by Max Monroe
Candy: Good news. I just got a call from Andrew’s publicist, and she’s putting out a statement on his behalf that tells the public you two are not romantically involved and the photos were taken during filming. Obviously, you’re still going to deal with a few weeks of backlash about this, but it should settle down sooner rather than later.
My heart falls into my damn feet.
Always a man of his word, Andrew appears to have just made it painfully clear—he’s done with it. Done with me.
Fuck, if only it didn’t feel like a dagger in my heart.
Andrew
Pregnant women are kind of fucking scary.
“What the fuck, Andrew?” Blake’s voice scratches against my eardrums. “Why are you still in bed?”
“Go away.” I groan into my pillow and make no move to open my eyes.
“Go away?” he shouts. “You have three radio interviews and two online live videos to get through today, and they start in exactly five minutes!”
“I’m not doing shit today,” I mutter, my voice muffled against pillowy cotton.
“And what am I supposed to tell all the people who expect an interview with you? That you’re being a real pompous asshole and refusing to get out of bed and don’t give a shit about wasting their time?”
“Tell them whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care.”
“I truly hate my job right now,” he says, more to himself than to me.
Yeah, you and me both, buddy.
When I can feel my assistant staring holes into my skull while he paces my bedroom, I turn onto my back and open my eyes.
“You look like shit,” Blake states and stops at the foot of my bed. “You appear to be living out of your fucking bedroom. And you’ve been back in LA for exactly one week, and you’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass.”
A harsh laugh pops from my throat. “You know, I could say the same about you.”
“Yeah, but that’s because you’re being fucking impossible, and apparently, trying to set your damn career on fire.”
“What can I say?” I shrug and sit up, resting my back against the pillows and headboard of my bed. “I guess I’m getting tired of Hollywood bullshit.”
“You and I both know that’s not what’s going on here.” It’s his turn to laugh. “You’ve been a fucking dumpster fire ever since the press started hounding you about your romantic involvement with Birdie Harris.”
I cringe. Just hearing her name feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
“And since you refuse to tell me anything about what really went down, all I can do is speculate,” he responds and runs an irritated hand through his hair. “Though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
“Figure out what, exactly?”
“That you’re a pathetic mess of a man who’s trying to avoid the fact that he’s nursing a broken heart.”
When I don’t respond, he shakes his head on another sigh. “You know, you’d make my job a lot easier if you just told me the truth about what happened between you and Birdie. But since I’m well aware you have the relationship emotional intelligence of a teenage boy, I’m going to make this easy on you.”
“So, you’re finally going to leave me alone?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I don’t like the secret smirk that consumes his face, but when he tells me he’s going to clear my schedule for the rest of the week, I don’t question any of it.
“Sounds perfect,” I mutter and slide back down into bed. “And if you don’t mind, let the rest of the team know I don’t want to be bothered, too.”
Blake doesn’t say another word. Instead, he walks out of my bedroom, shuts the door behind himself, and officially leaves me the hell alone.
Fucking finally.
About an hour later, when I’m certain that Blake has left my house and no other visitors elect to come into my bedroom and bug the ever-loving shit out of me, I decide to get out of bed and head downstairs.
But the instant I step foot in my kitchen, I find Luca and a very pregnant Billie sitting casually at my kitchen table. He’s drinking a cup of coffee, and it appears she’s made herself at home and fixed a bowl of cereal.
“What the hell?” I question and glance between the two of them.
“Well, good morning, honey,” Luca responds, an annoyingly happy smile playing at his lips.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “How are you here? Did you guys make a career change into home invasions?”
“Blake called us and let us in,” Billie updates around a mouthful of Raisin Bran. “And, I have to be honest, your cereal selection sucks ass.”
“My apologies for not making sure I was stocked up with your favorites.” An incredulous chuckle leaves my lips, and I head over to the coffeepot, where fucking Luca has already brewed a fresh pot. “You guys planning on telling me why you’re here, or am I supposed to guess?”
“We’re here because you’re a dumbass,” Billie answers without even a second of hesitation. “And because my sister is too fucking stubborn for her own good.”
Jesus. I should’ve known this unwelcome visit was going to be about Birdie.
The press, my publicist, my goddamn assistant, it’s all anyone seems to talk about these days. Even after I had my publicist put out a statement, the media is still fixated on us, trying to link us together in every way possible.
I choose to ignore Billie’s jab to my intelligence and pour myself a cup of coffee.
“You don’t have anything to say to that?” she asks, and I don’t turn around until I’ve stirred some cream into my mug and take my first sip of caffeine for the day.
“Nope,” I eventually answer, my eyes meeting hers and my hip resting against the counter. “I’m pretty sure everything that needed to be said was already said.”
A week ago, inside her hotel room in Memphis, Birdie made it pretty fucking clear she didn’t want to be involved with a guy like me, didn’t even want to be mentioned in the same breath as me.
