by Zoey Parker
I blinked. “I really do love him.” My voice was quiet. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure that Anya had heard me. Then she looked up at me with a sad smile on her face.
“Katia, you can’t get into a relationship right now.” She swallowed a sip of her latte and set the cup down with a thud on the table. I got the sense that Anya was holding back from me—just a little bit, but still. It was enough to make me regret coming here at all.
“Why?”
“I’ve already told you,” Anya said. “You’re everyone’s girl-next-door in L.A. You can’t go ruining that.”
I swallowed. “Anya, I’m twenty-seven,” I said softly. “I can’t stay single forever. What about when I want to get married and start a family?”
Anya snorted. “Honey, this is L.A. Reality check, it doesn’t happen for most women until they’re in their forties, and you can freeze your eggs. Lots of women do that.” Anya eyed me over the tops of her wireless glasses. “And Katia, really, it’s not like you’d want a baby any time soon. You’re too young. It’d ruin your figure.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “It wasn’t ever something that I thought I wanted,” I told her. “But I don’t know. Being with Dante is making me question everything.”
“Oh, God,” Anya said. She slapped her forehead. “Don’t even start, Katia. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with this conversation.”
I glared at her, suddenly angry. I didn’t like this Anya, this sarcastic, snappy Anya who wouldn’t take anything I said seriously. I almost preferred her when she was in kiss-ass mode, subservient and quiet, handing me sugar-free lattes and gluten-free treats just to keep me in a good mood.
“Too bad,” I replied sharply. “You’re my personal assistant, and you need to hear this. What if I’m thinking about a career change? Or even putting my career on pause? I could write a book,” I added. “Well, not me, but I could hire someone to help.”
Anya laughed. “Yeah, write about what? How to succeed in beauty pageants? Step one, don’t eat. Step two, don’t do anything but smile. Easy, right?” She smirked at me, and I felt what little confidence I had left erode further.
“No,” I replied. “Not like that. I mean, what if I wrote a memoir about growing up and having leukemia and overcoming all of my obstacles? Don’t you think little girls would find that inspirational?”
Anya looked over my shoulder, and I followed her gaze, half-expecting to see Dante staring at some girl’s ass. Instead, she was looking at a group of pre-teens who stood clustered by the entrance to the coffee shop. They were probably between ten and thirteen years of age, and they were all sporting unisex haircuts and big sunglasses.
“Katia, girls now like skateboarding and stuff,” Anya said dismissively. “No one dreams of growing up and being Donald Trump’s fifth wife anymore. Don’t you know that?”
“Well, what the fuck do you want me to do?” I practically exploded. “Get rid of Dante and stay in my condo like a fucking ice queen, smiling and waving my hand and never speaking my mind? Is that seriously what you think I want for the rest of my life?”
Anya stared. Her jaw dropped, and I noted with satisfaction that I’d rendered her mute, at least temporarily.
“Katia, maybe you need to go home and lie down for a while,” Anya said softly. “This isn’t the best time to discuss everything. You’re obviously upset because of this whole stalker thing.”
Tears came to my eyes, and I brushed them away carelessly. I knew that I couldn’t start crying in public like this. Photos would be all over the tabloids if anyone caught me. Still, I felt hurt and angry and frustrated. Not to mention alone. Anya was always the person I’d confided it, and now that she wasn’t listening, I didn’t know where to turn.
“You don’t care,” I said miserably. “You don’t care about me or what I want. What if I just fired you, Anya?”
Anya shook her head. “That wouldn’t be wise. And Katia, I do care about you. But right now, I don’t think you’re in the best mindset to make decisions. You’re stressed and upset. It’s understandable. Do you know anyone who’s been stalked before? Maybe one of your friends from the pageant world?”
I sniffed. “What friends?” I mumbled. It was true that most of the other girls I’d competed against hated each other. Sure, no one acted like that; everyone was all smiley and friendly, at least until you turned your back.
I remembered at my first big pageant, I’d been so happy when one of the girls cozied up to me immediately. Then, my formal dress went missing and appeared on stage on her twig frame. I’d lost the pageant, obviously, but I never forgot the sting of how it had felt to be played like that. And ever since then, I hadn’t gone out of my way to make friends in the pageant scene. I’d only been the requisite amount of nice.
“What about that one girl? What was her name? Jenna?”
“Gemma,” I said automatically. I frowned. Gemma Roberts was one of the girls who had advanced at roughly the same time I had. She’d been into ballet and baton-twirling, which had usually scored higher marks with the judges than my singing. But she wasn’t a natural blonde. She was a dusky, dirty-brown brunette, and my hair had always given me the advantage. After all, I embodied the All-American girl; everyone had always said so.
“Well?” Anya prompted me. “Didn’t something happen with her?”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “It was a long time ago,” I said curtly. “And I think she made it up for attention.”
