by JA Huss
I lose time as everything sinks in. The setup, the lies, the sexual conquest—that I willingly gave in to—and the NDA so I can’t talk about it.
I shake my head and laugh. I fell for him. I fell for my dirty Prince Charming. I swallowed him whole in more ways than one.
"Grace?" Kristi’s concerned voice asks from the other side of the door. "Are you OK? We need to take off but we can’t do that until you’re in your seat."
Great.
I take a deep breath and pull on my everything-is-fine disguise. "Fine, fine!" I say cheerfully. "I just got a wave of nausea, that’s all. It’s gone now, be right out."
"OK, come sit with me if you want. There’s room on our couch."
My answer is the gushing of water from the sink, so hopefully that means Kristi has left to take her seat. I cup my hand under the tap and bring some cool water to my lips. I pat my face and straighten my professional blazer in the mirror, then paint on my smile as I pull the latch back on the door and emerge.
No one even notices, not even Kristi, so thank God for the little things. I scoot past the pissed-off flight attendant and take my seat. "You have to put that on airplane mode, ma’am," the bitchy attendant snaps. "You’re holding up the departure."
I grab my tablet from the floor, the web page at Buzz Hollywood still showing the story of Vaughn and his lies, and do as she says so she will leave me alone.
I don’t remember anything about that private corporate jet flight to Vegas. All I know is that I’m walking past a bar on our way out of the airport when I glance up and see Asher’s face on the TV.
It’s IM2 premiere night and he’s walking the red carpet. Not with me. Not with the woman carrying his baby. But with the biggest party slut in Hollywood.
His ex-girlfriend from when he was a teenager.
I want to get sick again, but I can’t afford to do that. I have to deal. I have to pretend life is perfect.
I’m still living the fantasy.
My Prince Charming is out there somewhere, his name just isn’t Vaughn Asher.
Chapter Four
THE limo ride from the airport to the Bellagio is agonizing. I sit between Kristi and her future mother-in-law, across from her future brother-in-law, and beam out the fake smile I perfected ten years earlier at her future father-in-law.
I nod my head. I laugh when they laugh. I add in cute little quips when the conversation calls for it.
I start drinking. Heavily.
And when we get to the hotel I go straight to my room. I have one hour to dress and prep for the rehearsal dinner. I need to change into my midnight-blue sheath dress and my discount shoes. It’s professional, not at all flashy. And while the shoes are pretty in a Target sort of way, they do not have red soles.
And that makes me sad all over again, because I really fell for the shoes Vaughn bought for me on the island. I have them with me, but I can’t. Not after the ultimate betrayal I just saw online. And that phone call. That woman, Jasinda, she thinks I’m the other woman.
I hit the minibar, grab a few bottles, fill a glass with ice, and fall back on the bed with my laptop.
Don’t do it, Grace, that little voice in my head says. Don’t look.
But of course, I absolutely am going to look. I pull up the webpage and just stare at the picture of Vaughn. It was taken recently because it’s a promo for IM2. He’s smiling and happy. His female co-star is in the picture with him, but they cut her off so they could do the side-by-side shot of the girlfriend.
I scroll down to read the article.
Ms. Gonzales says her relationship with Vaughn Asher began almost a year ago on the island of Saint Thomas—
I pour the contents of the little bottle into the glass and take a long swallow before I can continue reading. Of course she met him on Saint Thomas. It’s where he gets all his girls.
I wipe my mouth and return to the article.
—where he propositioned her to become his sexual submissive in exchange for money and gifts. "I was required to sign a nondisclosure agreement," the teary-eyed Gonzales explains. "He told me people won’t understand the type of sexual relationship we have together. He said what we had was special and not something he did with just anyone. But I’ve seen him with other submissives on the island. Many of them. He has a sexual appetite that can’t be quenched and he insisted that he not have to use a condom, so of course, I find myself pregnant."
Is he the father?
