by Alex Rosa
“But is that what you want?”
He finally takes a seat on the couch, but sits himself on the opposite side, giving me plenty of room to breathe.
I gulp down his words. “I do like it when you take my photo.” I exhale and deflate the stress I had been holding with that truth. The confession gifts me with an ocean of relief. It’s embarrassing to admit that something like that is hard to say out loud. What’s wrong with me?
“Why are you so hard on yourself?”
I didn’t realize hanging out with Gio would feel like this, but I must admit I have felt bottled up without Blake or my brother around. Being able to say all the things I have been afraid to feels alarmingly good.
“I just—I want to make my brother proud . . . and my parents, even if they’re gone. What if I want both, school and modeling?” It feels like such a farfetched idea.
“Why not both?” Gio repeats back confidently.
“Is it that simple? Won’t one eventually take over the other?”
He strokes his chin. “I suppose you’re right, but for right now, revel in it. You’re a fiery, free spirit; just indulge for once.”
I let out a snort. “Rarely would one call their studies an indulgence.”
“You would. You like knowledge. It’s evident in who you are.”
I huff, rolling my eyes. “They could write a book on you, you know that?” I sit up straight to get a better look at him, my eyes greedily dragging over the steel features of his face. “What about you, Gio. Are you happy?”
He nods. “My happiness has lulls like anyone else’s, but what’s not to be happy about? I get to do what I love, meet the most interesting people, travel the world, and on some occasions receive random phone calls from frustrating women.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Guess there isn’t much for you to be bummed out about. I wish I had my life so figured out.”
He shakes his head. “No,” he blurts out.
I lift my chin at the finality of his tone.
He continues, “My life is not so simple. I have a sick mother in Florence, and a drug-addicted brother roaming somewhere in Spain, and I worry about both every damn day. When you called, I had just gotten off the phone with my mother. She has to go in for hip surgery soon, and she’s so frail, I worry she won’t make it. I try to do as much as I can, but money doesn’t solve all the world’s problems.”
His words are staggering. I just stare in silence as my heart swells for his pain.
He leans over and touches his fingertips to my chin, lifting it so my mouth closes.
“Crazy, right?” he asks. His sad tone from earlier on the phone seems to match the sad smile shown to me now.
“I had no idea,” I reply.
He shrugs. “And why would you? We were professional acquaintances at best before, and now we’re friends. I don’t tell many people about my family.” He rubs at his face, and his trailing chuckles sound more crazy than sane. “Actually, I don’t know what got me being so frank. I just wanted to show you that not all of us are as put together as you think.”
Compelled by his words, I stand up abruptly from the couch and run to grab my backpack, sprinting back to take a seat on the couch as Gio watches on curiously.
I unzip the smaller pocket, and pull out four worn envelopes. I spread them out in my hands, like you would a deck of cards.
“What are those?”
“These are my medical school acceptances—well, they could be rejections too—but letters from the med schools I applied to.”
He shakes his head again, this time with a sense of comical awe as he takes them from my hands. “Fascinating creature, indeed,” he says as he examines them more carefully. “You haven’t opened them.”
“I want to be with Blake when I do. I’m really not kidding when I say I don’t know what direction to take. Blake is busy with his movie, and gone all the time. You’re the first person I’ve shown them to.”
He hands them back to me with a carefully crafted smile, and gives my hand a gentle squeeze before sitting back. “Wait for him, bella. You’ll figure it out. Just know that either way you will be successful. I might be more biased than most, but I’d like to be there every step of the way if you choose the more . . .” he taps his chin, clicking his tongue as he finds the words,“ . . . the more creative route.”
I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time as I place the envelopes back into my bag. “Thank you for not asking me to open them.”
I peer up at him, nervous at my unabashed honesty when near him.
“I know I overwhelm you, bella, that much is clear, but I’d like to think I’m also getting to know you, and I know that opening those with Blake is what you need. I can’t guide you in that respect. I can only make myself available to you when you might need it.”
“Thank you,” I repeat more crisply. I like the fact that I never have to explain myself to him.
I pull in another breath as he watches me carefully.
“Can I ask you something without it coming off as inappropriately convenient to bring up?”
I twist my lips into a smirk, knowing that with Gio, I never really know what might slip from his lips. I nod for him to go on.
“With this decision making you have to do, I’d like you to participate in a photo shoot I’m doing with Harper’s Bazaar magazine. Use it to help make your decision. Right now, any experience you might gain will help, and we could even add it to a portfolio, if and when you decide to take it seriously. We can even pretend we don’t know each other at the shoot to make it easier so you aren’t so swayed. If you want. It’ll be my crew, about a half a dozen girls, and me. It’s an impromptu vintage theme for the magazine since the celebrity that was supposed to appear backed out. I know it’s last-minute and all, but I’d like to have you come.”
I hum, tilting my head back and forth as I toss the idea around in my head. “I don’t know . . .”
It feels like another thing I should run past Blake, but then again, I think I want to decide this one on my own. But reluctantly I have to admit it isn’t good timing with school.
