Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7)

by Krista Ritchie

  43

  JACK HIGHLAND

  “I burned it.”

  Oscar blinks. “Come again?”

  “I burned it, Os,” I repeat in a whisper. “Like it’s currently a pile of ash in a trashcan at my office.” The curtains haven’t been drawn for the ballet yet, but we’re still sitting in Charlie’s boxed seat. He pretends not to listen one row below us.

  “All of it?” Oscar asks, studying my face.

  All the days we spent together in Philly, New York, California, France, Greenland, Austria. It’s charred to a crisp. That was the hardest part. Knowing that I was burning some of our memories.

  But I couldn’t store the footage if I’m not filming Born into Fame anymore. It’s not safe to keep any video clips of Charlie when someone could get ahold of them. And that person might not have the same feelings or intentions as me.

  “I didn’t burn all of it,” I whisper, being truthful. “I kept some of the footage where Charlie wasn’t present.” I smile at him.

  He understands. “You kept the footage of us.”

  “Yeah.”

  Oscar grins, but his lips falter. “You’re alright with ending this?”

  I’ve learned a lot about Charlie and myself. I’ve met my limits on what I’m willing to do, and it’s right here. I can’t produce a show that’s centered around someone who’s self-destructive like him, who’s too apathetic about his life being seen.

  I’m ending the pilot. Ending the idea of creating my own show around him.

  “It’s not the one,” I tell Oscar. “And it already gave me what I wanted. Just not what I expected.”

  He leans in and steals a kiss, one that melts us against each other, and we pull back as the curtains begin to rise. His hand stays in mine.

  My chest rises, and I smile out at the performance of Romeo & Juliet. Barely watching, though. A strong sense of anticipation rolls through me. I can’t stop visualizing how we ended up here.

  How I fell in love with Oscar Highland-Oliveira.

  Like someone hit play on the video of our lives. We’re all over the fucking place. A big tortured slow-burn as I flirted my way into his heart and missed opportunity after opportunity to seize what I desired.

  How we married in one drunken night.

  How the annulment still lies on the metaphorical table between us.

  In my head, it’s already burned in the trash with Charlie’s footage. There is no future where I’m not married to this man.

  But I haven’t articulated this to Oscar, and my pulse speeds even when he peeks over at me in the ballet. I use one of those times to whisper, “I figured it out.”

  His eyes rest on mine for longer.

  “I’m pansexual,” I breathe, knowing this has been what I’ve felt. I’m sexually, romantically attracted to people, regardless of sex and gender. I’m at peace with choosing the label as my own, and I know because I said it to myself in the mirror.

  And fuck did I feel happy.

  His mouth curves upward, pride in his eyes. “I really love you.”

  Emotion crashes into me. I didn’t expect Oscar to say that. I wipe the corner of my eye. Smiling more.

  He wipes it for me, then quietly he pops an orange tin on his lap. One that Audrey Cobalt gave him when we arrived at the theatre.

  He tries to contain a laugh.

  Do I use that as a reason to lean closer? Of course I fucking do. I lean into Oscar, my lips rising when I see the cookies inside the tin.

  “How sweet of her,” I smile brighter.

  He contains another laugh. “She outdid herself this time.”

  I pick up a glazed sugar cookie. Orange icing is piped to resemble a glass of orange juice, and she scrawled the words, Highveira, in neat pink.

  Our ship name.

  We have fans outside the famous ones. Hate has died down as love for me and Oscar grows louder, and no one is happier than my parents, my brother. Mama even wears Highveira T-shirts to work. She’s shown me proudly on FaceTime.

  Oslie stans still exist, but there’s a stronger fanbase around my relationship now. All because of one video.

  Just one changed everything.

  Paparazzi caught footage of Oscar spinning around my baseball cap and kissing me. We were grinning, and I might’ve slapped his ass. People decided that one was “authentic”.

  Fan sites popped up with headers and banners of orange juice. O & J—our initials.

  “We have fans,” I tell him into a bite of cookie.

  While his eyes sweep the theatre, he whispers, “Just don’t forget I’m still your number one fan, Highland.”

