by Penny Reid
These were the things she fussed over, but we all knew she just loved babies and wanted one to spoil and squeeze.
Dave dropped Henry, Tim, and me off at the side terminal reserved for chartered flights and parked the car. After checking in and meeting back up with Dave, we were ushered to the tarmac where the jet was already waiting.
I held my phone the whole time, hoping my mom would call me back before we departed. Thus, I received Jethro’s text message as soon as I started climbing the steps to the plane.
Jethro: I got hold of your publicity person and have a phone appointment on Monday.
Sienna: I already miss you. I wish you were with me.
I sent the text, irrational anger rising in my chest, making it hard to swallow. I hated that he wasn’t with me. I hated we were keeping our relationship a secret, our engagement a secret. I hated we hadn’t officially told his family, but I understood why we hadn’t. But I still hated it. I hated that my mother and father had decided to go on a cruise and weren’t answering their phone.
But most of all, I hated that I hated everything.
Jethro: I’ll come next time, when we’re sorted.
Sienna: I should have hidden you in my suitcase.
Jethro: It’s not big enough.
Sienna: That’s what she said.
Jethro: You are the funniest.
“Mr. Low. Didn’t expect to see you.” Dave’s surprised statement pulled my attention away from my messages to the interior of the aircraft.
Sure enough, Tom was lounging on one of the benches, holding a glass of water with lime.
“What are you doing here?” I didn’t make any attempt to hide my dismay.
“I offered him a spot.”
I turned my head, saw Marta standing by the cockpit, an unconcerned expression on her features.
Her smile growing warm as she glanced at Tom, she continued, “I thought it would be nice. I’m sure the filming schedule has been crazy, and with all your writing, you haven’t had any downtime.”
I gaped at my sister, certain my horrified expression said it all. Now she acknowledges I need downtime? Now?
She blinked at me, looking bewildered. “Is there anything wrong?”
I leaned close and whispered, “Yes. I’d rather fly in a dog crate, in the luggage compartment, than spend ten hours trapped in a plane with that insufferable asshat.”
Her mouth flattened. “Sienna.”
“Get him off the plane, or I’m not going.”
She gritted her teeth. “You’re being rude.”
“No. You’re being rude and presumptuous.”
She huffed. “You can be such a diva sometimes.”
Lifting my voice, I said, “No. I’m not. I’m never a diva. I’m paying for this plane, so that makes it my plane.” Turning to Tom, I motioned to the door. “Marta shouldn’t have offered you a seat. I want you to leave.”
Tom’s surprised gaze moved from me to my sister. When his eyes moved back to mine, they were hard and his expression made me take a step back.
“Is this because of what happened with your bearded friend? The one you’ve been fucking on the set?”
Marta gasped.
I didn’t gasp. I heaved a sigh because I was bored. “Oh, for the sake of Rodan’s ceiling fan, would you just leave without making a big scene? Is that possible? There are no Academy members here to see your drama. You can’t use this for your reel. Just leave.”
His brow darkened and he stood, smoothed a hand down his shirt front, and then grabbed the Louis Vuitton overnight bag at his feet. “You’re washed-up. This guy is going to make a laughing stock of you.”
“Well, I hope so. In case you didn’t get the memo, I’m a comedian.”
He paused as he moved past me, then turned, his blue eyes prideful and beseeching. “I could have helped you, Sienna. I still can. That’s why I’m here. To help you and your sister clean up this mess.”
My anger fizzled, leaving me tired. “It’s not a mess, Tom. Jethro is not a mess. He’s what I want. I’m in love with him.”
“Even if that means throwing everything away?” He sounded truly perplexed.
I shook my head and sighed. “If you don’t fight for what you love, then you have nothing worth losing.”
***
We were over the Atlantic when Marta finally spoke to me.
“I can’t believe you made him leave.” She shook her head for the hundredth time. Though she’d been giving me the silent treatment, she’d shaken her head every three minutes since takeoff.
“I can’t believe you asked him to come.”
She gave me a disbelieving look. “Sienna, we’re all going to the same place. It’s ridiculous he should fly separately.”
“No. It’s not. We dated, Marta. I dated Tom. We only dated for one or two weeks, but I broke up with him for very valid reasons, all having to do with how irritating he is.”
“I’ve never seen him be anything but nice to you.”
I snorted. “Really? Well, a few weeks ago he suggested I try a low-carb diet if I wanted to win back the Smash-Girl role.”
She stared at me, biting the inside of her lip, then shook her head. “Okay, yeah. That’s an asshole thing to say.”
I threw my hands up. “Finally.”
“Finally what?”
“Finally you admit that Tom Low doesn’t walk on Jell-O and smell like gardenias.”
Her lips pulled to the side. “Gardenias are my favorite.”
“Exactly. Sometimes I wonder if you like him more than you like me.”
Marta gave me a rare smile. “Well, he is prettier than you are.”
That made me laugh, even as I narrowed my eyes on her. “And he knows it, too.”
Her grin waned as we traded stares. “I’m worried about you.”
