by Max Monroe
“So, we’ll need to be out of here before the hour is up because I promised Francesca Murazzi you’d come for a fitting for your Oscar dress. Now that you’re not a standard size anymore, she wants to try to get ahead of the ball,” Heidi says, diving into the agenda with no further ado.
I roll my eyes. Nice. I’ve always dreamed of being constantly reminded of how big I’m getting throughout my pregnancy.
“So, let me get this straight. This company is paying me a million dollars to do an appearance, and you’ve essentially double-booked me on them?”
“No, no. We’ll be there long enough to meet the conditions of the contract.”
I bite my tongue and look out the window before letting it roll off my back. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll somehow change her mind.
The car makes a sudden turn, pushing me into the door, and I grab on to the handle tightly. We drive down into an underground garage, and my eyebrows shoot together. “What’s going on?”
“We’re changing cars,” Heidi says simply, grabbing the door handle as we screech to a stop.
She’s about to jump out when I reach for her arm and grab it. “Why?”
“Because they also explicitly asked for discretion, and with the band of photographers trying to follow your every move, we need to be in a car they’re not expecting.”
“This is starting to feel a little too ‘black ops’ for me. Why would a company care if people know I did a meet-and-greet with them?”
“Raquel…they are paying you a million dollars. For forty-five minutes of your time. Who cares why they want discretion?”
God, Heidi, it seems the only one who cares about the stupid money is you. I could literally give two shits.
I scoff. “Just remember you said that when I get ax murdered and you don’t have anyone to collect a commission off of anymore.”
“At least I’ll get my hundred thousand out of it,” she quips unabashedly.
“Sure, a woman and her unborn child will be dead, but at least we’re focusing on what’s really important here.”
Heidi rolls her eyes. “I know you’re an actress, but can we please tone down the drama for the next ten minutes? It’s giving me a headache.”
I huff. It’s a childish and pointless move, but at least it makes me feel slightly better in the moment. With the raging heartburn I have going threatening to start a wildfire in my chest, I’ll take any win I can get.
Heidi climbs from the car without another word, and I slam my head back into the seat and close my eyes. When my door opens before I’m expecting it to, I jump.
“Jesus!”
Alejo smiles apologetically. “Sorry, love. Heidi said to do a quick touch-up on you before you do your whole shell game thing.”
“A touch-up?” I question. “We just left the apartment.”
“She said the stress is making you look too dewy. And that your foundation was settling into the wrinkle between your eyebrows.”
I sigh.
“Don’t worry, doll. You look great, and I’m going to make you look even better.”
Resigned, I sit back in the seat and rest my head again as he takes brushes out from the belt around his waist and gets to work.
Knowing me well after having worked with me for the last three years, he stays quiet and lets me have some silence. I know it’s hard for him; he’s extremely chatty by nature. But out of everyone around me, Alejandro at least pretends to respect my boundaries.
The baby jukes inside my belly, and I move a hand to cushion the blow. Still, a small smile curves just the corner of my lips.
Just you and me, babe.
There’s a little alien inside me making chop suey of my organs, but it’s still the most joyful thing I have going in my life. There’s something magical about growing another life—even if I never, ever expected it.
“There,” Alejo finally declares, sheathing his cosmetic swords and holding out a hand to help me out.
I take it graciously and climb down, only to climb up into a neighboring SUV two feet away.
Once I’m in the seat, the door closes again, Heidi nods to the driver from her seat beside me, and we’re away again like stealthy agents of the night—except it’s day.
Meanwhile, Alejo fades away like he was never even there.
One thing is for sure, for as much as I loathe the brutal lack of privacy that comes with having a team of people around me at all times, there’s no way in heck I’d want to be doing all of these intricately planned arrangements for myself.
I wasn’t born to be in the Hollywood division of the CIA. I have way too many people in my life anyway. In the movies, they always go for the abandoned, mega-IQ, no one will raise a fuss if they’re missing type.
People would absolutely raise a fuss if I were missing. They raise a fuss if I eat a taco, for God’s sake. Raquel Weaver spotted at Las Tacos in Pasadena this weekend… Everyone wants to know, is she having a mental breakdown?
No, gossip magazine. She just likes freaking tacos.
“Raquel! Jesus. Are you having a stroke?” Heidi says, her loud voice suddenly cutting through the fog of my thoughts with a vengeance. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last minute and a half.”
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I was…” I consider telling the truth—that I was lost in a complex thought timeline including a top-secret government agency and Mexican food—but in the end, think better of it. “What did you need?”
“To go over your schedule for the rest of the day after this.”
“Ah. Yes, I know. Extra Oscar dress fitting now that I’m fat.”
Heidi snorts and then laughs, the derisive tone of it unmistakably mocking. “You didn’t think that was all we have on the docket, did you?”
I feel my eyebrows scrunch together before I can tell them not to, and her voice turns condescending. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, patting my knee. “That’s so alarmingly naïve.”
I jerk my knee to the side so her hand slips off my leg and she momentarily loses her balance, and her smile turns from calculating to vindictive.
