by Christa Wick
Several someones were doxxing her on Twitter and Facebook, posting her home address and phone number so she could be harassed. All of the accounts that originated the photos and her private contact information had been created the day before. The only profile she recognized as real was the photographer's assistant talking about what a bitch she always was on the lot.
She exhaled, wondering what the hell would be on her voicemail and in the text messages. Declan had been right to coax the phone out of her hands and pocket it. It was bad enough reading such vile comments on a public forum. Having them directed to her phone would be so much worse.
"Fuck," echoed in her chest as she put the tablet in the backpack and made her way downstairs once more.
Entering the kitchen, she found Declan absorbed in finishing up a fruit bowl while an omelet cooked on the stove top. She slid onto one of the stools on the opposite side of the island counter and shoved her hands between her thighs to hide their nervous shaking.
Putting the knife down, Declan wiped the fruit juices from his fingers and reached out to touch a lock of her hair. He cocked one dark blond brow in her direction.
"I remember a much longer drying time yesterday."
Her hair was far from dry, but it would normally be saturated after just a few minutes out of the shower. Of course, she'd exited the shower twenty-five minutes ago when she expected breakfast to be almost ready instead of not even started.
Shrugging, she reached forward and stole a slice of melon from the fruit bowl. Biting off a chunk, she forced a smile to her face then slowly chewed. Declan's mouth quirked but he turned his attention to the omelet long enough to cut it down the middle and slide the two halves onto plates.
He put one plate in front of her and the other next to her, then grabbed two glasses and filled them with a fragrant, pale tea and ice cubes.
"I ordered a new number and phone for you," he said before stuffing an overflowing forkful of omelet into his mouth.
Morbid curiosity had her itching to have her current phone returned, but she said nothing.
"Was there any message from my mom?" Melanie asked, guessing that he had looked.
"No," Declan answered quickly. "But Cammie wants you to know you have her ear whenever you need it."
I could use a lot more than her ear, Melanie thought as she glumly forced some of the food into her mouth, chewing and swallowing but never actually tasting the meal he had prepared.
She put the fork down and swiveled on the stool enough that she didn't have to torture her neck to look at Declan.
"I don't need a new phone or number. It will die down soon enough. Somebody's bound to overdose, wrap their car around a telephone pole, check into rehab, cheat on their spouse or whatever else happens in an average Hollywood news cycle."
He didn't reply immediately. Instead he speared one of the strawberry chunks from the bowl and popped it in his mouth. Melanie waited, patiently pushing parts of the omelet around her plate until he answered.
"At least let me delete and block the messages that have already come in."
"I'm a big girl--" She stopped, almost choking on her words. That she was a "big girl" was apparently the entirety of her problem. Clearing her throat, she continued. "I've heard it all before. Dealt with it all before. I'm an old hand at being insulted."
Sadly, that was true. She'd been told by complete strangers more than once that she shouldn't even exist because of her weight, that she was a drain on the world, and, horribly, that she should kill herself immediately instead of the slow suicide her weight presented.
The only difference between the last nineteen or so years of her life -- ever since she entered grade school -- and what she had seen online that morning was that people had become creative in describing exactly how she should perish, their nastiness unfettered as they hid behind their phones and computers.
"Mel, I don't want you hurt by this--"
"I told you," she interrupted. "People have been hurting me for a long time."
A joke about thick skin died before it could reach her lips. None of this was funny. It was old and it was tired and she wished people would grow the fuck up.
"It's a lot to take in at once."
"So am I." The words slipped out, old defense mechanisms kicking in even if she didn't want to play any of this off as amusing.
Frowning at the joke, Declan curled one hand around the back of her skull and leaned in so that their foreheads touched.
"I want all of you Mel. Don't put yourself down. And I don't want the things these vile people are saying make you pull away from me."
Pull away was exactly what she wanted to do and her head reflexively rebelled against the hold he had on it.
"Don't," he said and then his mouth covered hers.
Her lips parted. She could taste the strawberry he'd just eaten and a little of the onion and peppers from the omelet. She closed her eyes, yielding as the kiss deepened. His other hand came up between them to rest lightly on her collarbone, the fingers moving in a soothing pattern.
She could forget the world when he was touching her like this. Forget the hateful slurs, the death threats and the suggestions she do the world -- and her lover -- a favor and kill herself. But they couldn't just keep touching one another until the furor died down.
At some point, the outside world would get in.
It always did.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Near the end of the first week of Shayna outing Melanie and Declan to the public, the Hollywood pundits began wondering what the relationship meant for Declan's career. Photos were dredged up from archives -- not of Melanie but other women who had mortally sinned by gaining weight. The talking heads mentioned the wives of other Hollywood hunks. Some of the women had been dumped and divorced when the weight began to pile on, others had been hidden away so that the public seemed to have forgotten that their favorite star even had a spouse.
One morning host after another brought attorneys on to talk about celebrity pre-nuptial agreements designed to address the issue of wives staying slim to avoid hurting their husbands' acting careers. Other so-called experts assured the public that all of the attention and hate suddenly being thrown Melanie's way was the cost of doing business in Hollywood -- that everyone associated with a celebrity was open to inspection.
