Happily Ever After? (Sleeping Handsome Sequel)

by Jean Haus

  “Paige…” I say stunned and humiliated by both offers.

  “Why are either of those a bad idea?”

  “Well one, I’m not taking a loan from my girlfriend. We’re in love. Money destroys love. Two, you belong with your family. Your mother and sister would be crushed if you moved out. And you just graduated. You’re starting a career. Moving in together for monetary reasons is a bad, bad idea.” I run a hand over my face at the sound of her silence. “Besides, I thought you wanted to take our relationship slow, let it build. Moving in together would make that mute. I have a hard enough time keeping my hands to myself.”

  She sighs into the phone. “I do want to take things slow. Let them progress…naturally, but I want you to write. I want what’s best for you.”

  My eyes close at her generosity. Paige’s heart is just too big. “What about what’s best for you? For us?”

  “How will you be happy working forty hours at a gym?”

  “I’ll still take nine credits a semester and six over the summer. It might take an extra half a year to graduate. Maybe a whole year. But like I wrote, that’s not a big deal.”

  “What about your scholarship?”

  “As long as I get in twenty-four credits a year, I’m good.”

  “Um okay, if things don’t work out, will you’ll keep my suggestions in mind?”

  I sigh. “I’ll try and give them some reflection. I just don’t think moving in together so soon is a good solution. Doing something like that should be about us not me and my finances.”

  “Yeah, okay. So…what’s this news you couldn’t share in an email?”

  I’ve been dreading this question. I know she’s going to freak out, but I have to tell her. “They hired someone new in the gym store and you know her.”

  There’s a long pause before she asks, “Who?”

  “Amanda.”

  Another long pause follows. “Amanda? My Amanda? Are you freakin’ kidding me?” The question comes out in a screech.

  “I wish but I’m not.”

  “I can’t believe this!” She lets out a long breath in the phone. “You know there’s only one reason for her to take a job there.”

  My eyes find the coarse finish of the ceiling. “What?”

  “Ugh. Sorry, but males can be so clueless when it comes to females. She wants to get back at me. She’s after you.”

  I’ve always know my girlfriend belonged in drama for a reason. She is a bit of a drama queen. But this is over the top even for her. “Paige, don’t you think that’s a bit elaborate. Other than telling her off, you never did anything to her.”

  “That’s how she works. She spent almost three years going after any guy I liked! Think of everything I told you when you were in a coma. She lives to destroy my love life. I know it’s whacked, but that’s why she’s working there. I just know it.”

  “In three days she’s only said hi twice. She doesn’t even talk to me.”

  “Her family’s rich. So why would she take a job selling supplements and health food that pays ten dollars an hour,” she snaps.

  “I don’t know but you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  “I’m not. This is so Amanda. As soon as I’m out of town, she makes her move. Ugh. Why can’t she leave me alone? I mean—”

  “Paige,” I say, cutting her off because I’m getting irritated.

  “What?” she barks.

  “I seriously don’t think Amanda is after me. What does it matter though? Unless you don’t trust me. Do you trust me?”

  “Of—of course I trust you. I just don’t trust her.”

  I sit up and the bed creaks from the sudden movement. “What does that mean? You think I won’t be able to resist her or something? Because now I’m wondering if you really do trust me.”

  “No…I trust you.” She lets out a long breath. “This is just a lot to take in right now. Missing you so much and finding out you’re working with her.”

  “I find the lack of conviction in your tone upsetting.”

  “Zach…please understand. It really has nothing to do with you. It’s just her. I don’t want to dislike anyone, but I can’t stand her.”

  “She doesn’t matter.”

  After a short span of silence, she says, “Yeah okay, you’re right. Just please don’t talk to her. Okay?”

  “Sure, Paige. I’ll stay away since I won’t be able to withstand her charms.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that!”

  “Can we talk about something else? Why are we wasting our time on this?”

  “Right.” There’s a long stretch of quietness. “Did you and Emily do something on Saturday?”