"He is," she says as the tears roll down her face. "I haven’t been with anyone else but him. And when I told him about the baby, he was very excited. And at first that made me happy, but I now know he’s unfit to be a father. I need him out of my life and I will fight for the right to raise our child alone."
I close my laptop and guzzle the rest of my drink.
What did I think? How did I think this movie-star fling would end? I mean, wake the fuck up, Grace! He’s a user. He says whatever he needs to in order to get his way. He probably has girls stashed all over the world. He probably has dozens of kids, because that whole not using a condom thing she said, that’s true. He never used one with me.
And Jesus Christ, I need to get myself to the doctor as soon as I get home to make sure I’m not infected with some sexually transmitted disease.
I make myself another drink and then strip out of my clothes so I can change into my dress. I struggle with the zipper for a few minutes, but finally contort my body enough to pull it all the way up. It feels tighter than it was at the fitting last week. My body is slim, so the dress looks good, but I really need to put all this Asher stuff behind me and get back into my normal exercise routine. It doesn’t help that Kristi has been taking me out to lunch with her every day, and she eats like a pregnant woman.
I smile at that. I like Kristi, but I hate her husband-to-be. I’ve still never met him. He’s much too busy to concern himself with a wedding. I’ve spent the last two weeks with her planning the big day and that jerk has yet to show up for so much as a cake-tasting. Kristi and I, on the other hand, have been inseparable and she’s starting to feel like a friend. We’ve come to Vegas four times on day trips to iron out wedding details, and everything is perfectly planned, but I can honestly say that this wedding is a disaster waiting to happen.
My phone buzzes and I reach over and pluck it off the nightstand.
"I’ll be up in ten minutes," I tell Kristi, before she can even say hello.
"OK," she laughs. "We have time, but I’m lonely. I’ll do your hair when you get here if you want."
Her request betrays her nerves. Hell, I’d be a bundle of nerves too, if I was marrying Johnny Blazen. If I didn’t see him play football last weekend, I’d think he was fake because I never seen them together. "Sounds good, Kristi. Be right up."
I end the call and grab my purse and then catch my reflection in the hall mirror and stop dead.
I look… tired. Wounded. Used up.
Depressed maybe. My moods have steadily gotten worse since my last interaction with Vaughn. I’ve missed Dirty Heaven, and even girls I hardly talk to online have started sending me direct messages asking if things are OK. Bebe, thankfully, has not noticed much because she’s traveling with the competing members of whatever they do over at her sports club.
"Grace," I say to myself in the mirror. "You…" But I have no pep talk to give myself on this night. I have nothing positive to say. So I just turn away and leave the room.
Kristi is up in one of the upper-floor executive rooms, so I get in the elevator, flash the keycard required to access that floor, and massage my temples with my fingertips to try and ease the tension headache creeping up on me.
The doors open and I step out and knock on the door right across the way.
A faint, “Come in,” is called out to me from inside. The door is propped open with the metal swing lock, so I push through and close it all the way behind me. When I enter the living area, Kristi is setting up a curling iron on the wet bar. She’s so damn cute, she mak
es me smile. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Sit," she says, pointing to the bar stool. "Did you know I was a makeup artist at Channel 9 before all this crazy Blazen stuff started?"
I shake my head and take my seat. She produces a brush and begins to stroke it through my long hair. "Well, I was. Before Johnny asked me to quit and stay home to be a mother. That’s where we met, you know? I was doing his makeup before he went on Good AM Denver, and we hit it off." She lets out a long sigh and begins to twist up strands of hair in her nimble fingertips.
"I didn’t know that. I never watch local news. Too depressing because my neighborhood is always on there. Things I should know, but really don’t want to know. Ya know?” How the fuck would she know? She lives in Park Hill. “Do you miss it? Being a makeup artist?"
"Sometimes," she says with a smile I can see in the mirror behind the bar. "I’m bored at home, ya know? I can’t wait for this wedding to be over so we can live together."