Bullshit, bullshit and more bullshit!
Melanie stabbed the off button on the remote as Declan came out of the bathroom after a shower he had tried to talk her into taking with him.
Seeing the remote on the bed, he picked it up and tossed it into the trash can before dropping the towel enticingly wrapped around his hips and crawling onto the bed. She knew the look in his eyes, the mischievous curve of his lips. It sparked heat inside her, just as he intended, but she put her hand against his forehead before he could curl his gorgeous, naked body up against hers.
She nodded at the television she had just turned off. "You can't sex your way out of all this, Declan Bain."
For a few flashing seconds, he looked shocked, scandalized, insulted even, and then he smiled again.
"I'm not trying to. I need you, Mel. You can't begin to imagine how much of me I've been holding back for so long..."
She raised a skeptical brow as he trailed off.
"You know what I mean."
She shook her head. She truly didn't have the slightest inkling. Granted, they'd gotten incredibly inventive the last week -- where they had sex, how they had sex. But not once had it felt sordid or dirty.
"I'm saying a man can't do what I've done with you without putting certain thoughts into a woman's head."
Now he was confusing the hell out of her.
"Thoughts?"
"You know," he went on with a groan. "Long-term thoughts. Forever thoughts."
She laughed, shaking her head again. The acts they'd accomplished didn't give her those kinds of thoughts, it was the look that would flash across his face at certain times during those acts or later when he was
holding her or tenderly tending to her body after he had ravished it.
Even, as weird as it seemed, that habit he had of stroking the bridge of his nose at certain moments. She had never seen him do it on set or any interview. He did it at the sweetest of times and seemed embarrassed when she caught him.
"Who's to say I'm not using you as my boy toy?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from "forever."
For a second, he scowled at her. Then he dipped his head, evading her hands so he could seize her hips and pull her to the center of the bed. He straddled her, his knees against her hips and his hands planted alongside her shoulders as he looked down at her, his expression entirely earnest.
"I'm being serious, Mel. You're the only woman I've ever woken up next to, let alone every morning for a week. You're the only woman I've ever..." he paused, his cheeks spotting a dark red before he finished. "The only woman I've ever masturbated to when I thought I couldn't have you."
"I think you just obliterated the TMI barrier," she laughed, shocked by his admission.
Leaning back, shameless in his nudity, he planted his hands on his hips and cocked his head at her. "You know, I caught more than the eye rolls you were always throwing at my reflection."
He closed his eyes, his expression subtly altering piece by piece, his skill as an actor and an observer of people undeniable. He started with the slightest parting of his lips, then a hint of a drawn brow, next came the softest flare of his nostrils and then he opened his eyes and finished the look.
Melanie had felt her face mimicking him mimicking her with each change. She finished with him and felt like she'd just had one of those heart paddles they showed in the medical dramas on television applied to her chest.
"Oh," she murmured, emotion surging inside her. "Did I really look at you like that?"
"Yeah," he said, his face shifting to reclaim his own emotions.
All that time on set she'd been telling herself it was a celebrity crush. She couldn't hide behind that lie any more, not to herself or to him. It was weird how just making the face tricked the body into feeling everything she had felt all the other times she had worn that expression.
"Wow," she murmured again.
"Yeah," he agreed and delicately draped his body over hers.
Hooking her gaze, he kissed the tip of her nose.
"How about we quit fighting the feeling and enjoy it?"
"Agreed," she said, angling for a better kiss and forgetting, for a few hours, that life was never that easy.
Chapter Thirty
The second week opened with a phone call from Melanie's mother after dear, sweet, socially reclusive Nancy Winslow Ivory had finally been presented with the fact that her daughter was fucking Declan Bain.
"Mom," Melanie answered hoping her mother couldn't hear her heart hammering inside her chest. "What's up?"
Melanie knew she had dozens of "tells" when she was trying to hide something. Her father had been an expert on each and every one of them. But her mother was usually too busy thinking about other things, usually the book she was reading or the one she had just finished or the book she would like to start next. The only thing that had kept Melanie from lying to her constantly was a little too much guilt and far too much knowledge that she sucked at lying.
But "what's up" was one of her tells, a sort of short hand for "please, let's start talking about you immediately so you forget to ask me what's going on in my world." And, really, who doesn't like a little short hand?
"I don't know how to ask this..." Nancy began, her voice suddenly scratchy. "It's just that...well, don't say anything, but Roger has something called a Goggle alert--"
"Google alert," Melanie absently corrected as her mind raced whole sentences and paragraphs ahead of where her mother was slowly directing the conversation.
"If you say so, Melalee..."
Whoa! If Nancy was whipping out the "Melalee," the call had to be about something wrong on her mother's end.
"Sorry, mom," Melanie said, her tone gentling. "Just go ahead and tell me what the problem is."
Declan entered the room carrying a tray with two glasses filled with the fragrant tea he kept dosing Melanie with to keep her relaxed. She lifted a finger to her lips to silence him.