I tell myself the petulant move was worth it anyway. When I’m drowning in the dregs of exhaustion later today, I’ll be able to look back and find joy in this moment.
“After the fitting, you have a training session with Gregory, an interview with Voso magazine, and a meeting with the press team for Highlander.”
I let my head fall back with a groan at the thought of that meeting—one I most definitely don’t want to have—and Heidi snaps. “You’re lucky they didn’t fire you, Raquel. You knew your contract was explicit in its terms that you not change your physical appearance in any way, and you went and got pregnant.” She scowls. “You’re a press nightmare for them, and yet, they’ve decided to back you for some reason. You should be bowing at their feet, not groaning at the inconvenience of one little meeting.”
“Fine!” I finally screech, knowing she’ll keep going until the end of time if I don’t agree. “You’re right. The meeting is excellent. Freaking awesome. My favorite agenda item of the day.”
“I don’t need your attitude,” she scolds me boldly. It’s inappropriate and kind of ridiculous given the fact that I’m a grown woman, but Heidi has been with me from the moment my momager stepped back. I was still pretty much a kid at that point, and in some ways, Heidi continues to treat me that way.
And I guess, sometimes, I continue to act like I am one around her, too. Honestly, I don’t know why. Our relationship is complex and twisted and probably in need of change. But I’m too busy to fit an overhaul into my schedule.
Finally, we pull up to the entrance of yet another underground garage and make the turn to head down.
The gate lifts after a brief pause and the press of a button from my driver, and in we go, weaving our way under concrete beams and fluorescent lights until we come to the interior core of the building and a bank of elevators.
Heidi steps out in sync with the driver, and I wait
nervously as he rounds the hood and walks up to open my door.
Nearly a quarter century in the limelight, and I still get anxious that I won’t live up to people’s expectations.
To me, I’m just a dork with a lot of help covering it up.
I used to think it would get easier. That one day I would find comfort in my role—but honestly, I think it just gets worse.
The more success I acquire, the more I feel like an imposter.
Funny, huh?
Heidi jerks her head for me to hurry up from her spot by the elevator as I step out of the car and onto the concrete floor in my high heels. The slit in my skirt pulls open almost its full length, peaking at the apex of my thigh.
Personally, I thought I’d get to start dressing a little less provocatively when I turned up pregnant—a tiny silver lining in a mess of complicated shit—but the joke was on me. They haven’t toned down my wardrobe at all.
In fact, I think they may have even amped it up a bit.
It’s just considerably less comfortable now.
My heels click and clack against the hard floor as I pick up my pace. The elevator arrives as if choreographed, opening its doors in just enough time that I don’t even have to break my stride.
Freddie Bones and two of Heidi’s assistants, Toby and Wilson, follow me in, and we all turn to face the doors to ride up in silence.
I watch as the numbers tick by, counting quickly and efficiently until we reach the top floor of the building, the apparent location of the ballroom and the corporate event.
The doors open and the people part, making room for me to take up my stride again, leading the way.
With each step, I coach myself away from the woman I am and toward the woman they know. The persona. The image. The person they’re paying for.
My heart thrums in my chest as we get closer and closer, until finally, Heidi speeds up to get out in front of me and cues a man stationed at the door. He nods, cracks it open, and nods to someone else, and I take one final deep breath.
With a little nod—almost like a bull rider signaling he’s ready to leave the chute—I instruct the man at the door to open it wide and step inside with an act of confidence I’ve never actually felt a day in my life.
Two steps into the mostly empty room, I pull up short as a tall, well-dressed man stands up from his chair and turns to face me.
Familiar, gorgeous green eyes.
Strong jaw.
Full, kissable, perfect lips.
Harrison.
Oh, holy shit.
My throat dries up like the Sahara, and every muscle in my body locks up upon recognition.
I am a statue of disbelief and shock. I am carved of the hardest stone with the most resistance to erosion, and not even the love of my sister can save me from this fate.
I don’t have a sister, just to be clear. I’ve just always wanted to use a Frozen reference in everyday life, and I don’t know that I’ll ever get this opportunity again.
All of this to say, I wouldn’t be able to get my feet to go any farther if I had a tow rope and a tractor trailer hooked to them.
“You’re a hard woman to get in touch with. For some reason, everyone I spoke to was concerned about my intentions for getting close to you,” he says softly, the perfectly chiseled line of his jaw making his subtle dimple seem extra expressive. I stare hard at his garden-green eyes and white button-down shirt.
God, he looks so good.
My throat is uncooperative as I force it to produce one word. “Weird.”
He shrugs. “Not that weird, I guess. Since the last time I saw you, I apparently got you pregnant.”
My chest squeezes so hard, I’m pretty sure it’s doing its own form of self-contained defibrillation.
“Harrison—”
“I have two questions, Rock.”
I nod and swallow hard, wanting so badly to turn around and run out of the room but forcing myself to stay put. He’s gone to a very obvious effort to get in touch with me, and I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s probably considered rude to walk out of a meeting with the father of your child when he apparently paid a million dollars to get you there. “Go ahead.”
