InHap*pily Ever After (Incidental Happenstance)

by DeSalvo, Kim

  “Thank you,” Tia said in response to the compliment and the job well done.

  “We’ll get to the kissing pictures later,” Marlon, a man in obnoxious orange crop pants and an even more ridiculous flowing paisley shirt, crooned when Dylan pulled her into his arms as she emerged on the set. Dyl just laughed, and planted a gentle kiss on the tip of Tia’s nose.

  “OK, now look into each other’s eyes and give me a soft smile,” Marlon, said for about the hundredth time. “A natural one—you love each other!” Once again, Tia smiled for the cameras that clicked softly all around her. Never in all her life had she taken so many pictures at once; six outfits, two makeup ‘fresheners,’ and four scenery changes had her head reeling and her lips quivering—she didn’t know if it was even possible for her to smile anymore. Her entire face felt like it had just undergone a Zumba class and a weight training session…her cheeks and jaw were physically aching. But when Dylan looked at her the way he only looked at her, she couldn’t help but smile back.

  After the hustle of the photo shoot, the interview was a piece of cake. Bryn Simmons fawned over Dylan for longer than necessary, but when she started asking questions, she was all business. Tia had figured that she’d be answering all the same questions she had on Tony’s show and the morning news program and radio talk show they’d done the day before, but Bryn surprised her.

  “So, Tia, what’s been the hardest part for you in all this?”

  “Wow. I guess I’d have to say dealing with all the attention. I’m not used to having people be so interested in the things I do. It’s a really awkward feeling, and it’s kind of disconcerting, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Because you want people to like you?”

  Tia took a second to think about how to answer the question. Since the airing of Sunday’s show, their story had indeed gone viral. Social media was buzzing—Facebook pages had been started in their honor, they’d earned several hashtags on Twitter… #Dylentia and #Frstcouple were trending regularly. As Dylan had predicted, most of the talk was positive—one blogger had even dubbed her “America’s Princess Ti,” likening her situation to Diana’s rise from the humble beginnings of a school teacher to that of royalty. In this case, Dylan was dubbed, “The Prince of Rock.”

  But as Dylan had also once said, there were haters, too. “Free Penelope” campaigns were springing up as well, and they called Tia a “poser,” a “gold digger,” and a “wannabe.” Tia was glad that there was precious little time in her schedule these days to dwell on any of it; because she didn’t really deserve either status, in her opinion; but as much as she tried to let it roll off her back, some of it stung. OK, a lot of it stung. Not because they said harsh things, but because they said them for reasons Tia couldn’t begin to understand. None of them knew her—none of them knew Dylan or Penelope either—but that didn’t stop them from boisterously making judgments and calling names. She was reminded of one of her favorite authors who, after writing an incredibly successful children’s series, published her first book for adults. The author had taken a holiday when the book was released, presumably because she was smart enough to know that the critics would be out in force because the book wasn’t about her beloved character. She was right, too. Initial reviews were terrible, and people who hadn’t even read the book were writing scathing posts. Soon, however, it was at the top of the charts, because she’s a terrific writer and the real fans soon out spoke the haters.

  “I want to be very careful about how I answer that question, because I’m not sure I can make it come across the way I mean it to. As a human being, of course I want people to like me. We’re social creatures, and we certainly don’t aspire to be unliked. But more than that, I don’t want people to hate me because of who I fell in love with, or for any other reason outside of my control. I mean, if I’ve done something to you personally, you can choose not to like me; but the people making these comments don’t know me, so I have a hard time with them making judgments, good or bad. I wasn’t in New Zealand—I had no part in what happened there. I didn’t attack Penelope—to this day I haven’t said anything negative about her publicly because I don’t really know her, and I don’t think it’s fair. I certainly don’t like what she did—or allegedly did—because of the impact it’s had on my life personally; but I don’t know what was in her head. That’s the double-edged sword of this kind of attention. It doesn’t liken itself to developing new relationships because there’s always a pre-formed opinion, so it’s hard for people to get to know the real you.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “I hope that answered your question; I don’t really know exactly how to explain it. It’s a strange feeling.” she said.

