by Nikki Wild
We finally pulled up to a part of the airport I’d never been anywhere close to. A large hanger was labeled GULFSTREAM and a handful of small private jets sat quietly on the runway. A sea of paparazzi was waiting for me as the door opened, cameras flashing as they shoved microphone sand smart phones in my face, eager to get something on tape. I pushed through them quickly and boarded the jet, thankful to leave those vultures behind. All they wanted was to pick clean the carcasses of whoever was unfortunate enough to fall along the wayside of fame and fortune. I’d only been famous for a few days, and already I hated them with every fiber of my being.
“Glad to have you aboard,” a man shouted from the cockpit. “Get yourself buckled in. We’ve got places to be and no time to get there.”
I didn’t ask questions. If Julian wanted me here, I knew he must have his reasons. I sat back in one of the huge comfortable chairs and closed my eyes as I waited for my plane to take flight. The nausea seemed to die down as I took deep breaths. Maybe everything was going to be okay…
I awoke to the sound of wheels chirping on tarmac. Huge skyscrapers filled the view out the small window next to my seat, and I knew instantly where I was…
New York City?
I’d barely been given a chance to react to my new surroundings. I stepped out of the plane just long enough to take a breath and get thrown straight back into another black town car. The driver sped across town as the towering skyline surrounded us in a man made canyon of brick and steel and glass. I’d never seen anything like this in my life.
We pulled up along the front entrance of the hotel, and just as expected, there was a crowd of press waiting for me there. I wanted to scream and cry and hide all at the same time, to curl into a ball and disappear completely from the universe. I felt so small, like an ant about to be crushed beneath the boot of someone so much larger than I. But even that would have been too merciful, too quick, compared to what was about to happen.
None of this made sense. What could possibly be going on that deserved this level of attention? I wanted my life to be my own again—I was so tired of the spotlight and the heavy chains it seemed to come with.
The moment I stepped out of the car, they were on top of my like a pack of wild dogs taking down a kill. Flashing lights blinded me, almost making me stumble as I did my best to push past them.
“Ms. Lawson! Ms. Lawson!” one of the reporters cried over the throng, “Why did you fake your marriage to Mr. Bastille?”
“I didn’t—” I tried to say before I was cut off by yet another question.
“Was it his money? Were you planning on taking everything he had in the divorce? Who helped you take advantage of him?”
“What?!” I felt like I’d been punched right in the stomach. Taken advantage of Julian? What in the world were they talking about?
“Is it true that you traveled to Las Vegas specifically to sleep with Mr. Bastille?” another reporter asked. “How long had you been planning this con of yours?”
“I would never—” I stammered, the sting of tears forcing me to shut my eyes. I couldn’t hold back the sobs as I tried all the harder to get to the front doors, wincing every time someone demanded I answer for a thousand different theories concerning my relationship with Julian. I felt so violated, so exposed, that I might as well have been naked out there on that street, all eyes on me as they immortalized the moment for all the world to see.
“When did you decide that Julian Bastille would be your target?” another reporter asked.
“Were you trying to flee to the United Kingdom? Was this attempt to get UK citizenship all a part of some plan to escape your crippling debt?”
“What are you talking about?” I shouted as more and more reporters tried to squeeze themselves closer.
I swatted the nearest microphone away, finally breaking free from the crowd and pushing through the doors into the lobby of the hotel. Already I could hear some of the press following after me, hoping to get the upper hand on their fellows and maybe even catch an exclusive.
“Ms. Lawson!” a man—someone I even recognized from television—called after me. “How could you do this to Julian Bastille?”
I couldn’t take it anymore. All of these wild accusations had driven me over the edge—and despite promising myself that I wouldn’t say anything to these monsters, I couldn’t spend another moment helplessly hounded by them, either. I wouldn’t just cower when the world called me such awful things—I was going to fight back.
I was going to take control.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I would never hurt Julian,” I said, whipping around on the reporter and his accompanying cameraman. They both flinched backward, eyes wide, apparently not anticipating my wrath. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not in this for the damn money. Our life—Julian’s and mine—is exactly that. Ours. And that means it’s none of your business.” I could have stopped right there, but taking the reins like this had opened up the floodgates on my anger. Seething, I added, “Now fuck off!”
As though they’d smelled blood in the water, a flurry of additional questions came roaring in, and more and more of the reporters from outside began filing in, convinced I was not willing to answer their questions.
“Ms. Lawson! Are you faking your pregnancy?” a new reporter demanded to know. “Is the child even Julian’s? Has there been a paternity test? Whose baby is it?”
I wanted to kick myself for giving them even a bit of an answer. The longer I stood there, fixed to the floor of the lobby, the louder and more demanding they became for answers, cameras once again flashing in my face.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, frozen, until hotel security finally intervened, pushing back the crowd and swiftly guiding me toward the elevator. They asked what room I was staying in, and I readily told them. Whatever it took to get me out of this mess, that was what I was willing to do. They could have asked me for my social security number in exchange for safe haven, and in that moment, I might very well have given it to them.
