by Ember Casey
“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s go show the world.”
* * *
Big Barb’s Diner is busy, which shouldn’t surprise me. It’s Sunday, and everyone knows that Big Barb’s has the best brunch.
I knew it would be strange, coming out in public with Dante. But knowing it and experiencing it are two different things. When I ran into Dante during my date with Dean, both Dante and his brother were both more or less disguised. But this morning, Dante has no sunglasses or hat or anything else to obscure his identity. He’s recognizable to anyone who looks his way.
A dozen pairs of eyes are on us as we slide into our booth. I spot a group of young people trying to snap pictures of Dante with their cell phones, and a couple of twenty-somethings at the counter keep throwing flirtatious glances his way.
“Is it always like this for you?” I ask him.
He gives a single nod. “Often. It comes with the territory.”
“I can’t imagine living like this all the time.” I glance over at the group with the phones. “Not that it’s terrible,” I add quickly, remembering that he’s doing this for me, because I thought it was important. “It’s just weird.”
“It’s what I’ve always known,” he points out. “I won’t deny that it can be inconvenient, but I grew up with the understanding that this was how my life would work. I could fight it, or I could live with it. So I use it to my advantage when I can and work around it when necessary.”
As silly as it sounds, I don’t think I was really aware of how savvy he was at this whole publicity thing until this moment. But how could he not be? His parents were both huge celebrities even before he was born—Charles as a director and Giovanna as an actress. Apparently their romance was a huge, well-publicized affair, and Dante’s birth, not long after their big Hollywood wedding, got a lot of press. I remember looking up old issues of celebrity tabloids three years ago when I realized that Dante was going to be more to me than a classmate. He’s been part of this world since his birth.
But this is the first time I’ve seen it in person. Sure, Dante got some extra attention at film school—a lot of people wanted to use him for his connections—but it was still in many ways a private place. And our classmates never openly stared at him like he was some attraction in a zoo, the way the other diners are now.
“Don’t worry,” Dante says, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. “You won’t have to deal with this alone.”
I smile. “I’m ready for it.” I think. If being with Dante means I have to deal with getting stared at when we’re out together… well, it’s a price I’m willing to accept.
And as our brunch goes on, I get better at ignoring—even forgetting—the people staring at us. It’s not that hard, with Dante sitting across from me and looking at me like I’m the only thing in his entire world.
“What?” he asks, apparently seeing something of my thoughts on my face.
“Nothing,” I say, scooping up a big bite of omelet. “I just… this feels so strange, being out with you. And at the same time it feels like the most normal thing in the world. Like we’ve been doing this all along.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiles. “So being gawked at while you’re eating breakfast isn’t enough to scare you off?”
“It will take a lot more than gawking to scare me,” I say. “And anyway, I’m pretty sure they’re all staring at you. You’re the famous one.”
“And that means you are the one they’re going to be curious about. They’ll wonder if they should recognize you. And if not, then why not. I bet half of them have already tried to look you up on their phones.”
I lean back. “Well, they aren’t going to have much luck. They won’t be able to figure out my name just by looking at me.”
“They will, eventually.”
I can’t read the emotion in his eyes—sadness? Regret? Something else?—but he laces his fingers through mine, and I feel like I could take on anything.
“I love you,” I say. The words just slip out. Now that I’ve said it once, it seems like the easiest thing in the world to say.
Dante glances over his shoulder and leans closer before saying, “I love you, too.”
His furtiveness makes me nervous. “Are you afraid other people will hear?”
“An old habit.” He brings my hand to his lips. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to protect my privacy from the public and the press. It’s a hard pattern to break, especially when I’d much rather have you all to myself. I want to shield you from all of this.”
I glance around again. Maintaining our privacy is important, but we also can’t let the rest of the world force us into hiding.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say.
He nods. “Though I must admit, my biggest complaint about our current circumstances isn’t that we have an audience. It’s that you’re sitting across from me, fully clothed, when I’d much rather have you naked and spread across this table.” He’s still holding my hand against his mouth, and he sucks the tip of my finger between his lips.
Somewhere off to the right, I think I hear someone make a squeal of surprise. But all of my attention is focused on the man in front of me.
“If we were alone,” he says against my skin, “I’d already have you on your back. I haven’t made you come nearly enough times today.”
My body responds immediately to his suggestions, and I can feel a telltale wetness between my thighs.
“Maybe we should finish quickly and go back to my house,” I say.
“There’s nothing I’d like more.” He turns my wrist and kisses the inside of my palm. “We—” His fingers tighten on mine as his voice cuts off. His eyes widen for the briefest of seconds, then narrow. He’s staring behind me, right at the door.
“What is it?” I twist around, trying to figure out what’s caught his attention. He mutters a curse under his breath at the same moment I catch sight of them through the glass—a couple of photographers lingering on the sidewalk just outside the door.
“Do you think they’re here for you?” I ask.