“Katia, listen to yourself,” Anya said derisively. “You’re so narcissistic! Everything is just all about you, but whenever someone’s been through the same shit, you just think they’re lying for attention!”
I blushed and frowned. I didn’t exactly like her characterization of me like that.
“I don’t think I do that,” I said carefully. I reached across the table and broke the last of Anya’s scone into two small pieces. Taking the bigger pieces, I gnawed thoughtfully. The sugared blueberries weren’t enough to kill the sting of my assistant tearing me into like that, though.
“I think you do,” Anya said, more level-sounding. “Your friend. What happened to her?”
“She said some guy was following her around. I don’t know!” I waved my hand in the air. “What? You want me to call her?”
Anya blinked. “Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Ask her if she wants to come here and talk with us. Katia, it might be a good idea for you to meet someone who’s been through this before. She might be able to tell you how to give the police more of a clue to catch this guy.”
I didn’t like the idea, but I was sick of fighting with Anya. Besides, maybe she’d be nicer to me if Gemma came and sat with us. After heaving a gigantic sigh, I pulled out my phone and looked up Gemma in my contacts.
“I have no way of knowing if her number is even the same,” I said pointedly. “I might look like a total ass calling some stranger.”
“And just how often have you changed your number?”
“Once,” I mumbled. “In six years.”
I hated how smug Anya looked in the seconds that followed.
Gemma answered on the first ring. “Hello?” She sounded exactly as same as she had before—bitchy and kind of suspicious.
“Gemma!” I cooed. “How are you? This is Katia—Katia Reynolds.”
There was a pause.
“Hello?” I frowned. “Are you still there?”
Gemma sighed. “I’m here. What do you want?”
Anya looked at me with an encouraging nod. I sighed again.
“I’m downtown at The Coffee Shack,” I said with false brightness. “You feel like coming down here and having an espresso? My treat!”
“Katia, I don’t know. What do you want to talk about? Can’t we just talk about it over the phone?”
“No,” I said emphatically. “It’s—It’s about what happened during Miss Orange County, back in 2013.”
There was a sharp inhalation of air, followed by another aggravated
sigh.
“Fine,” Gemma said. “I’ll be there in ten.”
I turned to Anya with a smug look. “She’s coming. I was able to convince her.”
Anya snorted. “You didn’t exactly have to do very much convincing,” she said dryly. “Come on, Katia. I know you better than that. You can’t take credit for everything, you know.”
I smiled, ignoring her. “I’m going to get another latte. Want anything?”
Chapter Thirteen
Katia
Thirty minutes later, Gemma slid into The Coffee Shack looking great. Her brown hair was pulled back in a perfectly messy fishtail braid, and she was wearing brand new clothes with a designer bag I’d been eyeing the week before.
As she approached, she didn’t bother taking her sunglasses off. I noted with envy that her waist was still as small as it had been over three years ago, while I felt bloated and disgusted from having eaten Dante’s buttery omelet and most of Anya’s scone.
“Hi, Katia,” Gemma said coolly. She sat down to my right. “How are you?”
“Fabulous,” I gushed. “I’ve been keeping up with all of that exhausting charity work. I’m so tired I feel like I could faint. But it’s been so good at keeping my appetite down. Now it’s like I forget to eat!”
Anya rolled her eyes. I ignored her.
“I’m doing well, too,” Gemma said. She leaned over and reached into her bag for a bottle of European mineral water. “You can tell, I’m sure, but I’m not drinking caffeine right now. I’m trying to land a part, and they only want me drinking water for the time being.”
“Your skin does look nice,” I replied. I had to admit that her skin looked absolutely fantastic— like she was glowing from the inside out.
“So,” Gemma said. She flipped her messy braid over one shoulder and finally took her sunglasses off, revealing purple eyes that had to be contacts. “What did you want to talk about?”
Anya cut in. “Gemma, it’s so good to see you,” she said. I groaned. Her ability to sound effortlessly warm was so thirsty, I could barely stand it. “Thank you for coming by. Katia’s in the middle of dealing with a situation, and we’d really like your advice.” Anya leaned closer, glancing around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. “Katia’s got a stalker.”
Gemma turned to me with her eyes wide. “Oh, you do?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I told her. “I mean, yeah, someone’s being creepy.” I shuddered at the memory of the heavy breathing over the phone. “I keep getting weird calls, and someone’s been taking pictures.”
“It’s serious,” Anya cut in again. “Someone snuck into Katia’s condo and took photos of her in bed this morning.” I glanced at her waiting to see if she’d mention Dante. Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut.
“Wow,” Gemma breathed out. She sniffed. “So, kind of like what happened to me.”
I cringed.
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, no one ever snuck into your house to take pictures.” I tossed my hair. “I mean, mine is probably worse, right?”
Anya and Gemma both glared.