“Gio, thank you for the offer, but I can’t.”
He releases his bottom lip from his teeth and nods. He doesn’t persist or ask again, and I worry that I wish he would. “No worries, bella. How about pizza?”
Good, a topic change. I can handle this.
“Yes, please!”
He rises from the couch and makes four steps before swiveling around.
“Oh! Do me a favor and turn on the TV to channel eight! This gossipy show, which I normally would detest, is announcing my gallery opening in LA I want to be sure they have everything correct. You’re going, right?”
I stand, looking for the remote on his coffee table, and notice a flat screen TV on the wall among his contemporary art. I swear, I always notice something new when I’m here.
“Sure, I’ll find the segment!” Gio is still standing there, tapping his booted foot impatiently. I laugh as I throw my hands up. “Duh, Gio. Me and Blake are going to be there.”
“Perfetto!”
He walks out of the room with a satisfied grin. I shake my head, finally feeling at ease as I turn the TV on.
I flip to the channel he requested and see that the show has begun. I stick out my tongue as I watch the show. It’s reminiscent of TMZ and Entertainment Tonight. The host talks of celebrity pregnancies and devastating divorces. I take note of some names I know, and wonder if any of this is relevant to me now.
I shrug, and I’m about to go find Gio, but I hear, “Blake Everett and Kathryn Caraway . . .”
My eyes fling themselves to the television. My heartbeat begins a painful acceleration as my blood churns thickly through my veins while my eyes glue themselves to the screen.
I’ve become numb to the TV host’s words as the flashing images
of the live coverage of an Entertainment Weekly party appear.
“Blake Everett and Kathryn Caraway appear arm in arm, giggling like two kids at their junior prom. Are they excited about their upcoming movie release, or are sparks flying on and off set?”
I zone out again, blinking furiously as I watch Blake walk down the red carpet with Kathryn pressed tightly against him. He stumbles, they laugh, and then he leans in to her ear, too close, his lips practically brushing against her skin as he mumbles something. She smiles widely, and I can’t ignore the blush to her cheeks.
My heart leaps into my throat while my nerves bubble to the surface of my skin, and I worry that I might break out in anxious hives as I scratch at my arms. I had told myself many times before that I wouldn’t let things like this bother me, but watching it in motion is a hard pill to swallow.
“Bella, did you want pepperoni—”
Gio’s words cut off as he follows the trail of my eyes to the screen.
The camera zooms out to show Josh and Vanessa loitering in the background. They’re laughing like idiots, too. My brother looks dashing, and Vanessa fits the scene like a natural in her forest-green ensemble. I’m not sure I’d be able to pull that off even if I tried.
The camera angle is an outsider’s view, so as the host’s voice sounds over the images I watch Blake and Kathryn approach a microphone to answer interview questions, still tightly sealed to each other.
His yellow tie brings out his bright green eyes, matched only by his Hollywood-ready smile. He looks natural. He looks happy.
I don’t know what the interviewer says, but I watch as Kathryn presses her ruby-red lips to Blake’s chiseled cheek while keeping a palm pressed to his chest encased by a perfectly tailored suit. My Blake.
And I lose it.
My brain tries reassuring me that it’s nothing, and I believe it, but my squirming insides have me frantic.
I don’t care if Gio is watching me, I run to his bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. My nerves are wound tight, and the hives that I thought I had imagined feel as if they’re forming in my throat, constricting my breathing into short gasps. I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face as I regain control. Finally, I pull in one long, leveling breath of oxygen.
I reach into my pocket for my phone and dial Blake’s number. I know he won’t answer. Obviously, I know what he’s doing at this exact moment with that show running nearly live to real time, but I can hope. My heart beats three times between each lulling ring.
On the fifth ring it goes to voice mail.
I hang up, slipping my phone back into my pocket, and close my eyes. I try to remember Blake’s smile when he sees me in the morning, and how his lips caress every inch of my body in nothing but admiration. I try desperately to cling to the deep timbre of his voice as I recall the moments when he tells me he loves me.
He loves me.
I try to shake myself free of my state, realizing that what I witnessed is simply part of what I signed up for. This doesn’t affect us.
I know this.
I know this.
I can’t slow my heart rate, but at least the itching seems to subside.
I take in a deep breath and dry my face on a hand towel.
I reassure myself that this is not the end. Of course it isn’t. This is merely a hurdle that I need to wrap my head around. Although, it doesn’t mean the anger that burns in my gut, swiftly replacing the fear, isn’t going to be heard, because I have a lot I need to say. We obviously have to talk.
I don’t question our relationship, but this situation rattles me from the inside out. I want to trust Blake, but like any girl, I wouldn’t trust Kathryn as far as I could throw her. I know that look in her eyes, and I know that type of giggle as if I invented it.
It’s the kiss to Blake’s cheek that has me so riled up, but the glazed look to his eyes felt unfamiliar. My biggest worry is that his evident happiness is something I can’t recognize anymore.
I can’t lose my grip that quick.