  “Oh, definitely,” Bryn smiled, reaching over to pat Tia’s hand. “That’s probably one of the most real and honest answers about celebrity I’ve ever heard. It takes a lot of guts to say it; especially when the jury is still out on your public persona.”

  “I never wanted a public persona—I just happened to fall for an incredible man who already had one.”

  “And I think we just got the quote for the cover,” Bryn said softly. “You’re the real deal, Tia. I have to say I had my doubts, but I really think you guys are going to make it.”

  “Oh, we’ll make it, all right,” Dylan smiled. “I have no doubts about us.”

  It was, without a doubt, the most insane week of Tia’s life. Between the interviews, photo shoots, shopping trips, and phone calls, she didn’t know whether she was coming or going, and was very glad to have Jessa on her side, especially when Dylan was off taking care of his own business. By the time the week ended, it felt like she’d appeared on just about every talk show in the country, and she wondered if her head would ever stop spinning. She never got tired of talking about her love for Dylan, but she certainly wasn’t getting any pleasure out of having to discuss the Penelope situation over and over. Just hearing her name made Tia cringe, but she was part of the story too, and part of every interview they granted. Penelope was still sitting in a jail cell in New Zealand so she wasn’t allowed to make any statements, but someone who called herself a “prison director” described a scene in which a very emotionally unstable movie star went ballistic after seeing Dylan and Tia’s first television appearance.

  News stations were reporting that her lawyers were close to reaching a deal with New Zealand authorities for Penelope’s extradition—speculation was that they were willing to settle for an “undisclosed fine,” seeing as all the charges applied to US citizens, American tabloids, and mail destined for Americans on both ends. There didn’t seem to be any doubt in the lawyers’ minds, however, that she’d be facing some prison time if convicted of all charges. And considering that her “former assistant and alleged accomplice” was willing to testify in exchange for a reduced sentence, it didn’t look like Penelope was going to be winning any Oscars anytime soon.

  By the time Friday night came, Tia felt like a zombie, and she stumbled into the living quarters of the New York suite with just a few hours to pack before they left on a twenty five hour trip to Australia.

  Australia. God, she thought, falling onto the bed and throwing her forearm over her eyes. Just an hour, just sixty little minutes to gather her thoughts, and then she could consider packing for a two-week trip that included meeting Dylan’s entire family. How would she measure up to their expectations? How could she make any impression at all, with how exhausted she was?

  She felt Dylan’s presence in the room before he touched her—the slightest brush of his lips against her own. She moaned; part desire, part irritation, and gave herself over to his kiss.

  “Mmmm,” she mumbled. “I haven’t left your side for most of the week, but I still miss you.”

  “I know,” he said sympathetically. “It’s really draining, isn’t it, being the center of so much attention?” It was more a statement than a question.

  “Yeah, kind of sucks,” she said. “But you get used to it, right? Oh God, please tell me it gets easie
r.”

  “A little bit, I guess,” he whispered, sliding his hand beneath her shirt and stroking her nipples with the rough pads of his fingers. “You’ve been amazing, Tia. Just by being yourself, you’ve gotten the whole world to fall in love with you.”

  It was true. In just one short week Tia Hastings, fifth grade teacher, had become a media darling. Bryn put out some of the pictures and excerpts from the interview on the magazine’s website in advance of the issue, and it had gotten something like a gazillion hits.

  “I don’t care about the whole world, baby…as long as you love me, it’s all that matters.”

  “Let me show you how much,” he said, nibbling his way down her neck deliciously.

  She purred, then grunted. “Look at the clock, Dyl, we’ve only got a few hours to pack, shower, and head for the airport.”

  “I can be quick,” he smiled against her collarbone.