“Katia, can you get over yourself?” Gemma snapped. “Some creepy guy started following me around L.A. He saw me when I was out promoting one of those stupid pageants.”
“Miss Orange County,” I added helpfully. Anya’s icy look made me fall silent once again. “I mean, that’s the one it was. Right?”
“Does it matter?” Gemma frowned. She threw her hands up in the air. “He followed me around the whole goddamn city. That’s why I quit being in those things. I knew he was always in the audience.” She realized people were staring and lowered her voice to a whisper. “It was horrible,” Gemma said. She sniffed. “I was afraid everywhere I went. I couldn’t even go outside without shaking. I didn’t have anyone. My parents hate the fact that I live in L.A. and they wouldn’t come visit, and my assistant was on vacation.” She turned to me, and I winced. “And all of my so-called friends just made fun of me and told me I probably deserved it.”
I looked down at my hands in my lap. It was true. I’d behaved horribly towards Gemma. It didn’t seem like much of a big deal now, but I regretted every moment.
“I’m sorry,” I said gently. “You’re right. I was a total bitch.”
Gemma rolled her violet eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s not like you have any friends either.” She turned to Anya. “What do you want?”
“How did you get the police to take your case seriously?” Anya pressed. “How did they know you weren’t just lying?
“Someone broke into my backyard and killed my dog,” Gemma said flatly. “I called the cops, and they found fingerprints on the door like someone had wanted to break in but hadn’t been able to. They ran the prints through a database and caught the guy the same afternoon.”
“Fingerprints,” Anya repeated. “That’s genius!” She turned towards me. “Katia, I bet the outside of your condo could be checked for prints, too. Don’t you think that would help?”
“Yeah,” I replied. I leaned forward in my chair. “Anya, can you call them? Maybe they can come by this afternoon.”
She nodded. “Okay. We need to get Dante in here and tell him everything, including the pictures.”
Gemma looked at me curiously. “Do we have to?” I asked quietly. “I mean, does he have to see the pictures?”
“Katia,” Anya said in exasperation. “Yes. We have to. Dante is your bodyguard! He has to know.”
I slumped down in my chair. Gemma grinned, and I could tell she was enjoying this way more than she needed to.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “I’ll call him.” I kept one eye on Gemma as I rummaged through my bag for my phone. When my fingers wrapped around it, I pulled it out and glanced down. “Are you staying?”
Gemma snorted. “Obviously not. I have a meeting with a production team anyway. I have to go.” She stood up, and I leaped out of my chair, noting with satisfaction that even in heels, she was still much shorter than I was.
We leaned in and air-kissed each other’s cheeks, then she sashayed out of the shop. I watched as she eyed Dante up and down almost like she could tell he was working for me. I waited for him to turn around and look at her with the same level of interest. But thankfully, Dante’s eyes didn’t leave the road. Finally, Gemma huffed in frustration and walked away.
Inside, it was like I’d never stopped being anxious and scared of my would-be attacker. I couldn’t tell Anya how badly I felt about brushing Gemma off in the past. I’d been such a bitch. No wonder she hadn’t exactly been thrilled to hear from me. I wished that I could go back in time and slap myself for being so inconsiderate. After all, Gemma had dealt with the same horrors that I was living.
It wasn’t just that, though. I hated the conversation I’d had with Anya prior to calling Gemma. It irked me that Anya was so dismissive when I talked about Dante like she thought I was a little kid, too immature to really know what love meant after all. It bugged the hell out of me.
“Katia, hurry up and call him,” Anya said nervously. She looked at me, narrowing her eyes. “We’ve still got to call the cops!”
I sighed. “Fine.” I dialed Dante, watching him through the window. For a few irritating seconds, his phone rang, and he didn’t even reach for it.
Finally, he answered in a gruff voice. “Yeah?”
“Can you come in here?” I asked delicately. “We need to tell you something.”
Dante hung up without agreeing or even saying anything at all. I watched as he shoved his phone in his pocket and shuffled along the sidewalk. As he entered The Coffee Shack, every head snapped up to watch him. I snickered because some of the looks people were giving him were completely ridiculous.
“Sir, our bathrooms are for customers only,” a teenaged employee said snidely to Dante as he crossed the room. “You’ll need to make a purchase in order to use them.”
“He’s with me,” I snapped, standing up and striding across the room to where Dante stood, looking confus
ed. As soon as he saw me, his face broke out into a wide, heart-melting grin. My mouth went dry, and my heart fluttered in my chest.
Damnit, Katia, I thought, channeling Anya. You can’t go to pieces right now. You have more important things to do.
“So,” Dante said once I’d led him back to the small table with Anya. “What can I do?”
Anya slid the folder across the table. “These photos were taken early this morning,” she said in a strained voice. Together, we watched in silence as Dante opened the folder and pulled the pictures out. He shook his head in disgust.