  We talk about the trip Emily and I took to the beach. We discuss all the things we’re going to do when Paige gets home. We share stories about our jobs. Behind everything is the undercurrent of her anxiety. And I don’t know how to deal with it because her anxiety hurts. Punctures me in a place she’s never touched. Makes me doubt her trust. Makes me question us.

  I’ve never questioned us.

  ~5~

  Paige

  Outside my hotel window rooftops gleam in the setting sun. Very pretty. Far beyond the roofs, I can see the tall towers of the castle where we have spent the last week shooting. I planned on going out tonight under the shadow of those towers and wandering through the quaint shops lining the street next to the hotel instead of listening to Zoe gossip—wow, that woman can gossip. Shopping far more than gossip would keep my thoughts from Amanda. During work today, I tried to stay professional. My mind only wandered once or twice, okay maybe three times, to the new awful dilemma of her working with Zach. Now I stand here with a lovely city below me and think of her.

  And him.

  Because there was no email waiting for me. I’ve checked my inbox over ten times. Still no email.

  Why didn’t he email?

  Surely, she hasn’t got her claws into him this quick. I blanch at the thought. Her working with him is testing my trust. I grip the window ledge. I do trust him. But three years of her stealing every boy in sight haunts me and leaves my self-esteem feeling ghostly. Being stuck here thousands of miles away is like being stuck up a creek without an oar. Or is it paddle? Whatever.

  A knock sounds on my door announcing a dinner of cheese salad. Ugh. I’m not really hungry. I’ve also gone through most of the room service menu. Well, except for the venison and reindeer. Even if I like to try new things, eating Bambi or Rudolf isn’t going to happen. And unsurprisingly I’m getting tired of seafood, the main ingredient on most of the room service menu. Another reason to leave my room, but I just can’t do it.

  The absent email weighs too heavily on my mind.

  The opening of the door holds a surprise. Rather than a food service cart, Bret Travis—that has to be a stage name—stands in the hall. He’s the third wheel to our triangle of evil. He plays my brother, Gunner, in the movie. My original name was Gudrun—at least on Wikipedia—but they changed it to Gwen. Even the bad guys need decent names in movies.

  Smiling, he lifts a white paper bag. “Thought I’d come to you since you never come to dinner with us.”

  Several of the crew and actors go out to a different restaurant every night. They’ve invited me every day so far, but between my phone call schedule with Zach and daily emails, I can’t seem to tear myself from my room. I’ve learned to hate the ten hours of time separating us more than the distance.

  I force a smile and open the door wider. “What’d you bring?” I’m aware being courteous to my fellow workers is important for this job, but also networking for other jobs. And after how awful I’ve been in the past, I try to be respectful to everyone. But dang, I’m really not in the mood for a visit right now. I want an email. Or even a text.

  Bret breezes past me. “Rönttönen.”

  “Rönttönen?” I repeat, closing the door.

  “Ah, closed up in your room you haven’t had the chance to experience the best Finland has to offer yet.”
With a wide smile, he reaches into the bag and pulls out a paper plate covered in saran wrap. He sets it on the tiny table in front of my couch. Under the wrap little things like pies with a bright purple center peek at me. He sits on the couch and reaches into the bag again. “You can’t have rönttönen without coffee. Have to have decaf at night though.”

  I sit on the end of the couch and he hands me a paper lidded cup. “If I won’t go out, you’re bringing Finland to me?” I laugh at my lame joke and coffee spills on my knee. “Oh,” I exclaim, hopping up.

  Bret wipes my thigh with a napkin. “You okay?”

  Tuning red—I‘d forgotten I wore pajama shorts and a tank top—I sit on the arm of the couch. “Yeah, that’s going to leave a mark though.”

  He hands me one of the small pies. “Luckily your legs won’t be on film.” He gives my body a glance. “Maybe we should work out something about that,” he says with a grin.

  Embarrassed by his gaze, I take a quick bite of the dessert. It’s dense and fruity and slightly sweet. And it does go good with the coffee. I rest the cup on my knee, the unburned one. “It’s good. Thanks for bringing it.”