"Well," Nancy continued, before thoroughly eviscerating Melanie's wishful thinking that it was her mother who had screwed up. "He has an alert for Declan set up and...and it seems your name...well, your name and...well..."
"Breathe, mom."
Leaning to one side, Melanie planted a small kiss on Declan's cheek then took the glass he was offering her. Listening to her mom slowly get her breathing under control, Melanie sipped at the tea. The peppermint seemed to expand her mind at the same time it, or some other ingredient, infused her with a sense of peace. Or maybe the entire effect was from Declan making it for her, the shoulder massages that often accompanied the drink or the sprinkle of kisses along her face and neck that he liked to plant while she was drinking it.
"Are you and Declan having sexual relations?" Nancy managed to spit out after a few more deep breaths.
"Yes," Melanie answered. "Are you and Roger?"
"Melanie Lee!"
Declan's face swung into view, his head cocked to one side and his right brow lifted high. She knew he was sitting close enough to hear her mother's question and could only imagine what he was thinking about Melanie's answer.
"By the way, Declan is sitting right here, so he heard about the Google alert."
Both of his brows lifted at that, his mouth pinching to one side at the idea of his estranged father sort of stalking him online.
"Don't you try to sidetrack me, young lady."
Melanie's lips mashed together at the accusation. Her mother was easily sidetracked. Melanie would just let nature take its course instead of giving Nancy a nudge in a new direction.
"Wouldn't think of it, mom," she answered after a few seconds silence.
"I want to know why you didn't tell me," Nancy went on. "I know we haven't discussed things like this in the past...I mean, I don't even know if Declan is your first."
Melanie interrupted the woman with a groan. "Mom, please. Just say what you called to say without any more detours."
"Fine, Little Miss Bossy Pants," Nancy huffed before her words turned wet. "I love you. That's what I called to say. I love you."
Melanie's grip relaxed on the phone and the device started to slip out of her hand. Declan caught it before it could land in her tea. Taking the glass away, he handed the phone back to Melanie, her mother still waiting in silence for a reply.
"I love you, too, mom. I'm sorry I snapped. It's just been a stressful week."
"I know, I read all those horrible things they were saying, sweetie. None of it is true. You were a beautiful baby and that hasn't changed about you in all the years. You're still beautiful."
Melanie closed her eyes, fighting the urge to tear up.
"And Parable dropping Declan, well, it sounded like--"
Parable?
"Paravista?" Melanie asked, her voice dropping as she looked at Declan.
She thought, for half a second, that he'd kept the news from her, but he looked every bit as surprised as she felt.
"Maybe," Nancy agreed. "Para-something. But Roger says Declan is an amazing actor. He'll get more work and if you guys need any money, I have--"
"Whoa, mom, slow down."
Shaking her head in amusement, Melanie caught Declan smiling. He looked around the room with its marble tiling, custom furniture and artwork and gave a small shrug before whispering too low for Nancy to hear.
"Well, maybe a small loan."
Pushing playfully at Declan's shoulder, she tried to reassure her mother. "No one needs to borrow any money from you. Please, tell Roger to turn off the alert. As for you, stay off social media and don't talk to anyone about it. Seriously, people will try to pump you for information if they figure out you're my mother."
"Should I delete my
Facebook?"
"No. I've already made mine private so people won't see me on your feed or in your friends list."
Despite a week of trying to dodge bullets and finally getting hit by the "mom" one, another laugh escaped Melanie. Facebook was the only part of the internet her mother really used and, Melanie figured, only because it had "book" in its name. Just like everything else in the real world that Nancy mangled the name of, she had first asked Melanie to friend her on "Bookface." No way would she ask her mother to delete the account. It might take another decade to get her back on the internet.
"Okay," Nancy said, her voice faltering. "I'm not sure what else to say."
"It's okay, mom. You've already said everything I needed to hear and it was perfect."
"Really?"
Evidently, Melanie had just shocked the hell out of her mother. The feeling was mutual -- and strangely comforting.
Wiping away a stray tear, she answered. "Really. We can talk again later if you want. I love you."
"I love you, too, baby. Bye for now."
Melanie repeated the good-bye then ended the call. Putting the phone on the table, she turned to Declan.
"No one told you?" she asked, her voice incredulous despite seeing the surprise that had registered on his face.
He shrugged. "Maybe it's only a rumor."
"Wouldn't they have called you ... or your agent?"
"Fired Rex three days ago. He clearly forgot which one of us was earning the money the other one was spending."
Putting his tea down, he pulled her into his arms.
"None of that matters." He kissed her ear then took a little nip at the lobe before moving on to her neck. "I refuse to let any studio tell me who I can or cannot ... associate with."
She wondered at the pause then tried to ignore it. There was nothing wrong with what he had said and trying to read more into it wasn't helpful.
Sure, they had ended their first week together dancing around the "L" word. She felt confident he knew her feelings even if she didn't openly state them. The proper name to pin to his emotions went unmentioned as well. She didn't want to push him into saying anything he didn't really mean.
