Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Deacon
Ivy Blanc and I sat across from each other in the latest swanky New York hot spot, smiling at each other like we both had sexy secrets.
“I swear to God, if I go to one more restaurant that serves foam as food, I’m going to have a complete breakdown,” I muttered, staring down at a bubbling froth on my plate.
“My cheeks hurt,” Ivy murmured through her smile. “Men have it so lucky. You can just smirk.”
“My cheeks hurt too if it’s any consolation,” I added.
“Someone’s always watching,” Ivy complained in a tight singsong. “At least we’re not alone under this microscope.”
A woman wandered over, and Ivy’s bodyguard, Sergei, was about to intervene when I gave him a mild head shake and he allowed her to pass.
“Hi,” the middle-aged woman said, giving us a half-wave. “So sorry to interrupt, but . . .”
“It’s absolutely fine,” Ivy said. “Did you want us to sign that?” She nodded to the woman’s hands tightly clutching a pen and a napkin.
“Uh, just Deacon, please.” The woman rushed forward and placed the napkin and pen in front of me. “I loved you in One Man’s Call ,” she gushed, and Ivy smiled, ignoring the slight.
“Thank you,” I replied with a broad, fake—but believable—smile. “What’s your name? I’ll sign it to you.”
“Oh, it’s not for me,” she said, and I wondered if she was going to try to sell this napkin. “It’s for my daughter,” she added. “She’s had your posters up in her bedroom since she was ten.” I wanted to say that none of my movies were appropriate for a ten-year-old but refrained. “You can make it out to Sophie. S-O-P-H-I-E.”
The woman leaned over my shoulder, casually putting a hand on me and running it down my back as if I were an object just for her to touch. I was starting to feel like one of those statues where my biceps had been rubbed and fondled so many times they’d turned to shiny gold. I let out a little laugh as I twisted, moving out of her touch and passing the napkin back to her.
“There you go.”.
“Thank you,” she hedged, and I could tell she was waiting to say more. “Could I have a hug?”
My smile tightened as I said, “Of course.”
I’d learned the hard way, celebrities weren’t allowed to say no to hugs without being labelled as arrogant or rude. Apparently, my body no longer belonged to me, and I knew that Ivy had it a million times worse. Men were allowed to be “dark and brooding,” whereas women were just called divas. Ivy and I were made for public consumption now. It felt like I was taking more and more pieces of myself to give to everyone else until I had nothing left—a stump like the Giving Tree. In a world where everyone wanted to take, Dove had filled me up. She’d been the one that had made me bloom instead of hacking away at me. I was more acutely aware of it now in her absence.
I ached thinking about her again as I leaned over to hug the woman. She lingered, and Sergei took a step in, placing a hand on the woman’s back to gently extract her. “Thank you,” the woman said, voice shaking with nerves. “You are just so handsome and firm.”
I laughed lightly. “You have a good night.”
Sergei started ushering the woman away and pulled the curtain between us and the rest of the guests, keeping us still visible to the bay window and the row of flashing camera lights.
“Remember when this used to be fun?” Ivy asked, swirling her straw around her drink, still keeping a mildly amused look on her face.
“It still is sometimes, isn’t it?”
“The fact you have to ask says plenty.”
“I mean, I’m grateful?—”
“Yes, yes,” Ivy said, wheeling her hands. “We’re all grateful.” She picked up her cutlery again and began cutting her steak before neatly setting the utensils down.
“You’re not going to eat?” I asked.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Then why are we at a steakhouse?”
“We’re here to be photographed,” she explained. “They can just throw this out when we leave.”
My mind immediately flashed to Dove and her hatred of food waste. She would’ve demanded a to-go box at least. The thought of food waste shouldn’t choke me up, yet here I was, wanting to cry over the smallest thing. I wished I could go back to a time when I’d thought Dove and I could never be together, when I’d thought she’d never want me. Longing was far better than heartbreak.
“I’m sorry I’m being terrible company,” Ivy finally said, looking delicately down at her plate. “I should be over Eliza already. It’s been over a month. It’s your turn to be the grumpy, sad one.”
“At least we can be messes together.” I huffed out a laugh. “So, dating life is not going better for you, I take it?”
“Nope,” she said, popping her P. “The number of lesbians in the industry is already slim, and the ones who are out even slimmer.” She moved her mashed potatoes around with her fork, raking the tines across it like a mediation garden. “Sometimes it feels impossible to find someone who can keep up with this lifestyle.”
“Now that I understand,” I said wistfully.
“Oh please.” Ivy rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the same. You had a good thing and you let it get away.”
I lifted my head, uncaring about my facial expressions. “What?”
“You and Dove were great together. Obviously.” She waved me up and down. “Not many people could handle being in this fishbowl,” she added. “But I think someone who wrangles snakes for a living just might be one of them. I saw her on the red carpet. She was in full control. You should’ve hung on to her. She was cool.”
“She was cool ?” I echoed incredulously.
“I mean, yeah. Like, the first media storm is scary, but she would’ve gotten through it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grumbled. “This is too much to ask someone to take on.”
“I don’t know about that. With a little time and coaching . . .” Ivy shrugged. “She handled me and I’m awful.”
“You really are,” I said, and she grinned. “But Dove told me she doesn’t want to be in the spotlight. She said it’s all too much for her and her family.”
“So she freaked out for a second,” Ivy countered. “Who hasn’t? If anything, her family business will thrive with you attached to it. Look at those Australian people, the Mulligans?—”
“Madigans,” I said tightly. “And I would caution you that making that comparison could lead to being public enemy number one with the Lachlan family.”
“Whatever,” Ivy continued, unbothered. “What I’m saying is, don’t take no for an answer. Go after her.”
“I can’t,” I said. “Not if she asked me not to. Not if this isn’t what she really wants.”
“What do any of us know about what we really want,” she groused, taking another sip of her martini.
“I’m doing what’s best for her.”
“Ugh. How chivalrous of you to leave her alone to navigate all of this notoriety without the teams or protection that you have,” she snarked, and that hit me like a sucker punch. “If you actually wanted to respect her wishes, you would’ve helped her disentangle her life from yours.”
“I have.”
“Oh really?” Ivy asked, cocking her head. “Then who is the current director of your new charity, hm?” I glared at her. “That’s what I thought. You’re too chicken to win her back and too chicken to let her go.”
I wanted to drop my face in my hands and rub my eyes in frustration, but I knew that someone would grab a photo and it would all be twisted in some unfavorable way. “You’re right. Maybe I should dissolve the trust. Make it so Dove isn’t tied to me in any way anymore.”
Ivy frowned. “That’s not what I was?—”
“I need to give her the choice,” I carried on. “A real choice, not one sprung on her by the tabloids.”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I don’t understand what you’re saying now.”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” she said, eating the olive from the dregs of her glass. “I’m just miserable and wish at least one of us had a chance at a happily ever after.”
“I think both of us do.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Where am I going to find a hot gay girl who has her own busy work life so she can understand mine, who is okay with being in the limelight, and has a job that would let her jet around the world with me when I’m working?”
I grinned, leaning back in my chair. “You know, Ivy, I think I should introduce you to my sister.”