“I think they’re here for you,” he says. “Quick, change seats with me. You’ll be more hidden over here.” He lifts his head and gestures to our waitress.
“Is that really necessary?” I ask.
He must hear something in my voice, because his face softens a little.
“I was just hoping we’d have more time,” he says.
“More time?”
“Before everything changed.” He gives my fingers another squeeze. “Remember, Ash, whatever happens—we’re in this together.”
He’s making me nervous again, but the way he’s looking at me now—like he’s willing to go through hell and back with me—leaves me with a fluttery feeling of hope.
When we’ve settled the bill and are rising to leave, Dante says, “We have two choices. We can walk out the front and face a bunch of photographers, or we can try and sneak out the back.”
He’s standing with his back to the front of the diner, blocking the photographers from my view—or, perhaps more accurately, blocking me from them. His hand is on my waist, his eyes dark with concern.
“What do you think?” I ask him. He’s the one who’s dealt with this sort of thing before. He’s the one who’s spent a lifetime protecting himself from the press.
“I told you that I would shout my feelings for you from the rooftops if you wanted,” he says, drawing me closer. “I’ll declare them in every magazine. Tell them to every reporter who shoves a microphone in my face on the street. Just say the word, and I’ll let the whole world know.” His fingers spread against my lower back. “But the moment we go public, everything will change. I just want to make sure you’re ready.”
I think I’m ready. Deep down, I know that I’ll follow this man wherever he wants to lead me. My heart won’t let me do anything else. If he’s willing to take the next step, then I am too.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper. He doesn�
�t have to tell me that there’s no going back from this decision.
And, to my great relief, he seems pleased by my answer. He pulls me harder against him and kisses me roughly and passionately before releasing me and grabbing my hand. “Let’s go.”
It’s not until we’re at the door to the restaurant that I start to second-guess myself. Maybe I should’ve waited for a day when I had a chance to do my hair and makeup. Maybe I should’ve waited until I’d told my friends about Dante and me. Maybe I should’ve—
“Just keep walking,” Dante says softly. “They might ask you questions, but you can ignore them. You don’t even have to look at them if you don’t want to. Just follow my lead. I’m not going to let you go.” He laces his fingers through mine.
“Got it,” I say.
And then we’re stepping out into the sunlight, into a small sea of photographers—far more than I saw through the glass. Maybe seven or eight in all—and even a couple with video cameras—but I don’t get an accurate count because as Dante suggested, I’m keeping my head down.
“Dante! Dante!” they shout.
When he doesn’t respond, they start yelling questions at me.
“Are you the mystery girl?”
“What’s your name?”
“How did you meet Dante?”
“Are you two dating?”
It’s a strange, almost surreal experience. They’re everywhere around me—shouting, strolling down the street after us, clicking away with their cameras—and I try to focus on the feel of Dante’s hand around mine. He takes the lead, clearing the way down the sidewalk toward his car. I wonder if I should smile. Is this all we have to do to show our love to the world—walk hand-in-hand through a sea of paparazzi?
I keep my head down and keep walking.
It seems like an impossibly long way to the car. When we finally get there, the photographers are still following us—though thankfully, most have given up on asking us any questions. Does that mean they’re bored with us? And if they are, is that good or bad?
I suddenly realize that there are much bigger concerns here than whether or not the press thinks I’m good enough or pretty enough for the crown prince of Hollywood. Dante once suggested that a public appearance was like an acting job—part of his carefully constructed public persona. What if dating me affects Dante’s public persona in some negative way? I’m never going to be a supermodel or famous actress or someone else who can further his career. I wonder how many sacrifices he’s making for this. For us.
When I’m finally safe inside his car, I let out a deep breath. The photographers still linger nearby, but they hold back a certain distance. Is there some rule I don’t know about concerning how close they can come? Or do they stay back because of some agreement with the Fontaines? Dante doesn’t even glance at them as he slides into his side of the car. Then he immediately turns to me.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so,” I say, still feeling a little dazed.
“You started shaking the moment we stepped outside.” He takes my hand again—God, I just want to hold his hand forever—and turns it over so that he can brush his thumb against my inner wrist. “You’re still trembling.”
“I didn’t realize,” I say, and even my voice quavers. “I swear I can handle this. It’s just… strange.”
“I know. But remember, we’re in this together.”
I smile. “I know. And I’m glad.”
Out of nowhere, he suddenly breaks into a smile. “They’re not going to know what to do with you. I can’t wait.”
“So you admit that some part of you is actually looking forward to… whatever comes next?”
“Don’t doubt it, Ash. I’m looking forward to wherever this leads us.”
I don’t know which one of us moves first. All I know is that he’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him, and I only give the most passing of thoughts to whether or not the photographers outside of the car can see us. His lips promise love and heat and adventure, and I cling to him and hope he tastes my answer. I want him. I need him.
Wherever it leads me.
