by Maisey Yates
Nina drummed the tabletop with her fingertips. “Awesome…just awesome.”
“I know. It sucks. It all sucks.”
It sucked that Katia was right. Nina had been hiding. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole, or her apartment, and die. She’d had a hand in the making of this scandal and was deeply embarrassed about it. How could she have been so careless as to leaving her diary in a public garden? Once again, her published words had caused a loved one pain.
“Come out and support the film,” Katia said. “The Miami Film Festival in March is a good place to start. You won’t have to talk to the press. If you show up to the director’s Q&A event, I’ll make sure your photo gets to the press.”
“Will Julian be there?”
“Of course. He’s the director.”
Nina reached for her coat hanging on the back of her chair. She was suddenly feeling cold in this hot and cramped coffee shop.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two, but he’s worked so hard on this. You more than anyone should know that. If you ever cared for him—”
“I love him!”
Katia grabbed the table as if a quake had hit. The words had exploded from Nina. She didn’t care for him. She loved him. Nina loved Julian Knight, and she couldn’t carry that truth around like a concealed weapon anymore. Was Julian worthy of her love? That was a separate issue.
“Sorry, Katia,” she said. It wasn’t fair to unload on her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Katia raised her hands to her head and massaged her temples. “Ugh! I promised I wouldn’t meddle.”
“That’s surprising. All you’ve done is meddle.”
“Clearly, I’m good at it.” She laughed, nervous. “I can’t speak for my boss’s feelings, obviously. I can say that he hasn’t been the same since Miami. I’ve seen him low before, but this is different.”
Nina didn’t like the idea of Julian feeling low. A part of her was comforted by the idea that he was out in the world, making it a better place through sheer charisma and joy.
“I want to talk to him,” Nina said. “Ask him to call me.”
“I can’t do that. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Nina grabbed her keys off the table. “Fine.”
“Wait!” Katia cried. “Let me see what I can do.”
Katia whipped out her phone and stepped outside to place the call. Nina dropped her keys, shed off her heavy coat and finally took a sip of coffee.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kat called early on a Saturday morning while Julian, in the company of Wasabi, was sprawled on his couch, watching Jules and Jim. He was working his way down the list of Nina’s favorite classic films. This was his new weekend ritual, and he was serious about it. He would have normally let voice mail pick up, except Kat was away, setting up the press junket for the New York release. This was new territory for her, and she might have questions. He didn’t expect her to have a convoluted story to tell involving Nina.
After months of tortuous silence, a demand. Nina was demanding that he call her. As if he had to be forced into it and that he hadn’t tried a thousand times. The thought of hearing her voice again…
“Alright,” he said.
“You’re not mad?” Kat stammered. “You asked me not to meddle, and I clearly am.”
He’d write her a bonus check for this. “How about this? Don’t bring it up again and I won’t.”
“Gotcha.”
“Is she with you? May I speak with her?”
“Give it thirty minutes, okay? We’re at a crowded coffee shop.”
“Okay.”
Thirty minutes. Julian lifted Wasabi off his chest and got up to shower and shave. He always wanted to look good for her, even on a call. With ten minutes left to go, he wandered out to the yard. He needed a clear head. What did she want to say to him? What would he say to her?
He and Rosie had resumed their weekly meetings at the gazebo. She thought he was wrong for letting go of the #sexgoddess—as Nina was referred to on Twitter.
“It’s the best thing for her,” he’d said to Rosie.
“How do you figure?”
“No one would have ripped and sold pages of her diary if she were not writing about me. I can’t ignore that.”
When Julian had finally cooled down and read the entire published excerpt, he was moved to tears. Her heart beat in every line. He couldn’t imagine the embarrassment it must have caused her, still caused her to this day. She was a serious writer, and they’d made her a hashtag. It infuriated him that they’d reduced her to a cartoon character. That was his fault.
Rosie toyed with the plastic lighter in her hand. A weak flame blossomed then failed with each flick of her thumb. “Julian, life is not cinema.”
At the mention of his name, Julian snapped to attention. To Rosie he’d always been JL Knight. This departure from the norm was remarkable. “I’m aware.”
“You don’t get to run around, bark orders and blow things up. You have to talk to her, and you have to listen to what she has to say.” Then she added, wryly, “You’re not really a knight, you know.”
He could not get Rosie’s words out of his head. That conversation had nudged the boulder sealing his reasons in place. Nina had walked out, but he’d stayed away to protect her privacy, dignity and reputation. That’s what he told himself. Or, possibly, he’d blown it all up because it was easier that way.
With five minutes left, Julian went back inside and straight to the kitchen. He filled his trusty electric kettle, the one that he’d purchased the week he arrived in America. Soon the sound of gurgling water was the only sound. His house, his life, was devastatingly quiet. Julian couldn’t wait a second longer. He grabbed his phone and dialed her number.
“Nina?”
“Hi.”
Julian closed his eyes. Every emotion that she had ever stirred in him hit him all at once. “You wanted to speak with me.”
