Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  “I don’t want to leave you when you’re ill. I don’t want to leave you, ever. I just got back.”

  “If you hear me throw up again, I’m probably going to have to break up with you. It’s gross, and I don’t like it. Let me rest. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’m going to be all over you again.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, bending his head to look into my eyes.

  I stare at him and want to pinch myself. I love the way he makes my heart race.

  I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but he finds it and smiles. Behind that is disappointment. “All right. I’ll be back in the morning. First thing.”

  “I can’t wait, Hollywood.” I walk him down to the front door.

  “Indie,” he says, turning just outside.

  I grip the edge of the door. “Yeah?”

  “I love you so much. I need you to know that. I’d do anything for you, no questions asked.”

  Oh, my heart.

  “Spence.” His name comes out as a needy plea. “I love you, too.”

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  He’s stalling, and my stomach turns over. Please give me until morning.

  “Tomorrow,” I say.

  He nods. “All right. Lock the door.”

  When I close it, I suck a deep breath in between my teeth. I watch and wave through the small pane of glass as he drives away.

  Turning around, I lean back against the door and grip my chest. My butt hits the floor, and I curl into my knees as a tidal wave of grief, nausea, and guilt swallows me whole.

  “Argh!” The cry is guttural—almost animalistic. I lay down and want to rip my hair straight out. I fall apart, sobbing until my throat is raw. I claw at the wooden floor beneath me, my tears soaking my face.

  Fucking spaghetti carbonara.

  Fucking alcoholic parents.

  Fucking shitty life.

  When I eventually lift my pounding head, I groan. I need to get it together. I wipe my tears on the back of my hand and push myself up.

  I haven’t fallen apart like that before. Anya would be proud.

  As I head upstairs, I send a quick reply to Spencer’s message, telling him that I’m okay, and for him to go to bed.

  He won’t accept that for long. I have to work harder at being normal. Spence only just got back, and I don’t want to miss any time.

  I’ve never had to pretend through the death of a parent, though. I thought I was good at hiding what I don’t want to be seen. It seems that, lately, I’ve been slipping.

  So that I’m not a complete liar, I run a hot bubble bath and sink beneath the water. Laying back, I close my eyes.

  This is such a mess.

  Whatever happens, I’ll always have myself. I can get through anything.

  I get out of the bath a new woman… or at least a fraction stronger than I was an hour ago. I have to find time to grieve Dad, take care of Mum, and maintain my relationships as normal.

  Piece of cake.

  After drying my hair and getting into my fluffiest pyjamas, I get into bed and tuck the quilt all around me. Spencer has left me alone since I told him I was going to have a bath and go to sleep, and it will last until first thing in the morning.

  Will he expect to come over whenever he wants now?

  There is absolutely no way he can be here when Mum comes home.

  Besides my counsellor, I haven’t told a single soul that my parents are alcoholics and have mostly ignored me since I was six. I can’t ever tell Spencer that my dad’s I’m trying to be sober signature dish is spaghetti carbonara. He will feel awful, despite have absolutely no clue whatsoever.

  I drift off to the slightly uneasy sound of silence.

  In the morning, I wake with a throbbing head and a sore throat.

  I pop a couple of painkillers and make a tea. I’m allowed to call Mum again today. It will be the third time. The first two were hard because she sounded broken. Now that Dad’s very small and simple funeral has been planned, there’s very little for us to talk about.

  Neither of us want to delve into the harder conversations just yet.

  As if he knows that I’ve just sat down to drink a tea, Spencer sends me a text.

  Spencer: How are you?

  Indie: Feel much better this morning. What time are you coming to pick me up?

  Spencer: Leaving now.

  Okay, that makes me smile. I take another sip of tea before I race upstairs to get dressed and put on a little bit of make-up. He’ll be horrified if he sees me looking red and puffy.

  He’s so eager, and that’s not at all one-sided. After my cry and early night, I feel totally ready for him again. I’m not going to break down because he’s only here for a limited time.

  These weeks are for us, and I’m determined to be happy with him.

  Running down the stairs, I laugh when I hear his engine rumbling into the drive. I beat him, but only by seconds. He rings the doorbell just as I make it to the bottom step.

  Time to be normal.

  Stopping at the door, I brush my fingertips over the picture hanging on the wall. It’s me, Mum, and Dad visiting Santa when I was about four. I wore a pink princess dress with a tacky Christmas jumper over the top. We’re smiling, happy, and excited for Christmas.

  It wasn’t all bad.

  I open the door.

  Spencer holds his palms up. “You contagious?”

  I smile like a moron. “I think I’m okay. Are your parents home?”

  “Yeah, you want to go now?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  His eyes narrow by the tiniest fraction. “You don’t have food in?”

  “I think I have Pop Tarts. Shopping hasn’t been high on my list of priorities.” I grab my bag and phone. “I’ll go later.”

  “I would say we could go somewhere to eat, but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “So weird that the whole world wants a piece of my boyfriend.”

  He smirks as we walk to his car. “You sound proud of that.”

