Chapter 32 Stevie
Stevie
Lex’s costar Willa Farrow is hosting a postpremiere party at a local club to keep the buzz alive for the hit series as it maintains its place at number one.
Meanwhile, I’m a nervous wreck.
We’ve done this before—been in the spotlight, all dolled up, hanging on to each other for the cameras to catch. But something heavier lingers in the air tonight. Unfinished business, unsaid things. A heady tension hovers between us, one that has my hands sweating and my belly swirling with anxiety.
A crowd outside the venue goes wild when we step out of the limo, Lex’s hand in mine, our opposite hands lifted in a wave. We both grin wide, and I manage to stay on my stilettoed feet as the camera flashes blind me and translucent strobes send all five senses into a tizzy.
Lex leans in to whisper in my ear, his smile still in place. “Are you about to fall?”
He gives my hand a squeeze, his cologne wafting under my nose, and I refuse to dredge up any double meaning. “Nope. Perfectly stable.”
“Good.”
We slip inside the main doors, landing in a darkly lit club where music pounds and multicolored lights paint rainbows on white linen tablecloths.
Lex is greeted instantly, producers and supporting castmates worming their way into his bubble with high fives and handshakes.
I harness the smile, flashing my teeth and making introductions, while Lex’s hand is never far—laced with mine, skimming up my spine, tenderly squeezing the back of my neck.
I wander away and snatch a flute of champagne off the buffet table strewn with hors d’oeuvres: miniature quiches, shrimp cocktail, and delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar.
The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the buzz of mingled conversations, the room electric and alive, charged with the energy of the industry’s elite.
“I love your dress.”
Whirling around, I lock eyes with the stunning Willa Farrow.
Her jade eyes gleam, her hair is pulled up into a slicked-back bun, and she’s wearing a formfitting, knee-length cream dress with a heart-shaped corset.
It’s paired with a necklace that catches my breath—a lacework motif of white gold and dazzling diamonds, resembling the one Nicole Kidman wore in the film version of Moulin Rouge!
She’s beautiful, and I’m momentarily captivated by the woman who played the role of me.
“Oh…thank you. Your necklace is incredible.” I’m definitely staring at her boobs, but I guess that’s the point.
“Thanks.” Scarlet lips curve up with a smile as she fiddles with the gem-studded pendant hovering above her cleavage. “It’s a little braggadocious.”
I take a sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing on my tongue.
I’m showcasing my whimsy-goth vibe tonight, a blend of ethereal and dramatic, featuring a deep, inky velvet bodice that cinches at the waist before flowing into a voluminous skirt.
It’s a cascade of layered tulle in shades of midnight blue and deep purple, giving the illusion of a swirling night sky.
The goal was to stand out, to wear something different and bold, but standing beside Willa makes me feel like a mere face in the crowd.
“Did you like the show?” Willa inquires, reaching for a glass and fingering the stem. “I’ve been meaning to chat with you. You were so busy at the gala, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
That’s a loaded question.
All I manage is a soft “I did.”
“Thank God.” She chuckles lightly, her lips leaving a red kiss on the rim of her flute.
“I was a little nervous to meet you. It’s a lot of pressure, you know?
It was easier when I didn’t have a face to put to the name and I could kind of just do my thing.
But you’re a real person, so…” She pops her shoulders, looking shy.
“I don’t know. I hope I lived up to your expectations. ”
Her tone is soft, her expression candid. She’s genuinely looking for my feedback, hoping she did the role justice. “You were fantastic. No complaints.”
“Oh good. Lex gave me a little direction, so I hope the honesty came through.”
Curiosity niggles. “What direction exactly? If you don’t mind me prying.”
“He said you were kind. Wholesome…I think that was the word he used. He wanted to make sure I harnessed empathy and made the character really relatable. He also said you were supremely talented—dramatically and vocally—so filming those high school scenes with the stage play were a bit intimidating.”
“Did he tell you any stories?” I swallow down another sip. “About us?”
Her lips pucker with thought. “Not really. He wasn’t exactly chatty or forthcoming about your personal history. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what was real and what was made up for the story.” She hesitates. “Was the accident real? Were you really in a coma?”
My cheeks heat. “There was an accident, yes. The details surrounding it were embellished, and I was never in a coma. My leg was broken. I had a few follow-up knee surgeries.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m glad you’ve made a full recovery.”
I nod, biting my lip. “You two had great chemistry on-screen.”