"Why don’t you live together now? I mean, the cat’s out of the bag, right? You’re pregnant, you’re getting married. Why not just get that party started?"
"Hmmm." She pins up a section of hair before continuing. "He wants us to start out right."
"It’s kinda late for that, don’t you think?" I want to stab myself for speaking up. "Sorry." A look of hurt crosses her face in the mirror and a wave of guilt flows through me. "I’m just being a cynical bitch, I guess. I mean, normally I’m not one to rock the boat. I hate confrontation, so I’d never say anything. But this is your wedding, Kristi. This is your life."
She laughs nervously. "I hate confrontation too, so let’s just drop it and have a good time."
"But how do you cope? I mean the fact that you broke up his marriage? How do you trust him not to find another woman to take your place?"
"You don’t even know him, Grace. You have no idea what kind of man he is in private."
"Huh," I grunt sarcastically. "Where have I heard that argument before? Oh, right. The last guy I slept with, he was like that too. Oh, the private me and the public me are two different things," I say in a fake voice.
"Well, Johnny is a famous football player, so in his case, it’s actually true." She pins up the final strand of hair and then begins to curl them.
My blood is beginning to boil, because seriously. I grab a flute of champagne on the bar that’s been set out for us and give it a good long guzzle so I can control my building rage. "Kristi, I’ve never even met the guy. And I’m the wedding planner. He’s never around. I’ve been with you every day. When do you see him?"
"I just explained, Grace. He wants to keep it low-key until after the wedding. And I have no problem with honoring that request. I think it’s romantic and" —she actually stops to swoon here—"gentlemanly. He’s a gentleman."
I almost snort my champagne.
She curls the last strand of hair and then holds her arms out wide. "There, that’s pretty, don’t you think?"
I look at my updo in the mirror and shrug. "Yes, thank you. But look, I’m not trying to start a fight, but he’s playing you, can’t you see that? He’s a liar. He’s had how many wives before this? He was cheating on his last wife with you, Kristi! How the hell do you not see that he’s not any good?"
"Stop, OK?" Her face is turning bright red and the tears are building in her eyes. "There’s so much about me—about us—that you don’t know. And I can’t talk about it so…"
"You can’t talk about it because he’s got a gag order on you, Kristi! Can’t you see that? Why is that so hard to understand?"
"Grace, I don’t know why you’re so angry, but you don’t understand. You only have his ex-wife’s side of the story. I know the whole story. He and I, we know the whole story. And I’m not discussing this with you. It’s my wedding eve and I want to enjoy it."
I stand up and smooth down my dress with the palms of my hands. I’m shaking, I’m so enraged. "Maybe it’s wrong to tell you things, Kristi. But I consider you more of a friend these days than a client. So I’m just going to come out and say it. He doesn’t love you, do you understand that? You’re pregnant with his child. He got caught cheating. He’s desperate for damage control to save his football career. He’s a lying, worthless cheat and you’re falling for it one hundred percent. He’s playing you, Kristi. Asher is playing you!"
"Who?" she asks, equal parts confused and outraged. "You’re crazy, Grace. Maybe you’ve had too much to drink, but I don’t want my night to be ruined because you’re having some kind of emotional breakdown!"
"Breakdown!" Oh, she didn’t. "You think I’m crazy or something? Is that what you think? Because you’re a joke around Denver, Kristi. People talk behind your back and laugh. Haven’t you seen them pointing at you, the hushed whispers? The snickering?"
"You’ve lost your mind, Grace. Seriously."
"OK, you know what? You go ahead with your fantasy life, Kristi. OK? Because I’m living in reality right now and I see the writing on the wall. He’s not here today because you’re not important. He’s not here because he doesn’t want to be here. It’s the night before his wedding and who gets married on a Thursday?"
"It’s football season, Grace! He works on the weekends! How is that any different from anyone else who works on the weekends? He can’t just call in on Sunday and say, Sorry, coach and teammates who depend on me, I’m not showing up for the game today. That’s insane!"