  “Don’t forget I’m yours, Os.”

  His hand slips into mine, mine into his. Our grins bigger, and we try to focus on Romeo & Juliet. All the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts are here today, some strewn in other boxes. Some seated in the orchestra section. Leo Valavanis is out sick, and Beckett is filling in as Romeo for maybe the only time all season.

  My parents are also here.

  And my brother. Along with Oscar’s family. They’re shadowed in the darkened theatre. All in their own boxes, watching the ballet. Waiting for the end.

  Yet, it’s not really the end for me.

  The structure is all over the place, depending on the perspective. For some in the theatre, today is the rising action. For others, it’s the fall.

  Maybe for people like Charlie, it’s eternally stuck at the beginning. And that’s the frustration of it all.

  Act 1, Scene 2, the Capulet family hosts a ball. The stage is full of ballerinas and—

  Thump!

  One goes down.

  The audience lets out a collective gasp. Oscar is hawk-eyed more on Charlie, and I realize he’s dropped the legs of his chair he’d been leaning back on. He’s bowed forward.

  The young ballerina quickly rises to her feet. We’re close enough to see embarrassment shade her face. Hurrying, she continues the dance like nothing happened. She looks shorter than the girls next to her.

  Charlie careens back to whisper to us, “Who is that?”

  To free my hands, I bite onto the cookie I’m eating and flip through the program. Oscar is checking NDAs for her name on his cellphone. Since Beckett works here, the dancers have had background security checks.

  Oscar finds her first. He leans forward and whispers, “Roxanne Ruiz. She’s eighteen.”

  Charlie just turns forward, but I catch his smile.

  Even with that small hiccup in Act 2, the ballet ends with a standing ovation, and pink flowers are tossed onto the stage for Beckett and the other dancers. I hear whistling from the audience, and I’m almost positive it’s Jane Cobalt and Daisy Calloway.

  The lobby.

  We all wait for Beckett Cobalt in the lobby as the whole theatre begins to clear out. Security ushers some stragglers to the exit. They want to take more selfies with the Calloway sisters.

  Oscar stays near Charlie, who loiters in the direct middle. On purpose. I asked him to.

  I’m sweating bullets. And I unwrap a lime-flavored sucker and stick it in my mouth.

  “Love that shirt,” Oscar says, motioning to the white button-down I wear. His button-down. Everyone is in formal attire. “How many more are you going to steal from me, Long Beach?”

  “Probably all of them,” I smile widely, sucker up against my cheek. “You want it back?”

  “I have a feeling that even if I say yes, I won’t see it again.”

  “That’s not true,” I say with a bigger breath. I pull the sucker out of my mouth, and Oscar takes it. He slips the sucker between his lips.

  I smile more. That was hot. Nerves start to subside.

  “Why is that not true?”

  “We’re together, Oscar. You’ll see your clothes again.”

  His grin softens to something more serious. Which is funny because he has a sucker in his mouth, and suckers aren’t really an Oscar Oliveira thing.

  I add, “They’re just half-mine now.”

 
; Oscar laughs.

  The lobby is really empty now. Just familiar faces, everyone chatting quietly. SFO laughs in the corner. Not needing to be as vigilant, no strangers in sight.

  Popcorn machines rumble to a stop. Donnelly hops on the counter to start filling up a bag.

  Jesse waves to me from one of the emerald couches. My mom already removes her tissues from her Louis Vuitton purse. The Oliveira family turns more to view us in the middle. Farrow, Maximoff, Ripley, and Jane and Thatcher have stopped talking, programs in their hands as they face us.

  Even the Calloway sisters and their husbands watch.

  Oscar’s brows furrow. He notices.

  He’s too observant for this charade to last long.

  And when his confused eyes land on me, I tell him, “Oscar.”

  “Jack?” The sucker is still in his mouth.

  I smile like the next words exist deep inside me and have wanted to be set free for so, so long. “I was never rewriting my life when I met you. There was no rewrite, Oscar, because this is how it was always supposed to be written. I am supposed to be with you. You are supposed to be with me. Nothing else makes sense.”