  “I absolutely am.”

  He opens my door and leans over for a long, lingering kiss that I feel down to my toes. Hey, he has the same moronic smile.

  We drive back to his, and my face falls as we turn down his road. “Oh, God,” I breathe.

  Spence groans. “Great, they know where I live.”

  There are reporters outside his house, their cameras at the ready. Later, the world will see Spencer Lowe getting out of his car and going into his parents’ house.

  How is that newsworthy?

  People will eat it up, though. Women everywhere will swoon over him closing his car door and walking along a pathway. Not that I don’t find everything he does sexy, but even I have my limits.

  They’re also going to see me.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  He shrugs as if this is nothing. How long did it take him to get used to the invasion of privacy?

  He’s still driving towards his house. Can’t we turn around and run away to somewhere remote? He’s rich. Can’t he buy a private island now?

  Heart pounding, I grip the edge of the seat. “Maybe you should let me out here and I’ll go around the back.”

  “It’s fine, Indie. I’ll park on the drive. Just walk to my house and don’t engage with them.”

  They’ll have my picture. Someone will realise I’m the girl from the premiere. They’ll dig and find out about Mum and Dad.

  Soon everyone is going to know.

  My chest tightens.

  “Babe, breathe. It’s fine.”

  It is so not fine.

  I bow my head as he pulls onto his driveway, the stones crunching underneath his big car. He parks sideways on, with my door facing the house, blocking me from being seen from the road. No one has come onto his property.

  “Indie,” he says but I get out of the car. I face the house, my hair thankfully down, creating a shield when I bow my head. I’m so grateful that his car is tall.
/>
  I hear him behind me as I power walk to the house. I think he turns around to wave or something because people start to ask him questions, and someone else laughs.

  The door is unlocked, so I let myself in and hide around the corner.

  “Indie? Darling, how are you?” Jodie asks.

  I blow out a breath. “I’m okay. It’s mad out there.”

  “Yes, arrived a few minutes ago. Can you believe that? Andrew has already been looking online for a new house with walls and gates.”

  “You’d move?”

  She shrugs. “Probably not. I’m sure it’ll die down soon.”

  I bet Spencer buys them a huge house as he earns more and more money. He’s always wanted to take care of his parents. As of right now, he’s spent very little besides his car and rent on the apartment in LA. We’ve never talked about money. I don’t care what’s in his bank account, but I bet it would make my eyes water.

  I have a little over nine thousand pounds that I’ve been saving since I was fifteen. It’s towards a deposit on a house when I’m finished uni.

  Maybe Spencer and I will end up buying a house together. I don’t even want to think about the arguments that will bring. He’s going to be able to buy it outright. I won’t be able to pay half straight up. He will say it doesn’t matter. It does.

  Then we’ll have make up sex.

  That part I’ll like.

  “Do you want some breakfast? I’m making omelettes before I have to go to work.”

  “Thanks, that sounds great.”

  Jodie and I turn around as Spencer shuts the door. He shakes his head at me, but I know he’s not mad. “Could you have got inside any faster?”

  “Those people are crazy.”

  Jodie excuses herself, grinning at the both of us.

  He steps closer until his toes touch mine. “You get used to it.”

  “You might.”

  The second I say the words, I realise how it sounds. If we’re going to work, I’ll have to get used to it, too.

  “I just mean that I’m finding it hard. I don’t like people knowing my business.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “Plenty of people in the public eye successfully keep their private life, private. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make it work; I promise.”

  My heart aches at the plea in his voice. There’s terror in his eyes at the thought of this getting too much for me.

  “I’m not going anywhere, but I don’t think I can be chatting with the paparazzi and putting myself out there.”

  “That’s fine. I told you there are ways to keep you out of this, and there are. I’ve already spoken at length with Denny. He knows it’s important, and he’s on it, okay?”

  “Do you have a big team of people? PR and that kind of stuff? People on Twitter ready to set the record straight as soon as someone posts crazy shit?”

  His smile betrays him with a touch of embarrassment. “Yeah, I do. Not the last thing, though. That’s just weird.”

  “They’ll be working on damage limitation when it all goes to your head and you start shoplifting.”

  “Shoplifting? Indie, I’m loaded.”

  I run my palms up his chest, and he shudders beneath me. “Well, I will not accept you snorting coke off a prostitute, so you will have to rob things. Celebrities do that, you know.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “No prostitutes, just robbing. Got it. Let’s get you fed before I take you upstairs.”

  I wiggle my eyebrows. “It’s been ages.”

  “It’s not been twenty-four hours, but I’m with you. My parents are out after breakfast.”

  “Eat fast, Spence.”

  He chuckles and scoops me into his arms.

  Yesterday is forgotten.

  Thirty-Seven

  Spencer

  I’m breathless, lying with a naked Indie, caressing her smooth stomach. She feels like heaven. Every inch of her is incredible. I still can’t believe I get to touch her like this. Could life get any better?