"You’re insane if you think this is normal."
"Define normal? Just because it’s not normal for you doesn’t mean it’s not normal for us."
"Whatever, Kristi—"
A beeping noise comes from the foyer as a key card is fed through the lock. We stop our fight and look over to watch the handle turn and the door open. And who walks in?
Kristi squeals and runs over to her soon-to-be husband and he wraps his arms around her, kissing her on the head. "Sorry I’m late, babe." He looks over to me and smiles, stepping forward with Kristi hanging on his arm, his hand outstretched towards me.
I take it and shake.
"You must be Grace?" he asks with that winning smile they flash on TV every chance they get. "John Blazen. Nice to finally meet you. Kristi has talked about you non-stop for two weeks now, she’s your biggest fan. I can’t thank you enough for taking over the wedding and making her happy."
He actually beams a smile down on her and…
I wilt.
I die right there on the spot as I play all my nasty words back in my head.
I’m an asshole.
I bolt out the door and for once in my life, luck loves me. The elevator is open and waiting so I can make my shameful escape without having to explain myself.
There is only one place to go when your life implodes.
The bar.
Chapter Five
MY phone buzzes in my pants more than two dozen times during the premiere of Invisible Man 2, and each time I check it, just waiting for that one call. But each time I’m disappointed. Unknown numbers, known numbers… but none of them are Grace.
The movie screening ends to resounding applause and I allow myself to feel a moment of satisfaction at what we’ve accomplished. The Invisible Man is a complex character. You never know if he’s the good guy or the bad guy, and most of the time he’s both. Moviegoers like to have a clear villain. They like to know who the hero is. But the Invisible Man can’t be boxed up like that and that’s why I can relate to him.
Am I good?
Am I bad?
Am I both?
Are all those things Jasinda is telling the world about me true?
I didn’t read the entire article at Buzz Hollywood Online, but I did read the one Elite Lifestyles Magazine ran today. And that one drew very clear parallels between the story Jasinda is weaving and all the past reports. Complete with a full-spread timeline. Like they’re piecing together the clues in a murder mystery.
My date for the premiere—my Disney ex from back in my teens, who is mostly known for her
sex tapes and trust-fund money these days—clings to my arm like a leech. I only brought her to take all suspicion off Grace, and even with my world crumbling around me, that seems to have worked.
My phone buzzes again and this time it’s Ray. I pry the girl’s fingers off my arm and excuse myself, walking out the emergency exit. I do not end up outside, but in the bowels of the theater’s backstage. "Yeah," I say into the phone. "Any news?"
"She’s been drinking all evening, Vaughn. She’s in the Villa Privé casino hanging on the arm of some corporate guy from San Diego. But I don’t know how you’re going to get in. It’s a private rental."
Two weeks. I’ve forced myself to stay away from her for two weeks, doing my best to keep her out of this. I felt it coming and I’m never wrong about these things. But I can’t do it anymore. She has to have seen the tabloids. She has to be drinking because of me. I am a coward if I don’t set this right. A coward and a dick. She deserves to know the truth.
I need her to know the truth. When I decided to pull away from her, my understanding was that it would be temporary. But this doesn’t feel temporary anymore. This feels like my last chance.
"The staff said she’s talking about your tabloid news today, but they didn’t tell me exactly what she said. You want me to subdue her and take control?"
Fuck.
"Boss?"
"No, I’ll take care of it." I end the call and dial up my pilot, which goes to voice mail. "We’re going to Vegas. Tonight. Fuel the jet."
I don’t go back inside the theater, I’ll never escape if I do. Instead I push my way out the back doors into the alley and call my driver to come pick me up a few blocks away. It’s a forty-minute drive up to the airport and by that time the pilot is on his way, but not there yet.
I board the jet and collapse back into one of the leather seats with a sigh.
"Rough day, Mr. Asher?" the attendant calls from the small galley near the front of the plane.