Everything after that passed by as if I was in a dream, time moving in ways I couldn’t even comprehend, my brain reeling from the trauma of what had just occurred—the accusations that had been leveled at me from people who didn’t even know me. Why the hell were they accusing me of conning Julian?
Before I knew it I was in a suite. The security officers were standing at the threshold, asking that I stay in my room until the reporters could be removed from the premises. I nodded numbly and shut the door behind me, slumping against it. Just like that, I was alone again, my face wet from the fountain of tears I had cried in the elevator, still shaking as I tried to hold back the tide of sobs threatening to wrack my ribs. How had all of this gone so wrong?
I never should have gone along with this, I thought, shuffling toward the couch in the common area. My knees gave out just as I reached it and I sat, hard, letting the cushions all but swallow me whole. We should have just told the truth right from the beginning. Let the world know we made a silly drunken mistake, and see what happened from there. This could have been done quietly, instead of trying to have our cake and eat it too. We should have—
I took out my phone again and tried to call Julian, but the moment I hit the “call” button, a prerecorded message played instead.
“We’re sorry, your device has been disconnected from the network. For more information, please contact…”
I threw the cell onto the bed and reached for the hotel phone on the table. Before I could dial a single number, a large television on the wall caught my attention. Julian had just stepped into view. Shaking, I grabbed for the remote and turned up the volume.
18
Julian
At the sound of the doorknob rattling I leapt to my feet, ready to lay into Tessa the moment I saw her. But instead of Tessa, I found a mousy-looking woman standing there with a bag clutched firmly in her hand. I wasn’t sure what was going on until she stepped into the room, set the bag down on th
e table, and opened it to reveal a plethora of makeup.
“You’re here to get me ready for the cameras,” I said, heaving a sigh as I sat back down in the chair I’d been occupying since Tessa had locked me in that room.
“Yes, sir,” the girl stammered, flashing me a faint smile before she started getting out the things she’d need to make sure my face didn’t shine. It’s almost unbelievable how much foundation gets put onto people just so they look somewhat normal on your telly. The makeup helped to keep the lights from bleaching out the overly pale and from cutting the glare that often reflected off the skin. Even during my concerts, I’d been practically covered in the stuff as they filmed my sets.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” I said, closing my eyes as I heard the sound of the door opening again. I frowned, lifting my lids again just in time to see Tessa storm into the room, a stack of papers in her hands. She didn’t look happy in the slightest.
“Get out,” she snapped at the girl, whose brush hovered not even an inch from my face. She froze, and Tessa bellowed, “Now!”
I’d never seen someone disappear so quickly, taking her bag and all its contents with her as she darted back out into the hallway. I shook my head in disdain as I opened my mouth to speak, only to be cut off before I had the chance to.
“You really are an idiot,” Tessa hissed, slamming the door after the girl and walking up to the edge of the desk I’d been sitting at for the past hour. “This was so easy to avoid, but you couldn’t resist getting your dick wet, could you?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, fists clenching as she slammed the stack of papers down onto the table. She looked so odd—obviously she was angry, but there was something cold behind her eyes too, something almost calculating, precise. But then again, that had always been Tessa, hadn’t it?
“You just had to sleep with the first girl in Vegas that opened her legs,” she growled, “and now look where we are, about to give a press conference about how you fell for one of the oldest fucking tricks in the book.”
“Tessa, what the hell are you even talking about?” I asked, “What trick? What do you know that I don’t?”
“That’s a long list, Julian, and not one that I’m willing to detail in full,” Tessa answered, spanning her fingers across the stack of papers in front of me. “Regardless, I can at least tell you that your blushing bride has been playing you from the very beginning.”
I swallowed. “You’re full of shit,” I said, trying not to turn my gaze toward the papers she’d laid there in front of me. But was it because I didn’t believe her, or that I didn’t want to? I could already feel my heart racing, that slow chill creeping into my chest from the bottom of my stomach.
“Liz wouldn’t do that,” I murmured. “That isn’t the kind of person she is.”
“And how would you know that, Julian?” Tessa asked, eyebrows peaked as she stood straight again and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve spent a few days with her and you trust her more than you trust me—the woman who’s been beside you every step of your career? Guiding you to where you are now? Picking you up off of the floor after every drunken stupor?”
As much as I wanted to refute her, Tessa had a point—just how well did I know Liz? I mean, aside from a drunken night in Vegas together—one that neither of us remembered—we’d been together for all of a week; and while it had been the best week of my life, did that really mean that I knew the first about her? Liz could have been anyone in the world. There was no way I’d even scratched the surface of who she was in such a short amount of time, no matter what I felt to the contrary.
I glanced down at the papers despite my better judgment, squinting at the small black type. I’d been expecting photos, but this appeared to be a series of e-mails Tessa had printed out.
“What’s this?” I asked, resisting as best I could the urge to actually read one. The truth was I wanted so badly for Tessa to be wrong—to be so completely and totally off-base about this entire thing… but unless I knew all the facts, then I was just as much of a chump as she’d said I was.