* * *
I don’t think Jack’s eyes have ever been this wide in his entire life.
“I know I have some explaining to do,” I say. It’s Monday night and we’re sitting at the tasting table in my bakery. I’ve just broken my news to Jack over the feast of chili fries he brought me.
“You’re damned right you have some explaining to do,” he says. “You do remember how things ended between you the first time, don’t you?”
“I know, I just… Jack, I can’t help it. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else in my entire life. I don’t know if I ever will.” I run my finger over a knot in the woodgrain on the table’s surface. “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I was always meant to be with him. And I can fight it, or I can try to make it work.”
He shakes his head. “So that’s it, then? He’s the love of your life? You’re going to marry him?”
“Geez, Jack. We just got back together. I’m not thinking about marriage yet.”
“Yet. Which means it’s on the table. Have you thought about what that means? What kind of life you’re signing up for?” He leans across the table. “I’ll give you the fact that he’s an inhumanly attractive guy, and I don’t judge you the least bit for having sex with him. But this isn’t just sex. It was never just sex.”
“It’s not just sex for him, either,” I protest. It feels weird to be talking about this so soon—I mean, only a couple of days ago, I thought Dante was out of my life for good—but maybe it’s good for me. The more I talk about it, the more real it becomes. “He told me he loved me, Jack.”
“To get you into bed.”
“No. After we’d already been to bed.” My cheeks go hot. I’m not used to having a sex life to discuss with Jack.
“When did all of this happen?” he says.
I look down at my fries. Confession time. “We’ve met up a couple of times since his party.”
“A couple of times?” His eyebrows are so high they almost disappear into his hair. “Wait—when I texted you about his weird behavior a few days ago, was all of this already going on? Did you lie to me?”
Shame floods my chest. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. I was still trying to figure out what I was feeling. But I’m telling you now.”
“You still lied.”
“Jack, I—”
“No,” he says. “I’m your best friend. I was there for you when he tore your heart out the first time, and I was your backup when he came back into your life. There’s no excuse for lying to me about this, not when I’ve had your back this entire time.”
He’s right. There is no excuse.
“I just knew you’d try to talk me out of it,” I say.
“Damned right. And why shouldn’t I? How many times does he have to hurt you before you start seeing sense? Damn it, Ash, you walked in on him with his brother’s fiancée!”
“Emilia and Luca’s relationship is just for the press,” I say. “Things are different this time. He’s not trying to hide me anymore. We went out in public together. We were photographed together. He’s as serious about this as I am.”
“And just like that, all of your problems are over?”
“Not ‘just like that.’ But it’s a start.”
“Ash, I saw you in the aftermath of that first breakup. He fucked you up. I was convinced he’d done some sort of permanent damage. Most people don’t spend three years getting over someone.”
“Maybe I wasn’t supposed to get over him.”
“And maybe you’ve been knocked upside the head.”
I cross my arms. “Seriously, Jack? I knew this would be a shock to you, but I thought that deep down, you would ultimately understand.”
“Look, I’m not trying to talk you out of it. I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through, Ash. This wouldn’t be the first time you let your emotions get in the way of your be
tter judgment.” He stands. “I backed you up. I supported you when you needed me. And you sneaked around with this guy and lied to me about it. That’s not how our friendship is going to work.”
I sigh. “Jack…”
“I’ve said everything I need to say. And it’s clear that you have no intention of listening to my advice. I’m only trying to look out for you, Ash, but obviously what I think doesn’t matter.”
“I love him, Jack.”
“Then don’t come crying to me when this all goes south.” He grabs his briefcase. “I just remembered I have some work to do for Brockman. I’ll see you later.”
And before I can come up with a response, he’s gone.
I sink back down into my chair, feeling sick. How did this turn into an argument? How did it end with Jack, my best friend, storming out on me? This was supposed to be good news.
But Jack’s words struck deep—mostly because they give voice to my own fears, the ones I’ve been trying to ignore. Have I really thought this through? Am I just setting myself up for pain again?
I don’t want to believe it. When I’m in Dante’s arms, the world seems to disappear. There’s only me and him. All worries—of the past or the future—seem far away. I want to sink into that bliss. Lose myself in him. Drown in the feelings that only he seems to stir. Is that wrong? Is that stupid?
You’re in this together, I remind myself. Dante and I have committed ourselves to figuring this thing out, following it wherever it leads. But where is that? Jack mentioned marriage—I honestly haven’t had a chance to think that far ahead, but maybe I should. Do I see myself eventually marrying Dante? Was that scene at Big Barb’s Diner an indication of what my entire public life will be from this point forward?
I glance out the window of my shop. The world is going on as normal. People are walking down the sidewalk, cars are passing in the street, gulls are flying overhead. There aren’t any photographers lingering in the shadows, waiting for me to emerge. But then it’s only been a day—it’s quite possible no one has figured out who I am yet.