  His eyes glass.

  I continue on, “I love you. I love run-around-the-world Oscar. I love flirty Oscar, tactical bodyguard Oscar, snack monster Oscar”—everyone laughs, but I hold onto his laughter, his joyful tears that stream like mine—“my number one fan Oscar, sexy Oscar, intelligent as a motherfucker Oscar, a ride-or-die friend Oscar, a good brother Oscar, kiss me when the sun rises Oscar, my one and only Oscar…the love of my life Oscar.”

  He’s nodding, overwhelmed, our cheeks wet with emotion.

  “You’re my everything Oscar.”

  He expels a, “Fuck, Highland.” He takes out the sucker, about to bring me closer, but I drop to my knee. I hear sniffling from our family and friends.

  “Oscar Felipe Highland-Oliveira. I love every part of who you are.” I take his hand in mine and pull out a ring from my pocket. “Will you do me the honor of staying married to me?”

  A collection of whispers sweeps the lobby, but I’m lost in Oscar’s reaction. He falls to his knees, throws the sucker over his shoulder, and takes my face in his hands. “Yes,” he says. “You’re my everything Jack.”

  It balloons inside me. Like I’m floating in the air, sun shining down on us.

  We kiss in a soulful force, cementing this marriage together.

  Everyone claps around us, even if they’re probably confused as hell. I didn’t tell them we were already married, but I did invite them to the afternoon performance of Romeo & Juliet under the pretense of proposing.

  Oscar pulls away and whispers to me, “Now I’m gonna need the details on how you made this happen.”

  I’m looking forward to the two-hour ride back to Philly where I can tell him all about it. It is hard to surprise the guy who’s rarely surprised, but not impossible.

  “I’m still holding your ring, Os.” He’s not letting me slip it on his finger.

  “That one’s yours.”

  “I didn’t have yours to propose with…”

  He’s digging in his slack’s pocket. He pulls out his ring, identical to mine. White gold. Three tiny diamonds.

  I.

  Love.

  You.

  My nose flares, more feelings balled up in me. “You’ve been carrying that around?”

  “It hasn’t left my side, Highland.” He passes me his ring. I pass him mine.

  Emotion tumbles between us. Knelt on the ground still, I slide his silver ring onto his finger. When he pushes the cold band along mine—it feels real finally.

  Married.

  Jack Arizona Highland-Oliveira.

  It feels like this is the life I wrote myself. The one I wanted. The one I was too scared to chase, but thank everything in me that I did.

  We kiss again, and as we climb to our feet together. Families swarm us. Congratulations sweep around us, along with the questions of when, where, how?

  Oscar’s parents speak in Portuguese, but with their smiles and uplifting tones, I’m pretty sure it’s more of the same congratulatory sentiments.

  I bring my Lola’s hand to my forehead in respect and say, “Mano po, Lola.” And then I wrap my arm around Jesse.

  Farrow hugs Oscar and says with a grin, “You sneaky fucker. How the hell did you already marry him?” Donnelly shakes Oscar’s shoulders, and the rest of SFO congregate around my husband. His brother and sister bound closer to him with their own grins and praises.

  Maximoff, Jane, and Sulli come up and hug me. Smiling from ear-to-ear, and I receive top-marks from the Cobalts on my delivery and speech.

  “Flawless,” Audrey says.

  I love, love, love people. I film them because I love them. We’re all human.

  Oscar raises a hand. “Alright, alright! We’ll tell you all how Highland and I got hitched once we’re back at the penthouse.” He glances to Farrow. “You are throwing us a post-elopement engagement party, right?”

  Farrow grins. “I’d ask you how you know but—”

  “I’m always ten steps ahead,” Oscar finishes. Everyone starts slowly making their way out of the building, gearing up for the penthouse.

  I stop Jesse before he leaves. “Can we talk for a sec?”

  “Yeah.” Jesse can’t hold shit in. He starts talking. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell Mama you got married. You’re a bigger rebel than I thought, Kuya.”