  “I don’t want you to be quick,” she whispered. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about ‘deliciously slow,’ and there’s not nearly enough time.” But when he slid his hand up her thigh, she surrendered. “Oh, I can’t say no to you; not when you’re doing that.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, wiggling beneath him until their bodies molded together seamlessly. He pressed his mouth to hers, and her exhaustion lifted as her pulse quickened and her hands moved down to rest at his waist. “Have I told you today how amazing you are?” he breathed into her ear.

  “Not in the past ten minutes,” she smiled against his neck. No matter how exasperated she’d gotten at the crazy pace of the week and the breakneck schedule, Dylan was her constant cheerleader and support system. He knew how emotionally draining it was for her to have to rehash the Penelope situation over and over, and made it his personal mission to tell her how incredible she was and how much he loved her every chance he got. It had definitely kept her more upbeat, and she felt good knowing he was proud of her.

  “Positively amazing,” he said, running his hands down the sides of her body. “Beautiful too.”

  “I love you so much, baby. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

  “And I can’t do this without you,” he smiled, slipping her shirt over her head and pressing his body to hers.

  Chapter 10

  Realization finally dawned on her, and it wasn’t the kind of dawn that lit up the sky with pinks and oranges and promises of a beautiful day. Hers was the one that crept up slowly behind gray, dark clouds; casting only enough light to cloak the world in perpetual shadow. She was stuck—trapped was a better word, actually—and life as she knew it was over. When she finally cried herself out and the guard had tired of taunting her and left, she felt like she’d been sucker-punched in the gut, taken a right hook to the face, and been dealt a roundhouse kick in the head.

  Reality hit like a ton of bricks.

  “Get me the hell out of here, Ben,” she hissed at the computer screen where her lawyer was taking notes from his spacious office with the incredible view, picking something out of his teeth as if she couldn’t see him. “This is bullshit and you know it. They can’t keep me here. I’m an American citizen.”

  “It’s not that easy, Penelope. You’ve gotten yourself into a lot of trouble, and it’s going to take some time to get it all unraveled. There are a colorful variety of charges stacking up on two continents, and our legal systems don’t work exactly the same way. I’ve retained an attorney there in New Zealand to handle the paperwork and such on your end, and I’m meeting with the federal prosecutor the day after tomorrow to get an idea of what charges you’ll have to face over here. But you need to remember that it’s almost Christmas. A lot of people are on holidays this time of year and it might take a little longer to get the ball rolling.”

  Penelope leaned back in the chair and ground the heels of her hands into her closed eyes. Less than a week ago she believed that she’d be in Australia for Christmas; meeting Dylan’s family and moving their relationship to a whole new glorious level. Never in a million years would she have guessed that she would be spending it in a goddamn jail cell instead. “Are you telling me that I might have to spend Christmas here? What about bail?”

  Ben dropped his eyes. “I’m telling that you are going to be spending it there, I’m afraid, and probably New Year’s, too. There are a lot of facets to this situation, and they aren’t going to be resolved in a couple days. You’re the poster child of a flight risk, Penelope, and you don’t have anywhere to go if they let you out. The studio won’t take you, and you don’t have anyone there who can even post it for you. The bright side is that the New Zealand authorities want you gone; especially since all of your crimes involved Americans; so I think we can get you back here fairly soon. Understand, though, that your troubles are far from over once you get back to the States.”

  “Jesus Christ! This is being blown totally out of proportion, Ben, and you know it. They’re trying to throw the book at me because I’m famous and my case will get them on television. You know, couples break up every day, and lots of them have a little help from a third party. Just plead temporary insanity and be done with it already, so I can go the fuck home.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped a couple decibels as she leaned closer to the screen. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this place, Ben. The people here are downright mean to me—I mean they’re really fucking rude. The food sucks, they won’t let me make phone calls…”

  “You’re in jail, Miss Valentine, not at Club Med, and when you do get home, you’ll be headed for a place much like that one. Look at me.” He waited until she finished rolling her eyes and he had her attention. “Insanity isn’t even close to being an option, and, unfortunately for you, you can’t plead stupid. Not only will there be federal charges, but others as well. The parent company of Person to Person is furious that you’ve made a mockery of their magazine…”

  “Yeah right, because everything in the tabloids is the stone cold truth,” she said sarcastically.