  “So will this get you out of your room? Get you to come out with us?”

  I laugh and take another bite. “Maybe. I’m just exhausted by the end of the day. Don’t you get tired? I mean we start at five thirty.”

  He brushes his jaw length hair back. That hair is his signature look. “I suppose I’m used to it. Being a big star now and all,” he says with a smirk. “But yeah, the first couple of movies wore me out. Very different than TV.”

  Sitting less than three feet from him, I become aware why oodles of girls and women clamber after him. His dark blonde hair, the strong cut of his features, and those clear green eyes make a pretty picture. Funny at work I hadn’t really noticed. I’m too busy concentrating. Here in my room with him dressed in jeans and a soft t-shirt, I get why his face is plastered on bedroom walls and screen savers across the world.

  He grins and raises a brow at me. Oops, maybe I stared too long. He sets his coffee on the table. “I’ve been impressed how you’ve kept up with this being your first movie, Paige.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a polite smile. However, Bret is mostly eye candy—I hate to say it— and his acting skills are minimal, though he is good at fight scenes. Yet he’s been around awhile and any compliment is a boost right now.

  “Hey, I like to give credit where credit’s due.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “What’d you do before this?”

  Geez, he’d have to ask that. My resume’s not very extent, really almost non-existent. “Commercials, school plays, and a few small parts on TV when I was younger,” I say, twirling my hair with my free hand.

  “Wow. I’m even more impressed.”

  Ugh. That was a back handed compliment. I choose to ignore it. “Well, I hate to admit it, but my step father helped get me the audition. They didn’t know we were connected, different last name and all, and I told him not to share that.” I shrug. “My credentials weren’t going to get me past the door.”

  “I’m sure your portfolio helped,” he says with a sly grin.

  “Um… thanks.” My cheeks warm. For whatever reason, I only take Zach’s compliments on my looks seriously. Thinking of Zach, I ask Bret, “So do you have a girlfriend, someone waiting at home?” Again, even if it’s demented, I want to hear if someone else is pinning like me.

  He gives me an odd look. Like I should know his status. “Ah no, I’m on location too much to keep up a relationship. Besides relationships can hold your career back.”

  I can’t help a frown. First Zoe and now him. “Have you ever tried?”

  He shrugs. “A few times. Things never worked out.” Those green eyes study me while he takes a sip of coffee. He lowers the cup and says, “I take it you have someone.”

  I can’t help a quick smile. “Um yeah, we’ve been going out for a while.”

  His eyes narrow a bit. “Is he in the business?”

  I shake my head. “He’s in college. Eventually he wants to get an MFA. But he wants to be a novelist not a screen writer.”

  “Interesting,” Bret says. He doesn’t look too interested. He brushes his hair back again. This guy has a serious hair fetish.

  Bret is quite good looking, but he doesn’t come close to Zach. Thinking of Zach again—I’m always thinking of him—I want to check my email. I set my coffee down and make a point of looking at the clock on the desk. “It’s getting kind of late.”

  Bret gives me a long look—why I can’t imagine —before he stands. “Oh yeah, sure. I’ll leave you the rönttönen. You can think of me at breakfast,” he says with a wink before letting himself out.

  I frown as the door closes. What’s with the wink? What does he think? I’m like five? Sure, he has more experience and is older than me by at least seven years. But seriously? Go pump your ego on some adoring fans not the green actor. Geez.

  As I move to the desk, where my laptop sits, all thoughts of Bret’s arrogance flee. There had better be an email waiting. I log on with almost trembling fingers. Ah-ha. Relief. There is.

  Hey Paige,

  Sorry this is coming at you so late. Though still in training, I’ve been working with clients today and didn’t have time for a break until now. One good thing about this job is that time flies by. It’s nothing like being behind the reception counter where every second feels like eternity. I think I’m going to like this position. It’s not writing, but it doesn’t suck.

  Amanda update: she said hi to me when I came in this afternoon.