Her gaze floats over my shoulder to where Lex stands, caught in conversation. “Yes, well, he’s a master at his craft. We didn’t spend much time together off set, but filming with him will always be a highlight of my career. He’s truly gifted. One of the greats.”
I turn around to face him as I stand shoulder to shoulder with Willa—real me mirroring the actress who played me.
Lex glances around the club, his eyes dancing from face to face, until his attention lands on the two of us watching him from afar.
A small smile flickers on his lips, but I can’t tell who he’s looking at.
“Well, it was so nice to meet you, Stevie.” Willa places a warm hand on my upper arm. “I hope you enjoy the party.”
“Likewise,” I murmur, and we share a smile before she sashays away, headed toward Lex and a few other men in suits.
My eyes linger in their direction.
Willa approaches him, then lifts on her tiptoes to give him a hug, followed by a light peck on the cheek. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, hugging her back, his eyes light and playful.
An ache pinches me between the ribs. They’re so glamorous together, a true Hollywood pair. I suddenly feel out of place. Small and vulnerable, itchy in my own skin.
But then Lex glances up, ushers me toward them.
Downing the rest of my champagne, I discard the empty glass, gather the fabric of my skirt, and make my way over to the group.
“Hey,” he says, smile still in place. He reaches for my hand and tugs me closer until I’m flush against him. “I missed you.”
His gaze dips to my chest, to the low-cut bodice pushing up the swell of my breasts. The trim is adorned with tiny, hand-sewn beads that catch and reflect like stars.
One slow blink and his eyes are back on mine, darkening and hooded. A swallow works his throat as he murmurs, “You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Your dress…” Another quick flick of his eyes. “It’s good.”
I can’t help the genuine smile that blooms, not for the cameras and not for the crowd. Simply because Lex likes my dress and that makes me smile.
I lean into him. My eyes flutter closed as I press my cheek to his chest, to the space where his heart beats. Warmth and comfort. It’s like a switch flipped, the stab of insecurity long forgotten, and I’m at peace.
Exactly where I’m meant to be.
This isn’t real, Stevie.
But in this dark room with pulsing, colorful lights and his arms lifting to wrap around me, pulling me even closer, reality bends.
It wobbles, blurs, and cracks. His words are just lines, the kiss he presses to the top of my head a top-notch performance, but the way my heart pounds in response is real.
It thumps the same beats it did last week outside Maverick’s studio and on that stage, when his mouth met mine and everything around us melted away.
This. Isn’t. Real.
Terror sneaks its way inside me.
Confusion. Panic.
I shouldn’t feel this safe with him.
But…I do.
The thought gnaws at the edges of my mind, jeopardizing the walls I’ve built to keep him at a distance.
My breath hitches as his hand slides up my back, fingers splaying out to hold me tighter, like he’s afraid I might slip away.
And maybe I should. Maybe I should step back, break free before this illusion becomes something I can’t escape from.
Because I know it will break me when the curtain finally falls.
“Hey,” he whispers again, this time with urgency, a flickering of worry. “You okay? You’re trembling.”
Oh God. “I am?”
“Yeah. Are you cold?” His arms close tighter around me, a smothering swathe of heat and protection and intimacy.
Dizziness threatens, a punch-drunk elixir of conflicting emotion. “I’m not cold. I’m…” My words trail off when I feel him stiffen. Tense to stone. I lift my cheek off his chest and glance up with a frown. “Are you okay?”
His eyes are aimed at something across the room. The light is gone, the smile wiped out. Face ashen, eyes glazed over, Lex stares over my head, his arms falling from my back in slow motion.
A shot of panic hits when I watch him turn ghostlike before me. “Lex.”
He doesn’t hear me. Or if he does, he doesn’t show it.
He swallows.
And now he’s the one trembling.
“Lex.” I reach for his hand, give it a squeeze. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Finally, he blinks away from the scene and glances down at me. “Um…” Another blink. A frazzled headshake. “I…I’ll be right back.”
“Wait—”
He spins away.
With a lump in my throat, I watch him push his way through the crowd, nearly stumbling as he disappears to a far corner of the room outside the restrooms, and I’m not sure if I should follow. A few people watch him go, then glance at me as if I did something.
A moment later, my phone pings from inside my clutch. Flustered, I take a step back and reach inside, fishing it out.
It’s a text. From Lex.
My Christian: She’s here
A chill races down my spine.
Me: Who?
A beat passes, and his bubbles bob and sway.