All I did was let her off the damn hook and make it easier by walking away.
Make it easier? It sure as fuck doesn’t feel any easier right now, you mopey bastard.
“Oh, so I guess that means you’re perfectly fine with how things went with my sister, then?” Billie asks.
“Yep,” I respond through a tight jaw, and Luca bursts into laughter like that one word is the funniest fucking thing he’s ever heard.
“You look like you haven’t showered in days. You’re flaking out of obligations. And, per your assistant, you’re living out of your bedroom like a fucking hobo,” Luca states with a knowing raise of his brow. “C’mon, man, don’t try to bullshit us on what’s really going down here.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And what exactly do you think is going on right now, bro?”
“I think you look exactly like I looked when Billie left me in Alaska.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you’re in love with Birdie and you feel like a shell of a man right now because you’re not together.”
“We’re not together because she doesn’t want to be with a guy like me.”
“You’re not together because the two of you are a horrible mix of pride and stubbornness,” Luca refutes, and the first inklings of anger start to flood my veins.
“Enlighten me. Am I the stubborn one or the prideful one?”
“Oh, you’re definitely the bastard with too much pride,” he answers, and those words only infuriate me more. But the dick keeps on going. “Instead of fighting for her, you simply walked away because you thought it was easier. But not on her,” he adds. “Easier on you. C’mon, man, I’ve known you long enough to understand your relationship patterns. Although, I have to be honest, I know we weren’t in contact for several years, but I’m pretty sure this is the closest you’ve ever allowed yourself to get to anyone.”
His bullshit words officially push me over the edge, and I slam my coffee down onto the counter. �
��You don’t know shit,” I spit. “You come in here and act like you have all the answers, but you don’t know shit. You. Don’t. Know. Shit. About what went down between Birdie and me. This has nothing to do with pride! Fuck my pride. Fuck your pride. Fuck Birdie’s pride. She tore my heart out of my fucking chest. I walked away because it was what she wanted. Not me.”
“So, basically, what you’re saying is that you are, in fact, in love with her?” Luca asks, and my jaw goes unhinged.
“That’s what you got out of everything I just said?”
“It’s all I needed to get out of it.” A knowing smile etches his mouth, and I have the urge to stride over to him and shove my fist in his face.
Obviously, I don’t. But goddamn, I want to.
Luca looks over at Billie, and the two of them share a secret smile.
“See?” she says to him. “I told you.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, you were right, princess.”
I glance between the two of them, utterly confused. “What the fuck are you two talking about?”
Billie meets my annoyed gaze. “Do you still love her?”
“What?”
“If you ever want me to leave your house, you’re going to have to answer the question,” she responds. “And I should remind you that I’m getting very close to my due date. I have a feeling you’d prefer I don’t deliver my baby in your kitchen.”
“Christ, Billie. You’re killing me here.”
“Just answer the question, Andrew. Are you still in love with my sister?”
Fucking hell. These two are quite the duo.
“Andrew,” Billie shouts, and at the shrill sound of a pregnant woman on the brink, I just break.
“Yeah, I am, okay?” I sigh and run a frustrated hand through my hair. “Even though I don’t want to, I still fucking love her. I spend all fucking day trying not to think about her. Trying not to call her. Trying not to just show up at her rental like a psycho. It’s not something that just goes away in seven fucking days.”
Truthfully, up until now, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with anyone before.
And even though I hate to admit that Luca is right, the fucker is right. Birdie is the first woman I’ve ever let all the way in. Though, now, after this, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’ve been doing things right all along. Because, fuck, if falling in love with a woman ends like this, I’m having a hard time understanding the point in it all.
You say that like you have a choice to just fall in love with someone else, you fucking amateur. She’s it for you. You’re going to be pining after her for fucking years.
Christ.
“She’s a mess, you know,” Billie says, her voice a soft inclination over her words. “A total fucking mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she looks exactly like you look right now. Which should tell you everything you need to know.”
I hate how quickly my heart latches on to that little ray of hope she just provided.
But it does.
And the damn thing picks up a rhythm inside my chest.
“Ever since she got back to LA, besides trying to help me get ready for the baby, she’s done nothing but mope around and be miserable. Whenever I try to talk about you, she completely shuts down and gets insanely pissed at me.”
Sounds about right for Birdie. Her anger has a quick trigger.
“And what exactly do you think I’m supposed to do with this information?”
“I think you need to man up and really tell my sister how you feel.”
An incredulous laugh escapes my lungs. “I’m not just going to show up at her house out of the blue, Billie.”
She shakes her head. “Not her house. Our house.”
“You completely lost me.”
“I’ll lay the groundwork for bringing you two together,” she explains. “Just be ready to come to our house on Saturday.”
“And then what?”