  She seems to be doing okay after last night. She certainly was while she was on top of me. Nothing beats your girl losing control while she’s bouncing above you.

  “This is surreal,” I say.

  She curls her hot body into me. I move to stroke her back.

  “What is?”

  “This. Us. I wasn’t sure we’d ever happen again. I hoped, obviously. Sometimes it seemed like a sure thing, like who else would we be with, you know? Other times, I felt a million miles away from you, not five thousand.”

  “I thought you were going with the fact that you’re famous, a household name with a movie out in the cinemas.”

  “Ah, that.”

  She laughs, the musical sound radiating through me.

  Best sound in the world.

  I roll on top of her. She looks up at me, her dark hair now a halo around her. “What are we going to do with the whole day, Indie? I can pretty much get us into anywhere you like.”

  “Jason Mamoa’s dressing room?”

  I narrow my eyes. “If I can’t have prostitutes, you can’t have Jason.”

  “Damn it.” She smiles wide, the anguish from yesterday gone. “Do you use your name to get in places often?”

  “Everyone does.”

  “Wow. Think you can use it on the exam board and get me a first?”

  “You don’t need me to do that.”

  Her expression softens. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” I take a breath, the look in her eyes making my blood burn red hot.

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “A walk? Where do you want to walk in December?”

  “Not into town. We’ll be crowded by hordes of adoring fans. How about the forest?”

  “The forest? I’m sorry, I can’t take you shopping or to the cinema.”

  “No, Spence, this is on me. We’re only avoiding public places because I’m still anxious about the attention. I’ll work on not caring about being seen with you.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You know how I meant that.”

  She moves, and I get out of the way. “Where are you going?” I ask her. Getting out of bed, she starts to get dressed. “Don’t put clothes on.”

  “Pervert. Look, I’m not ashamed of you—not at all—and I don’t want to hide. Just… can you give me some time to get used to this? Our lives aren’t going to be how they were before you left for LA. Everything is perfect, just in a totally different way to what I imagined.”

  “Indie,” I say, getting up with her since we’re apparently done with being in bed now. “You can have however long you want as long as, one day, we get to wake up together every morning.”

  “You want to live with me?”

  “I’d buy you a house today if you’d let me.”

  She laughs to herself. “I’m so not starting this argument right now.”

  “Why would we argue? Oh… you’re going to try and pay your share.”

  “Yes. I mean, I can probably only afford the shed in the back garden, but still…”

  “We’re definitely not starting this argument today. Come on, let’s go to the forest.”

  “I want to do the purple walk.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course, you do. That’s the longest one.”

  “It’s so pretty at this time of year with the frost, and apparently the snowdrops are early this season.”

  “Great. Hours of being out in the freezing cold, looking at flowers.”

  “Well, Hollywood, we’ll just have to find a way to keep us warm.”

  “I’m listening.”

  With a laugh, she shakes her head and throws my jeans at me.

  Outside the house is clear now. It’s surprising how quick they leave when you take a second to answer a couple of questions and smile for a photo.

  “Before I go back to LA, I need to come to another class with you. I love seeing you in the classroom, answering questions, making everyone else look thick as fuck.”<
br />
  “They’re all smart in my class. We should go paintballing. No one there will care that you’re famous. And we should go to a Christmas market at night—wear a hat. And let’s bake those cinnamon biscuits we burn every year!”

  “Sounds good.” I hold my hand out. “Let’s start with the walk.”

  Indie’s smile is easy as I drive us to the country park to pick up the purple trail. She’s showing no signs of having been unwell yesterday.

  Was it really a sickness bug? She wouldn’t lie about being pregnant… no way. Half of her life might be hidden better than Carole Baskin’s dead husband, but Indie wouldn’t keep a pregnancy from me.

  What did she say about her parents? They’re away visiting friends. That’s completely plausible.

  I pull into the car park and slide sunglasses on top of my head. Hopefully, I won’t need to wear them and look like a knob. It’s December.

  Indie grabs her thick coat and gets out. I cut the engine and follow her to the front of the car.

  “Ready, Hollywood? Do you need to warm up? Do a few push ups before we get going? Walking alone isn’t going to sustain that six pack.”

  “I’m having sex now; I don’t feel the need to train as hard.”

  She watches me, and I can tell the question is on the tip of her tongue. I’ll reassure her every day if she needs to hear it. There is no one else, and there never will be.

  “Just you, Indie. You know that.”

  “I like that.”

  “I thought you would. ”

  I take her hand, and we walk towards the purple route. It comes as no surprise that we see no one. Normal people aren’t outside freezing their arses off. Indie presses herself against me, and I’m content. Money and fame are great, but this is real.

  “You feel okay now? No tummy ache or anything?”

  She does a double take, her eyebrows furrowing. “Oh. No, I’m fine. I wasn’t sick again. Maybe it was something I ate earlier and not a bug.”

  “I’m glad you’re better. You want me to take you shopping later? You said you didn’t have much in. I can wear a disguise, or we can go late.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll sort it.”

  “Are your parents home soon?”