Why wouldn’t he tell me about this? Is that why he wanted me to go to NYC?
I don’t know anymore.
I feel like I don’t know a lot.
I pat my face dry a final time, realizing at least one thing among my nerves of the entire day: If Blake can do what he wants, then I can do what I want. He doesn’t need my permission to be a movie star, just as much as I don’t need his permission when it comes to my future.
If anything, this moment has taught me that, and that’s exactly how I would explain it to Blake.
Though, it does not change the fact that I wished he had told me about this before it happened.
I couldn’t entirely admit what was going through my head out loud to Gio, even if I did confess I like having his camera on me, but I do want to do more modeling. There’s a sense of freedom to it that school doesn’t give me. A freedom I never knew I was missing. A new frontier I never considered, and I hate that when I’m near Gio, he gives me a gust of fresh air similar to the one that Blake gives me when he’s around.
I walk out of the bathroom, and Gio is leaning against the armrest of his couch, coolly waiting for me.
He goes wide-eyed. “I’m sure it’s nothing, bell—”
I love that he’s ready to comfort me on a whim, and I’m tempted to laugh, but I can’t muster the energy for that. I have only one thing on my mind.
“I know, Gio.” Because I do. “When is that photo shoot you asked me about?”
Gio’s look softens, and I see this strange sense of understanding flit over his brooding features. “What day would work best for you?” he asks.
“Is a Monday too hard to work out?”
“I’ll find a Monday that works.”
I nod.
“Is this what you want?”
I nod again. “This is exactly what I want.”
It’s the truth.
Chapter 13
Blake
When I try opening my eyes, even lifting my eyelids spikes out pain like shards of glass into my brain with the energy it takes to do it.
“Errgh,” I groan, trying to focus. I lift my head, feeling heavy in every way possible, but the moment my eyes fall onto a fast-asleep Kathryn, her blond hair undone, cascading over the pillow next to me, I bolt upright, sending my brain bouncing around in my skull.
I grab for my head as I climb out of bed, trying to stand. I clench my eyes shut as I pull in a deep breath. When I open them Kathryn is still lying in bed.
This isn’t happening.
I could puke. I could puke everywhere, actually. I could easily projectile vomit on every surface of this hotel room . . . and the only reason I don’t is because we’re clothed. I mean, fully clothed in our outfits from the night before.
I exhale a large gust of relief as I dissect Kathryn hugging a pillow close, still in her yellow dress, her legs tangled around the silk.
Okay. Clothes are good.
I peer down at myself. I’m missing shoes, and that god-awful tie, but I’m clothed, too. The fact is a godsend.
My muscles feel tight from falling asleep in such a constricting getup. The vest feels like it’s suffocating me even now as I try to pull oxygen into my lungs, hoping it’ll reduce my throbbing headache.
I claw at my chest, scrambling for a moment of calm, but it doesn’t come. I don’t think I’ve felt terror like this before. I feel out of control as I stumble around looking for my shoes. I try to remember last night.
Tequila.
My stomach gurgles at the thought. I remember shots in my hotel room, and then bringing the bottle with us into the limo. I remember laughing. Lots of laughing.
I blink a few times, trying to gain more momentum with these memories.
I remember stumbles. I remember smiles. And I remember drinking more. The open bar of
the party was too tempting. I remember pulling my tie from my body, handing it off to Kathryn. I remember the disapproving angle of Vanessa’s eyebrows as she watched Josh and me grab drinks off passing trays, but I also remember her catching up soon enough.
Then it goes black.
My breath comes out in short, shallow heaves as I plunge my hands into my pockets to find my phone, and I find nothing. Panic sets in, good and hard.
“Blake?”
I wipe at a bead of sweat forming on my brow before letting my crazed stare collide with a groggy Kathryn.
“What the fuck happened?” flies harshly out of my mouth. The room spins with the force of my words.
She rubs her eyes, smearing the black eyeliner. “Huh, what?” she asks before letting out a croak as her hands come up to her head, clutching it in pain. “I need a greasy breakfast, stat—”
“Kat, shut up. What happened?”
She squints, and looks at me through one peeking eye. “Chill. We didn’t screw around. We just got wasted, and you couldn’t make it to your room. Plus . . .”
“Plus what?”
She raises her hands defensively at my tone. “You kept shouting your girlfriend’s name down the halls of the hotel. It was annoying.” The disdain in her voice is as thick as the saliva pooling in my mouth, and feels just as disgusting. “You kept pulling out your phone to call her, so I took it.”
My heart thumps loudly, which does nothing for my headache.
“Give it to me.”
Her face twists offensively as she dissects my tone. “You’re mad?”
“Furious. Where’s my phone? I’m not playing around.”
She sits up straight, trying to regain some sense of composure, but her perfectly plucked brows pucker in annoyance. “Why the hell are you mad?”
“Did you try to make a move on me? Why are we in your room?”
I’ve never been so direct with her, but there’s something conniving about the whole scene. I feel it in the base of my spine where the tension is coiled tight.