  “What you gave them were stone cold lies, and they need to save face. Be prepared that they will do that at your expense, both in the media and the courtroom; and don’t forget that both Mr. Miller and Miss Hastings could sue for personal damages as well. I have to tell you emphatically that you don’t have much of a leg to stand on here; legally, that is. The evidence against you is overwhelming; they have the photo albums, all the letters you took, the pictures you altered; they have the hacker you hired to mess with Miller’s computer…and believe me, he’s talking up a storm; the witness statement from the producer of the movie; and the prosecutor’s been talking to your former assistant who’s already singing like a canary…”

  “I knew that bitch would turn on me. She was the one who did most of it, you know, not me.”

  Now it was Ben’s turn to roll his eyes. “You know I’ve looked at this from every possible angle, and no matter how many ways I turn it, there’s going to be a price to pay. You didn’t even try to cover your tracks—you made memory albums out of your crimes, for chrissakes, and those’ll be on display in the courtroom if we take this to trial. My advice to you, and what I’ll be focusing most of my attention on, is putting together a plea bargain. You’ll probably pay some hefty fines, but I think maybe we can keep the jail time to a minimum.”

  “More jail time—are you kidding me? For doctoring a couple pictures and taking a few letters?”

  Ben nodded. “That’s not how the prosecutor’s going to see it, and it sure as hell isn’t the way Mr. Miller sees it. He and his lady friend have been all over the television, the radio, the magazines—social media’s going crazy—and they’re not exactly singing your praises,” he said sympathetically.

  “Oh, I’m sure his little babysitter’s got all kinds of things to say about me. Lies—all of them.”

  “Miss Hastings has been playing this thing just right, and hasn’t said one negative thing directly against you. I know it doesn’t seem fair, but eve
n though they haven’t been dragging your name through the mud, you are firmly entrenched as the villain in this situation. I know it isn’t what you want to hear, but you need to accept the fact that this could go on for quite a while longer before it’s all settled.”

  Penelope glared at him, and he could almost feel the daggers piercing him from across the ocean. “That’s the best you can do? That’s what I’m paying you for? To tell me to sit back and accept this?” She stepped back and swept her arm across the bland room.

  Ben pressed his lips together and nodded. “That’s why I’m going to shoot for a plea bargain. If this is dragged through the media, it’ll be a flipping free-for-all. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth of the matter, and it wouldn’t be right for me to give you false hope.”

  “False hope?” she said weakly. “Ben, I really need to talk to Dylan. I know he said he didn’t want to talk to me, but goddamn it, we were on the verge of something wonderful before all this happened. If I could just have a few minutes with him, I know I could make him see.”

  Ben shook his head, exasperated. “Absolutely, positively, no way. You need to forget that kind of thinking right now. Under no circumstances are you to make any attempt to contact him, and I’m telling you this not only as your attorney, but as someone who’s known you for a lot of years and wants what’s best for you.” He felt a twinge of pain in his heart when he watched her eyes well up, but she needed to hear it. “He’s in love with her, Penelope, and he’s not coming back to save you.”

  “How could he just leave like that? Without even giving me a chance to explain?” The puddles at the rims of her eyes overflowed, and a single tear slid down each cheek.

  He could see by her empty stare that he’d lost her; that it was pointless to continue this discussion right now. He was also starting to see glimmers of a potential defense, one that might lessen the punishment she’d have to serve and that might get her some sympathy from the public. “I’m going to get to work on this right now, Penelope, and I’ll get you home as soon as I possibly can. You keep out of trouble, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I know something.”