“Yes.”
Her tone was guarded, and it killed him. They’d always been so free with each other.
“It’s time I write about the whole missing-diary episode.”
Now this was a surprise. “Did Kat put you up to this?”
“No.” The one syllable dropped in the space between them. “It’s something I need to do.”
“Why?” He couldn’t understand. Why would she want to throw more red meat to the wolves?
“I’ve been silent all these months, and I want my voice back.”
“I understand, but I’m worried—”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’ve been labeled everything from a slutty opportunist to a sex goddess. I need to define who I am.”
Julian ran his palm over his face. Fearful of making a bad situation worse, he opted to shut up.
“If you think my goal is to sell more books or somehow keep this story alive—”
“I don’t think that!” Julian protested. How could she think that?
“For a minute there, you did.”
Julian stared out the window, blind to the view. He was only now coming to grips with how much his earlier suspicions had hurt her. How much he had hurt her.
“It’ll probably be a blog post or an op-ed,” she said, continuing as if she hadn’t just gutted him. “I won’t accept compensation.”
Steam gushed out of the kettle with a hiss. He yanked the power cord out of the socket to quickly silence it. “I don’t care about any of that.”
“You may not, but everybody else does.”
“Nina…” Since when did they care about what people thought? He did not recognize the people they’d become.
“One more thing,” she said, hastily. “Katia thinks I should attend the Miami Film Festival. She said it would help if we present a united front. What do you think?”
>
None of his thoughts had anything to do with the film. He thought he’d messed up. The harm he’d caused was irreversible. He’d lost his lover and his friend, and nothing would ever make up for it. But Nina was waiting for an answer to her question. “I’d love to see you in Miami.”
“All right,” she said. “See you in Miami.”
* * *
Three days later, Kat called with the news that Nina had published a blog post on the feminist website Feminine-Plural. For once she was too late. Nina had sent him a copy of the post the night before. That didn’t stop him from spending his day at his desk, refreshing the website until the byline popped up in red print: Her Name is Nina Taylor.
* * *
Dear fans, followers and inquiring minds of all stripes:
Thank you for your interest in the #1HOT KNIGHT affair.
If you’re not familiar with the scandal, I will get you up to speed. Last fall, my diary fell into the hands of an unscrupulous individual who ripped out a few pages and sold them to a gossip website. Those of you who’ve read the excerpt know more about my sex life than I’d be willing to share with my closest friends.
The story begins in July. While on holiday in Miami, I met action movie star JL Knight. Our courtship got off to an unusual start. Day 1: We agreed to share a hotel suite. Day 2: He dived into a pool to save me. Day 3: We went on an excursion with his former landlady. Day 4: He kissed me in the moonlight.
Don’t take my word for it. There are photos documenting it all.
This love story should have remained a closed-bedroom-door romance. Instead, readers have been offered an explicit account of our most intimate encounter. My intention here is not to fill the few remaining cracks in your imagination. But since this is a story, and I’m a storyteller by nature, I would like to take this opportunity to flesh out the main characters, provide some context and backstory.
My name is Nina Taylor. The man who became my hero, friend, lover and creative partner is Julian Leroy Knight.
I am a writer. I’ve kept a diary since childhood. My journals have always been the guardian of my secrets. I’ve published a couple in the form of a memoir. However, that was a very different experience. I had control over the material and the process. Also, I had an editor to prune out the excess exclamation points and overabundance of clichés.
Julian is an actor, writer and filmmaker. He trusted me to read and revise the script he had spent years working on. We bonded over the written word. It is disheartening that words—my written words—caused so much havoc.
How this love story ends is none of your concern.
Over the next few weeks, I will be actively promoting Midnight Sun alongside my friend, director Julian Knight, and the countless other creative professionals who brought the film to life. Should we meet along the way, ask me about the creative process. I’d love to share. Ask me about my private life and I’ll have no problem putting you in your place.
Thank you and be well.
* * *
The following day, Julian met with Kat for lunch at her favorite French bistro in West Hollywood. Kat was her usual chatty self. Julian was sullen. Nina’s words pursued him, unsettled him. Friend. Lover. Creative partner. How had he managed to lose all of that?
Kat was full of praise for Nina. “Mark my words. She is now and for all time a feminist icon.” She squeezed a lemon into her iced tea. “Right up there with Rosa Parks.”
Julian raised his eyes from the menu. “Don’t bring Rosa Parks into this.”
“Why aren’t you happier?” Kat said. “She masterfully rebranded you as an artist. JL Knight is dead. You are now Julian Knight, a triple threat—actor, writer and director.”
“I don’t care about that.” Julian knew how insane that sounded, because it was all he’d cared about up to this point. “I betrayed her and let her down.”
Kat reached for her glass of iced tea, knocking her designer sunglasses clear off the table. Their waiter retrieved them, set a breadbasket on their table and took their order. But Julian knew Kat well enough to know when she was hiding something.
“Anything you want to tell me?” he asked once the waiter had left.