“Were you ever planning to tell me?”
“I…” I shrug, grabbing my stomach on reflex as the truth bubbles out of me. “I don’t know. I thought of trying to get in touch with you a million times, but…I just couldn’t find the words…or the courage to actually follow through…”
I don’t really know what else to say, but I do know what I did manage to say isn’t a lie. He was the first person I thought about when I saw the word pregnant staring back at me.
And ever since then, you’ve yet to go a full day without thinking of him…
He turns his gaze away and sucks his lips inside his mouth, and the distance I feel from the disengagement is powerful.
But I don’t know how to fix it. I feel helpless in my blundering. I mean, we’re not husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re a couple people who knew each other a lifetime and a half ago and had sex one night.
I don’t know the protocol.
He gathers himself impressively rapidly, though. When he turns back toward me, I’m surprised not to find more contention—more resentment—in the beautiful leafy-green color of his eyes.
“I…” I want to apologize, but I don’t have the slightest clue how. I swallow around a thick throat and try again, but what comes out doesn’t resemble remorse at all. Worse, it almost sounds accusatory. “What’s your other question?”
The corner of his eye crinkles with the shift in his face. Still, it doesn’t seem like he’s taken any offense to my poor delivery. Instead, he rocks my world.
“Are you okay?”
“Am I…” Unexpected emotion pierces me right in the chest and holds. I try to ignore it, but I can hear the shake in my own voice as I repeat his question back. “Am I okay?”
Unlike me, he seems to know exactly how to handle longtime acquaintance/one-time lover/future parents’ etiquette, because he doesn’t hesitate. His read on me is spot-on, and his answer is to offer comfort, closing the distance between us and pulling me confidently into his arms.
I go—it feels too good to fight. He’s the first person to ask me anything about myself since I found out about the baby. It seems a little crazy since I’m nearly five months along, but it’s true. When people ask me if I’m okay, it’s usually at the beginning of some sentence meant to accomplish another kind of directive.
Are you okay…to hurry it up so we don’t miss this meeting?
Are you okay…to just sit back down and do what I said?
And there’s absolutely no time for an actual answer. It is rhetorical, always, punctuated and confirmed by the quickly following Thanks every time.
My brain feels like it spasms as the realization hits me. Jesus. Maybe no one has asked me anything about myself…ever.
I quickly shake away the surely preposterous thought, but the trace of it lingers. Have I really been living by someone else’s direction for that long?
It’s only when he starts to pull back, the heady scent of his body wash fading away inch by inch, that I realize how foolishly I squandered the moments in his arms thinking about anything other than the feel of genuine affection from another human being. He’s warm and solid, and I haven’t hugged someone else like this since the night we made the baby.
He steps away, and a cool rush of uncertainty pebbles the skin of my arms. I run my hands up and down them quickly to ward off the chill.
Never mind that it hardly ever dips below seventy degrees in Southern California or the fact that I’ve felt like I’m living on the surface of the sun since I got pregnant—obviously, my blood has thinned from excessive vomiting or something.
We’re both quiet as we try to figure out where to go from here. There are a million and one things to talk about, but not even one of them feels like it’ll be easy.
“When did you find out
?” he finally asks, delving headfirst into everything I’m trying to avoid, and I wince.
“About three weeks after we slept together.” I shrug helplessly. “I’m never late…and then, I was.”
He nods, lost in his own thoughts as I try my best to stay standing.
When I got out of bed this morning, the shrill notes of Heidi’s voice sounding like the worst alarm clock in the world, I never expected to be face-to-face with Harrison Hughes.
If I’m honest, I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to be face-to-face with him again.
And I know that’s terrible.
I know he’s the father of the baby and that he deserves the chance to be a part of his child’s life—I know all of the important things.
I just also know that I had sex with him under the pretense that it was no big deal, without giving him the heads-up that I was a virgin or a celebrity—a whole list of other important things.
Things I feel shame over. Things I can’t change and don’t have a good excuse for. Things I can’t explain away with a simple sentence and a pat on the back.
I don’t even know anything about him. Hell, I certainly didn’t know he had a million dollars to toss around just to get a meeting with his baby mama.
Harrison’s face shutters as he steps back another foot and then spins in a circle, interlacing his hands at the back of his neck before turning to face me again, his face resolute but calm. “I had no clue you were a virgin, Rock.”
“I know,” I say softly.
His face creases as he tilts his ear toward his shoulder. “I would have been…different. I would have looked after you more. God, I can’t even stand the thought that I might have hurt you. Did I hurt you?”
I bite my lips and shake my head swiftly. “You didn’t hurt me.” Not even close.
“I wish I’d known,” he reiterates. “I would—”
“Never have touched me,” I finish for him with a raised eyebrow. “I know it, and you know it. There are two kinds of guys out there when it comes to women like me—the kind that hunts virgins for sport and the kind that avoids the emotional drama pointedly. I can tell…you would have avoided the drama.”