“Why?” I asked softly, happy we were getting to the heart of the matter without yelling at each other.
“I’m worried about this guy.”
“Jethro.”
“Yes. Jethro. What do you know about him?”
Now I was grinning. “Everything. He used to steal cars.”
“Oh my God.” She covered her face with her hands.
I couldn’t help but enjoy her horror, because—when she actually met him—I was sure she was going to love him.
“Don’t worry, he was never convicted.”
She made a little hysterical sound but said nothing.
“And he gave me this ring.” I held my hand out.
Marta peeked from between her fingers. Then her hands dropped to her lap. Then she turned wide eyes and a gaping mouth on me.
“Holy shit.” She grabbed my hand and yanked it toward her. “Is this real?”
I nodded, knowing she meant the ring, but answering the unasked question. “Yes. This is very real. He’s talking to Annie on Monday. You know, the image guru we used when my phone was hacked. He’s agreed to see me in secret until she can help us develop a plan. We’re getting married.”
Marta’s gaze lifted to mine, a mixture of worry and frustration. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re happy for me.”
“I can’t. I can’t lie to you. I love you and don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Neither does he.”
“But you will be hurt, Sienna. Being with him is going to hurt your image, you have to know that.”
“Which is why we’re not going public yet.”
“It doesn’t matter when you go public, your actions have repercussions. You’re behaving like a child.”
“I know my actions have repercussions. I’m not a child, and you have to stop treating me like I’m a child. I’ve decided even worst-case repercussions are worth a lifetime of happiness and freedom.”
“You’re giving up your career.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I doubt that. I’ll always have a career, but it might not be as an A-list actress.”
She shook her head at me. “How can you gi
ve that up? You could do so much good.”
“But at what price personally? If I’m miserable and lose the only person I’ve ever loved, I lose the chance to have happiness, meaningful fulfillment, kids, a new family—an awesome, weird, wonderful family—will I look back on my life and think, I’m so glad I worked as hard as I did and filled my life with money, parties, and empty relationships? No. The answer is no. I might be giving it up, but I’m doing it on my own terms.”
She frowned, pressing her lips together, then nodded tightly. “Fine. I’ll fly back with you to Tennessee. I’ll meet him.”
My smile was immediate and, without thinking, I grabbed my sister and pulled her into a tight hug, yelling, “Gah! You’re going to love him.”
She hesitated, but then her arms wrapped around me, and she returned my embrace. “I hope I do. Because, despite what you think, I do want you to be happy.”
“I know.” I nodded, pulling away so I could see her face, and she could see mine. “I know. But, Marta, he doesn’t just make me happy. He takes care of me, such excellent care of me. And I take care of him.”
***
Arriving solo to a movie premiere was a lot like going to any average theater and seeing a movie by yourself. You get the looks. Everyone wondering what you’re doing by yourself, asking you if you’re lost, asking you where your date or person was.
People treated a single female alone at the movies like a cancer patient.
Of course, people treated a single man alone at the movies like a pedophile, so—between the two—I’d rather garner sympathy than suspicion.
Luckily, and to my surprise, I wasn’t receiving any pitiable looks or concerned smiles as I walked the red carpet and posed for the cameras. The image I’d accidentally cultivated meant no one seemed to be taking my single status as something to be pitied.
“Sienna!”
“Are you making a feminist statement?”
“Over here!”
“You go, girl!”
“Five questions! We have just five questions!”
“Where’s Tom?”
“Have you lost weight?”
“We love your dress!”
“You look hot! Can I be your date?” one photographer hollered, trying to turn my head toward his camera.
Another pap called back, “She’s Sienna Diaz, she doesn’t need a date. And your ugly arse isn’t good enough.”
This exchange made me laugh and the resultant flashes were blinding.
The hours were blurring together. We’d arrived in London just ten hours ago. Since that time, I’d met with the producers for my next film, given seven magazine interviews, was fitted for the dress I was currently wearing, had my makeup and hair done twice—once for a photo shoot and then again for this evening—and still managed to trade several texts with Jethro.
But I’d missed the call from my parents. I would call them back from the bathroom inside the theater, if I ever made it inside.
Stepping away from the cameras, I walked to the media section and to more calls for my attention. I recognized a reporter acquaintance who I actually really liked and respected. He stood to one side among the throng, against the barricade, and wasn’t yelling at me. A small smile quirked his lips and when our eyes connected his eyebrows raised in question, Do you have a minute?
I gave him a warm smile as I walked to him, cameras following me, the crowd growing quieter so we could speak. I liked Arval because he never asked me about my diet. He never asked about my beauty regimen or my workout routine or questions about whether Latinas make good lovers—yes, I was actually asked that question during an interview earlier in the day.
I’d responded, “I think the real question is, when did they start allowing perverts into press junkets?”
“Sienna.” Arval gave me a nod. “You look lovely.”
I glanced down at myself. “Oh, this old thing? I made it.”
He chuckled; like everyone else, he knew the dress was some ridiculous designer concoction.
“Shall we get down to business?”
“Please do.” I motioned to his microphone.
