving me. So much more. And yet, I’m not sure how easily I can walk away from what I’m already locked into. On an emotional level, the guilt wants to come back and remind me that I already have a deal, even if it’s not the absolute dream that’s outlined before me on paper.
Austin steeples his fingers, a knowing grin on his lips. “Anything DRM is currently giving you will be null and void once you sign with us. This contract overrides anything you currently have in place. You can walk away from them, free and clear.”
“I know,” I tell him.
He pulls a pen from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and hands it to me. His smile is meant to be reassuring, but it does nothing to make me feel that way. I slowly take the pen as he watches me intently, probably gauging what my next move will be. Joke’s on him, though, because even I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Positioning the contract in front of me, I lower the pen until the tip rests on the signature line. But the pen begins to feel heavy in my grip, and I set it down.
“Are you worried you won’t be able to deliver?” he asks, concern knitting his brow.
“I can deliver. It’s not that.”
It’s true; I can give Elite exactly what they’ve asked for. Luka’s already unknowingly given me everything that I need to make Austin and his bosses very, very happy. A flash of my fiancé’s face plays in my mind and guilt begins to trickle into that pit in my middle. I’m so tired of feeling this way. Why should I feel guilty? Luka has no trouble making everything we do about business. His end game is all about looking out for himself and the agency.
So why shouldn’t I look out for myself, too? It’s business.
I slide the contract back toward Austin. The flicker of disappointment in his expression is visible. “I need to think it over a bit longer,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’ll get back to you soon.”
He drums his fingers on the desk, eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to think of some way to persuade me to sign right now. But then he sits up straighter, pulls the contract over, and scribbles his signature on one of the bottom lines.
“Take it with you and mail it back when you’re ready.” He slides it my way again and gives a resolved tap of his hand on the desk. “You’re a smart girl, Brooklyn. Smart enough to know where the opportunity lies. I’m confident you’ll come around.”
I thank him and tuck the contract into my bag on my way out the door. I still have no idea what the right move is.
Because no matter what I decide, somebody’s going to get hurt.
Luka
Chapter 24
The floral musk of Brooklyn’s perfume greets me as I step into the penthouse Monday evening, telling me she’s back.
I barely slept the last few nights, knowing she was so far away, doing whatever she was up to with Mateo under the guise of a bachelorette party. It was the first time I’ve been alone in the penthouse since she moved in and I swear I could feel her absence like a tangible thing. It created a sort of tension that could only be broken by one thing.
Her coming home.
Her keys are lying in the little ceramic bowl on the side table; her purse sitting on the edge as if she
’d simply tossed it there instead of putting it away like she normally does. I walk quietly down the entry hall to the living room, listening for her. The gentle beat of the shower trickles through the open space and my cock immediately comes to life. She’s home and she’s naked in the shower. Two of my favorite things. I’d love to barge in and join her. I think to her haphazard purse on the table. Why was she in such a hurry to get home and jump in the shower?
What kind of lies is she washing off?
Setting my jaw, I resist the urge to barge into her en-suite bathroom and demand to know what she was really doing in LA. My sister and sister-in-law already threw her a lavish party here last month, along with a few of her model friends. Granted, Mateo hadn’t been able to attend, but still. I don’t believe the bachelorette party cover-up for one second. Her departure was so last minute. So impromptu. Brooklyn has to be up to something.
Either she’s fucking Mateo, or—
Fuck! My whole body goes tense and hot at the mental image of her underneath that guy—any guy, I don’t care who. I can’t shake my anger at her for running off. Especially given that the past few weeks have been different between us. More real. I’d been slow to realize it because I didn’t want to face it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that things’ve changed. Yesterday morning it came to me clear as crystal while I was sweating out my shitty mood at the gym.
I like taking care of Brooklyn, doing little things for her. I fucking loved it when she got all possessive over me at the photo shoot. What the other model had said about me was true. I had fucked every female in that room at one time. It’s an uncomfortable, even caustic, situation for a fiancée to find herself in—but instead of cowering, or taking the socially acceptable high road, Brooklyn had stood up for herself, and for our relationship. And I swear it meant something—that I meant something more than just the agreement we’ve made.
Loosening my tie, I remove my cufflinks and roll up my shirt sleeves. My clothes feel too tight all of a sudden. Needing to calm down, I go to the large windows and look out over the city. Dusk is beginning to fall, and lights dot the buildings in different hues of silver and gold. Streaks of purple and orange fade into the encroaching night. Brooklyn should be here right now, her naked body pressed against the glass. I swear I’ll make her forget every man she’s ever fucked.