  Once again, I think you’re blowing the whole Amanda working at the gym out of proportion. And that you’d even worry about her cuts me. It cuts me deep. You know I’m crazy about you and have been since I woke up out of my damn coma. Who’d ever want to be in a coma? Me. Because it brought you to me. Even if Amanda is up to something—which I seriously doubt—I love you. However yesterday, I didn’t feel like you believed in my love.

  Do you believe in me?

  Fuck. I hope so.

  Because I believe in you.

  Z

  I fall back into the chair. My hands grip the edge of the desk. That he’d question me has me feeling sick. He just doesn’t get what being friends with the bitch for three years did to me. Other than when he was in a coma, we never talked about Amanda. There was never a reason. That part of my life was over.

  Perhaps if I explain it, he’ll understand.

  My finger now trembles as I hit reply. My hands shake as I spread them over the keyboard. Before I can type one letter, a knock sounds on the door. With my mind still on Zach’s email, I stagger to the door. Outside my room, a waiter smiles over a linen covered service cart.

  I shake my head at the silver lid covering the plate. The thought of food has me nauseous. “Sorry, but I don’t want that.”

  He gives me an odd look.

  I point to my stomach. “Feeling sick,” I say and almost slam the door before going back to my computer.

  And Zach.

  ~6~

  Zach

  My phone has been blinking, alerting me to a message from Paige, since I woke up. Late of course. So I haven’t read her email yet. I wanted to read it. Badly. After what I wrote her, I want to absorb her words in private without any disturbances. Between two three-hour classes starting at seven in the morning and working from two until ten o’clock, the anticipation killed me throughout the day. I almost opened her message several times, but her words had the possibility of destroying my concentration during Renaissance Literature and Novel Plotting then with clients.

  Now in my room, I lay across the bed on my stomach and log into my email. Before I can click on her message, my door swings open.

  “Bro, you wanna shoot some hoops?” Drake spins a basketball on his finger. Or at least tries to. The ball flies across the room and knocks over my laundry basket, which contained folded clean clothes—now they’re sprayed across the floor. Shit. M
y room’s the one place he hadn’t made a mess. Other than books and notebooks lying around, the space is completely organized.

  “Dude, do you know how to knock?” I ask, scowling at him.

  He scratches his head under a cowboy hat—the ass always plays basketball in a cowboy hat—and asks sarcastically, “Knock? What’s that?”

  “Get the hell out of my room.”

  “Whoa, someone’s got their panties in a twist.” He bends and reaches for the basketball. “Or maybe you’re just missing a set of panties?”

  Since my bookshelf is next to my bed, I chuck a book at his head. He ducks and the hardcover hits the hallway wall. That he has me abusing my books pisses me off more than him barging into my room.

  Standing again, he dribbles on the carpet.

  Getting more irritated by the minute, I ask, “How the hell are you playing in the dark anyways?”

  He tucks the ball against his side and pulls a green sock up to his knee. “That’s the thing. I’m telling you it’s so tight. We all surround the court with our cars and use the headlights.”

  “Yeah, that sounds tight,” I say, mimicking his sarcastic tone from earlier. “Get out of my room and shut the door.”

  “You gonna come down after writing your love letter?” he asks, cocking his stupid hat back and nodding at the computer. Sometimes, he’s the sound of nails on a chalkboard in human form.

  “Yeah, to kick your ass. And it won’t be on the court.”

  “Oh,” he says in a high-pitched tone while shutting the door. “I’m so scared.”

  My eyes narrow on the closed door. As far as roommates, there are worse, but I feel like I’m living with a fourteen year old sometimes. Hell, there are probably high school freshmen more mature than Drake.

  Alone again I click on Paige’s message.

  Zach,

  I believe in you. I believe in us.

  Yet this is hard for me. So I’m going to try to explain…

  I never reflected on my actions until I spoke to you while you lay sleeping and listened. Despite the fact that I whined about my life, I never understood it until then. Although my kiss woke you, reading about your honesty and determination woke me up. Made me see me and my life clearly.