  I laugh.

  “They’re not mad or anything,” he continues. “I think this solidifies you as their favorite child because I’d never be able to pull this one off without landing major heat.”

  I elbow his side. “I’ll use my power as favorite child for good.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Jesse smiles.

  I hate that I took up his summer for not much of anything. He can’t put Born into Fame on his resume since it doesn’t exist. Jesse has told me ten times that he was just glad for the experience. The time spent with me.

  But I want to give my brother a better opportunity.

  “How busy do you think you’ll be on the weekends, for the rest of your senior year?” I ask him.

  Jesse shrugs, but a hopeful light reaches his eyes. “Not busy at all. Zero percent. Unless…something comes up?”

  “Sulli wants to start free-soloing all her dad’s old routes,” I tell him.

  Sulli announced this plan to her family yesterday at her dad’s birthday party. The reaction was heavily mixed, not everyone in full support of her new goal. She’s free-soloed before but conquering every mountain that Ryke Meadows has scaled (with no harness, no rope) is lofty and dangerous. It even freaks the fuck out of me.

  I continue, “I’m going to need to film her for We Are Calloway, and I could use a PA that I trust a hundred-and-ten percent.” Because filming her climbing is going to be a nail-biting, nerve-inducing ordeal.

  “That’s me right?” he asks, hopeful still.

  I smile. “That’s you, Utoy.”

  “We Are Calloway?” he asks in disbelief. “You’re going to let me on a WAC production?”

  “Only on the weekends,” I say. “And Mama and I agreed that if it interferes with your school, it ends immediatl—”

  He hugs me.

  I wrap my arms around my little brother.

  “Thank you,” he mutters into my shirt.

  We split apart. Everyone begins to go, and I end up in the passenger seat of the Black Widow. Oscar at the wheel.

  Before we drive off, Oscar asks, “You were good with telling everyone we’re married back there? No hesitations about what Oslie supporters might say about the marriage?”

  “No hesitations.” I smile. “All I want is to shout that you’re my husband. Literally, I could fucking scream it out the window for two hours. Why hold anything in?”

  We share a bigger smile.

  “Yeah, I can definitely live with that answer.” Oscar switches on the music. “Let’s keep moving, Hi
ghland.”

  We drive and jam out to my favorite band. Singing smoothly at the top of our lungs, our hands clasped between our seats. He clutches the steering wheel with the other, and mine taps the car to the rhythm. Our gazes latch affectionately, powerfully in every other beat.

  His love carries me through the barrel of every wave. I’m already up on the board.

  I’m coasting on these feelings. Riding them to shore.

  44

  OSCAR OLIVEIRA

  The sun sets on the penthouse rooftop. Oranges bleed through the sky, and rays soak down on the most gorgeous guy.

  That’s right, my husband.

  Our post-elopement engagement party is still in full swing, but we snuck away for a second to watch the sun drop behind the Philly skyline.

  We’re headed to the edge, but I seize his hand. Stopping him near the pool. A donut inflatable tube drifts over the blue water.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  He frowns and spins more to me. Our buttons are popped on our shirts. Hot sauce stains on his, thanks to my baby sis shaking a bottle too hard.

  He couldn’t be hotter. Or more confused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I laugh. “Nothing is wrong. This is legitimately the best day of my life.” I know he can feel that because his smile is a thousand-watts of beauty. “But the something I want to tell you probably isn’t on your radar, and I wanted to throw it out there.”

  “Okay,” he nods to me. “Shoot your best shot, Oscar.”

  I grin at the words I’ve told him. “Charlie said that the personal videography project is still on the table. And before you say anything, I know why it wouldn’t be appealing. You want to create a show, and it doesn’t make sense to take on a personal project during off-seasons of We Are Calloway.”

  “Would I be traveling the world with you?” he asks with a growing smile.

  It chokes me up. “Yeah, you would.”

  “Then okay. I’ll take on some videography projects. It’ll be fun.”

  “There’s more.”

  He frowns, his lips falling. “What do you mean, more?”