“E-mails… and a few text messages,” she said. “All of them between Elizabeth and her friend Jennifer. All of them about you.”
“Why is that so shocking?” I snorted and looked away from the stack, trying to affect an air of confidence I didn’t really feel. “Of course she talks to Jen about me. They are friends. I’m not going to sit here reading her private email!”
Tessa looked at me like I was a particularly slow child. “These e-mails aren’t recent, Julian.” She tapped her finger against a line on the top sheet, indicating a date of some months before I’d even been to Vegas. That was right around the time I’d made the announcement about the show. “They’ve been planning this for months.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“You want me to read you the damn things?” Tessa shouted, lifting the emails back up. “You’ve been drinking a long time Julian. Do you ever black out and forget a whole damn night?”
“I must have hit things a bit hard…”
“Rohypnol, Julian. It’s all right here,” Tessa said, slapping at the paper. “The date rape drug! They drugged you!”
My heart sank. Over the past hour, I’d been doing my best to dismiss the intrusive thoughts I’d had about Liz’s fidelity, about whether or not she was who she’d said she was. I’d been calling myself a paranoid fool for even entertaining the notion she’d betray me—sure, we’d had a fight, but not one big enough for her to throw everything we had away.
What did we have, though, really? An accidental marriage, an inconvenient pregnancy, and a few good lays? No, it had to be more than that. We’d shared things with each other. Hadn’t we? Or at least, I had. The koi fish tattooed along my ribs throbbed suddenly and I touched it through my shirt, wincing.
“These can’t be real,” I said, giving in to my morbid curiosity and beginning to read through the papers. “You’re lying…”
More softly than I’d expected, Tessa said, “It’s all real, Julian. The marriage, the baby—it was all just an elaborate scheme, meticulously planned and elegantly executed. You fell right into their trap.”
“None of this makes any sense,” I said, running a hand through my hair as I grabbed the papers from Tessa. I read over one e-mail after another, each one detailing the various stages of an intricate plan, from discovery of which hotel I was staying at, to getting me drunk at the bar, right down to making sure I wasn’t wearing any protection when we had sex.
Sweat clung to my temples. I covered my mouth with the tips of my fingers. My stomach clenched and threatened to lurch. This couldn’t be true.
“Doesn’t it?” Tessa asked incredulously. “She just wanted to take you for a damn child support payment, Julian—and the alimony that would have gone alone with the divorce! This was her plan all along!”
“But she didn’t remember what happened, either,” I said, my voice growing weaker as my gaze returned to the pages in front of me, each of them more damning than the last.
Tessa threw up her hands. Now there was an expression on her face I understood—exasperation. “For Christ’s sakes, Jules—she lied! It’s that simple. People like her will always lie. It’s because of who you are. Because of what you represent to them. You will never be anything but a potential payout… except to me.” Her gaze softened. “I keep telling you, Julian. In this line of work… I’m the only person you can trust.”
I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the e-mails. I was so transfixed by just how foolish I had to be to put myself in a situation like this. Tessa was right—I had played right into their hands, and now I would have to find a way to somehow dig myself back out of the grave I’d dug. I felt like I was falling, like I’d jumped out of a plane with no parachute, or even a hope of landing on anything soft as the ground rose up to meet me.
“Why didn’t she go public right away, then?” I wondered out loud, shuffling through the docume
nts numbly. “Why did she wait almost a month…”
“That’s always bothered you, hasn’t it?” Tessa said, sighing as she rooted through the remainder of the stack. Finally, she pulled a sheet free. “Here. You won’t believe me if I tell you, so see for yourself.”
I read it over. Then I closed my eyes. “She was waiting on confirmation of the pregnancy.”
Tessa nodded. “Didn’t it strike you as one hell of a coincidence that her doctor called right as we showed up?”
No, I thought, though I dared not say it out loud for fear of looking even stupider. I’d had no idea that any of this was staged. From the very start, Liz had pulled at my heart strings. She was beautiful. She was a spitfire. She seemed the kind of girl who’d never had a day of fun in her whole life, and that made me want to take care of her, to show her how amazing life could be if she’d just let her guard down. She was a wildcat in bed, too, and I wondered if that was what had sealed the deal for me. Dear Lord, I hoped not. It was one thing to be a fool, but a fool as shallow and brain dead as all that? Hell, I might as well have applied for this year’s Darwin Award.
Well done, Liz, I thought, pushing the papers away. Bitterly, I recalled how the morning I’d woke up in that Vegas hotel room, she’d been gone—and how part of me had actually been impressed with that, impressed with the idea that she’d got me all turned around. You pulled on over on me. Right from the start.
“You’re right,” I said to Tessa at last, my voice tight as I fought back the emotion welling in my throat. Tessa had been there for me through thick and thin, seen me through to being the star I was today. If I couldn’t trust her, then what did I have? Years of her helping me rise to the top should have earned her enough respect to take her word at face value—even when it was something I didn’t want to hear. And yet I’d treated her as the enemy ever since Elizabeth Lawson walked into my life. A pang of guilt resonated in me. Tess deserved better. “I… I just don’t know what to say.”