Her blue gaze skidded away. Julian crossed his arms and waited. Finally, she turned to him, composed. “It’s my fault you two split up. I called in the middle of the night with all my theories and wouldn’t drop it. What’s wrong with me?”
“You were looking out for a friend,” he said. “But I knew what I had with Nina. It was real, and I should never have been swayed.”
“She loves you, you know.”
Julian lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that simple gesture could keep him from falling apart. “But she hates me, too.”
“That’s to be expected,” Kat said. “I’ll say this—the woman I got a glimpse of in Miami last summer was not the woman I met with in New York. She tried to hide it, but she looked sad, dejected and disappointed as hell that you weren’t traveling with me.”
Sad? Dejected? He thought she’d be better off without him, but his better-off theory was proving to be bull. A guttural moan escaped him. “I want her back so badly. I don’t want to go on like this. I don’t think I can.”
“Moaning to me about it won’t get the job done, Knight.”
He composed himself. “I need a strategy.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Julian grabbed a piece of crusty bread and tore it in half. It was going to take a heck of a lot of groveling and the mother of grand gestures to get Nina to consider forgiving him. “Would you mind helping me?”
She passed him the butter. “Thought you didn’t want me to meddle.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable? It’s not exactly your job.”
“Julian, we’re friends!” she cried. “If I wanted to win someone back—or just get back at someone—I’d enlist you.”
“And I’d say yes.”
“Good,” Kat said. “Now that we got that straightened out, let’s strategize.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Miami Beach, Florida
This was his night and she would play fair, but she reserved the right to be pissed.
Nina sprayed perfume on her wrists and slammed the delicate bottle on the marble vanity. One last glance in the bathroom mirror, and she was out the door.
During the ride from the hotel to the Fillmore theater, she repeated her mantra: He’s nothing to me. I’m over him. It had been months since she’d laid eyes on Julian, but she was prepared. In the weeks leading up to the film festival, she’d built a sturdy emotional dam to keep her anger and resentment at bay. I’m ready, she thought. However, when the car pulled up to the red carpet and she spotted him standing there, elegant in a smoke-gray suit and sunglasses, she understood that she could never be ready.
There he was, her midnight sun.
He held open the car door. Nina looked up at his face, because she could never pass an opportunity to gaze at him. Her trained eye saw the man beneath the veneer. He looked fragile, as if he’d been shattered and pieced back together. His extended hand trembled slightly. She accepted it without hesitation. He squeezed tight, sending shivers racing up her bare arms, before helping her out of the car. Nina repeated her mantra, more frantically this time: I’m over him. He’s nothing to me.
Under a hailstorm of flashing cameras, he stole a moment to whisper his thanks. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“I’m here to support the film,” she whispered back. “We didn’t work so hard for it to fail.”
This movie was as much her own as anyone else’s. She was proud to come out and support it. And with any creative project, she wanted it to be a smash hit.
“Whatever your reasons, I’m grateful you’re here.”
He pivoted and smiled for the remote pool of photog
raphers sectioned off with velvet ropes. Nina was not the natural showman that Julian was proving to be. Her posture was stiff and her smile wobbly. She blamed her frayed nerves. It wasn’t easy to face the cameras after all that she’d been through. Her weak knees had nothing to do with how close they were standing or his hand on the small of her back.
After what seemed like an eternity, Katia escorted her off the carpet. Bettina and Pierce had arrived, and it was time for her to yield her spot. “You did great. Now grab a glass a champagne and relax.”
Valerie was waiting in the lobby. Nina’s cousin was her plus-one for the event. Perceptive as always, Valerie hadn’t missed a thing. “You two look amazing together, and, honestly, it’s time for you to kiss and make up.”
Nina kissed her cheek in greeting instead. “Shut up and show me to the concession stand.”
With champagne, popcorn and gourmet snacks, they entered the packed auditorium. An usher escorted them to the front row, where Nina was reunited with Francisco and Grace, who appeared to be on a date.
Midnight Sun was a gorgeous film. Nina lost herself in the world that she’d had a hand in creating. From the opening scene with Bettina in a white bikini, floating on her back in that magnificent pool, to the end credits with Pierce driving into a citrus-hued sunset in a stolen white Camaro, frame for frame, the film was art in motion. The performances were as strong as the setting, and the audience rewarded the actors with a standing ovation. Julian was welcomed on stage for the director’s Q&A to thunderous applause. He glowed with pride. Nina was bursting with love. She loved Francisco for having insisted he step up and direct. She loved the actors for their dedication. And she loved the audience for their warm reception.
Julian took a seat in a director’s chair next to the evening’s host, tall and lean and gorgeous. He is nothing to me.
Valerie nudged her in the ribs. “Relax! And quit glaring at the guy.”
Nina could not relax. “Why does he look so good? It’s distracting.”
“How about you, #sexgoddess?” Valerie said, teasing. “Let me guess. Your trusty LBD was at the cleaners, so you grabbed a Grecian gown.”