“And then,” she answers without reluctance, “the ball is in your court. So, you can either be a fucking man and tell my sister how you really feel about her, or you can be a little bitch and stay miserable for the rest of your life. And hell’s bells, I really hope you’re not going to be a little bitch about this,” Billie explains and proceeds to use Luca’s shoulder to help her stand to her feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take my pregnant ass back home and spend the rest of the day lounging on the couch and complaining about being uncomfortable.”
“Dude? A little help?” I look at Luca, but he just flashes a stupid smirk in my direction.
“Don’t be a little bitch, Andrew,” he says, and that stupid smirk only grows. “Thanks for the coffee, and I’ll see you real soon.”
And then they both leave me standing in my kitchen, completely confused by what just transpired.
What in the hell was that?
Birdie
I can’t wait until my sister delivers this baby. Not only because I’m simply excited to meet my future niece or nephew, but also because I’m ready for her to stop being so damn demanding. I’ve been back in LA for a little over a week, and Billie has managed to commandeer just about all of my time.
Yesterday, while Luca was busy with a press junket for an upcoming film, I went to the OB-GYN with her.
I’ve helped her shop for last-minute things like extra bottles and pacifiers and diapers and baby clothes.
I’ve washed all her baby clothes.
I’ve gone with her to get a pregnancy massage and pedicures.
I’ve even joined her in her pool for a freaking pregnancy aerobics class that she’s apparently been doing for the past five months with some bubbly private instructor named Poppy. Which was one of the craziest things I’ve ever witnessed. Hell, the woman showed up in a neon-pink one-piece bathing suit, leg warmers, a fanny pack, and a matching sweatband, and insisted on playing 80s pop music through the entire workout.
And now, I’m currently sitting in the nursery, organizing all the baby’s gender-neutral newborn clothes in the armoire that sits across from the white crib.
Billie watches on from the cushioned pastel-yellow rocking chair, her now-swollen ankles resting on a footstool. Her trusty Labrador sidekick Bailey sleeps on the floor right beside her while she sips from a fresh glass of lemonade and takes occasional bites of a chocolate chip cookie that currently rests on the “tabletop” formed by her protruding belly.
I swear to God, now that Billie is so close to her due date, her big oaf of a dog doesn’t ever leave her side. Though he was originally Luca’s dog, Bailey has more than proven he’s most loyal to my sister. It’s pretty damn adorable, to be honest.
“Oh, by the way,” she updates as I fold the cutest little onesie with ducks on it and set it in the armoire. “Luca and I are having an engagement party Saturday night at our house.”
“Saturday night?” I question and glance over my shoulder to look at her. “This Saturday night?”
She nods. “Yep.”
“You do realize it’s Thursday, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s two days away.”
“I’m aware,” she answers casually, like it’s no big thing that she’s throwing an engagement party in two freaking days.
And, seriously, an engagement party?
“Not to be a party buzzkill, but mind explaining to me why you’re throwing an engagement party when you’re a week out from your due date?”
“Because we never got to have one.”
I scrunch up my nose at her. “You don’t think that maybe you should wait until after the baby is born?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I think now is the perfect time.”
“Billie.” I stare at her in absolute confusion. “How long have you known about this party?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs and takes another bite of her cookie. “A while, I guess. But it’s all planned. I have a caterer coming, and our guest list has been notified. So, you be
tter fucking be there.”
“A while? What the hell, Billie? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Maybe the same reason you didn’t tell me about your relationship with…you know who…until after I had to find out about it in a gossip article, and how you consistently refuse to talk about why you’re so fucking miserable these days.”
“I’m not miserable,” I lie.
She eyes me with a scrutinizing stare. “Get real, sis. You’re a regular Debbie Downer.”
“How am I a Debbie Downer?” I retort. “I’ve been back in LA for a week, and all I’ve done is spend time helping you with all sorts of shit.”
“I never said you weren’t helpful,” she corrects. “And I certainly appreciate all your help. I just said you were a heartbroken sad sack who walks around with a perpetual frown on her lips.”
“I’m not heartbroken,” I disagree, and even I know that’s a lie.
I am fucking miserable and heartbroken. I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop replaying our conversation in Memphis. I can’t stop the stupid memories of his teasing jokes and playful smile from filling my head. And I certainly can’t stop the media’s current obsession with the two of us. Despite the statement his publicist put out, they are still hoping we’re secret lovers, waiting and watching to catch us together.
Obviously, they’ve obtained exactly zero footage of that.
“Get real.” Billie rolls her eyes. “I can’t even mention his name without you losing your shit.”
“Whatever,” I mutter and go back to organizing the baby’s clothes. Knowing full well this conversation isn’t heading anywhere good.
“All I’m saying is since you missed my baby shower, your ass better be at my engagement party.”
“I missed the baby shower because I was in Memphis.”
“I know that,” she concedes. “But my engagement party is in two days, and you’re here. In LA. So, you have zero excuse.”
“Is there a gift registry for this damn party?” I question and glance over my shoulder at her.