“What are you working on right now?”
“Too many things.” I laughed, turning on the charm for the camera. “We’re just wrapping up filming for The Cultavist in Tennessee, and I start filming Strange Birdfellows in September.”
“Are you writing anything now?”
“Uh . . .” I hesitated, not sure how to respond. “Yes. I’m working on a script for a superhero project.”
“There were rumors you were supposed to star in that, is that true?”
“We were discussing the possibility, yes. But I can’t speak of the outcome, as nothing is set in stone. I’m really trying to focus on the script first and foremost, so I’ve been embracing anger and calling it research.”
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Tom had arrived. He was currently smoldering at the cameras. He was also alone, his date nowhere in sight.
“Embracing anger?”
“Yes. Someone cut me off in traffic, so I applied a red face mask, chased the person down, and threatened to smash their Prius. Unfortunately, the police were not amused.”
“That didn’t really happen, did it?”
“No. It didn’t. But it might. So here’s a message to all your viewers at home.” I faced the camera and spoke earnestly, “Don’t cut me off in traffic.”
Arval grinned, nodded, writing himself a note on a small notepad, then asked, “And what do you think about filming in Tennessee? Are the locals friendly?”
His question gave me pause and I did a double take, studying him. But his expression was innocent, so I decided the question must be as well.
“Tennessee is gorgeous, but it’s one of those treasures you don’t want other people to find out about. It’s perfection just how it is, and the locals are among my favorite people in the universe.”
“I heard gorgeous, you must be talking about me.” Tom slid next to me, slipping his arm around my waist and placing a kiss on my cheek. I tensed and, by some miracle, kept the grimace from my face.
“Of course we were,” I quipped. “We were just talking about you and your gorgeous Pomeranians. You know, the dogs you just adopted from that animal shelter?”
Tom’s lids lowered, giving me a vitriolic stare, but his smile didn’t waver. Tom hated dogs.
“You adopted a Pomeranian?” Arval asked, clearly disbelieving.
Before Tom could speak, I cut in, “Oh yes. And not just one. A whole litter.”
Arval glanced between us, an eyebrow lifted. Everyone knew Tom hated dogs; he’d famously refused to work with a German Shepherd some years ago on a police movie, insisting his body double be used for all scenes involving the K9.
Trapping my gaze, Tom smiled and said, “Have you seen Sienna’s ring?”
I gritted my teeth and shot daggers at him, my heart jumping to my throat.
Don’t you dare.
His smile widened. Watch me.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Tom lifted my right ring finger and showed it to Arval. “But it’s on the wrong hand, don’t you think?”
A stunned hush fell over those who were watching and listening, followed by an eruption of questions from all sides.
“Sienna, are you and Tom engaged?”
“Why did you arrive separately?”
“When is the wedding?
Arval blinked at us, clearly surprised, but then quickly recovered, addressing his question to me. “Are you two making an announcement?”
As I held Tom’s smirking gaze, frantic questions being haphazardly thrown in my direction, something in me shifted.
I was mad, and I’d been mad since Jethro had left my trailer yesterday.
I was mad at Tom, obviously. He was a douchenozzle.
But I was also angry with myself. If I’d brought Jethro, if I’d followed Cletus’s wise words of owning our shit and facing the music, then everything about this moment would have
been different. I wouldn’t be standing here feeling like a fraud.
Yes, there would be fallout. Yes, I might lose a few film roles. Some doors might shut, but did I really want to walk through those doors?
If Jethro had been standing next to me, the road would’ve been rocky, but at least we would be facing it together. And I would have been true to myself.
For the first time in my career, I felt like a coward. I felt like a sellout. And I hated it.
In that moment, Jethro’s words, spoken with such love, came back to me: “Now, part of my hate is because I don’t want to lie to folks. But the other part is selfish. I’m in love with you, and the idea of us being a secret makes me want to break something.”
I wanted to break something.
First, Tom’s nose.
Second, each and every preconceived notion about who I was. I was ready to be free.
Decision made, I held Tom’s gaze and gave him a brilliant smile. “It is on the wrong hand. Thank you for pointing that out.”
His eyes widened with surprise and interest, clearly he was curious what I was up to.
Very carefully, I slipped Jethro’s grandmother’s ring—my engagement ring—off my right hand and placed the ring where it belonged. Then I turned it to the crowd of cameras in front of me, holding it up as though I were flipping them off with my ring finger instead of the middle one.
“I’m engaged to be married. My fiancé couldn’t make it today. He’s too busy humanely trapping gigantic black bears and setting them free in the wild. I can’t wait for you all to meet him. His name is Jethro Winston, and he’s a wildlife park ranger in Tennessee. We’re completely in love, and we’ll be getting married in the fall, when the leaves change.”
I grinned, my heart swelling with the rightness of the moment. I turned to Arval to see if he had any more questions, but he just stared at me, his mouth hanging open. I didn’t see Tom’s expression because I wasn’t looking at him. I didn’t care whether he was angry or putting on a show. It didn’t matter. What Tom thought didn’t matter.
