Chapter 21 #2
I roll my eyes, but there’s a weird pang in my chest hearing him talk about my girl like that.
Not jealousy exactly, more like… possessiveness.
And yeah, it’s Will. But the thought of him knocking on that door…
and her smiling for him? It twists something deep inside me because she’s mine.
She chose me. And fuck if I’m not terrified of anything that might make her forget it—even for a second.
Still, if things go the way I picture them in my head, Amy and Will are going to be in each other’s lives permanently. My wife and my best friend.
Yeah. I’m ridiculous. Fully aware. Don’t care.
“No cockblocking. I’m not home,” I mutter. “Had a meeting. Now I’m headed to the hairdresser. Gotta make sure we’re on track for the Anlon hair.”
Will groans dramatically. “Why the hell does the hero need long, flowy hair anyway?”
“Beats me. Said it’s ‘part of the lore’ or some shit, but I think women just find that sexy.” I smirk. “And yeah, going to Leona’s.”
“Leona, huh?” Will perks up. “I’m at the gym down the street. Wanna grab coffee after? I’ll even pretend to care about your hair crisis.”
I snort. “Yeah, alright. Meet me in an hour.”
“Done. Don’t get kidnapped by hairdressers in the meantime.”
“Later, Winters.”
When I get to the salon, Leona’s already waiting. She waves me inside one of her private rooms with walls lined with sketches of Anlon—shoulder-length hair, flowing just enough to catch the light. Definitely not my usual look.
Leona hums, running her fingers through my hair—longer now, brushing the base of my neck. The curls give it this boyish, unkempt vibe that Amy seems to love. I can still feel her hands there, tugging lightly, playing with the ends like she was memorizing me.
“You know…” Leona starts, pausing with a thoughtful look. “If it’s a problem, I can talk to production. We could go with a wig.”
I grimace. “God, no. Wigs itch. And they look like hell after a fight scene.” I shake my head, picturing Amy’s soft laugh as her fingers comb through my curls. Besides, my girl’s a fan and played with it all night, I think, but don’t say it.
Leona grins, probably seeing the light in my eyes. “Well then, no wigs. We’ll get you there naturally.”
“Good.” I exhale, settling in. “I want the Anlon look.”
Leona hums her approval and gets to work—trimming, shaping, and layering just enough to start the transition. “We’ll need a few more sessions, but you’ll get there. By the time cameras roll, you’ll be Anlon’s twin.”
I grin. “Let’s just hope the fans see it that way.”
She snorts. “With that face? You’ll break the internet, Hollander.”
An hour later, I step out feeling lighter—hair tousled, curls falling just right and brushing the tops of my shoulders. Yeah, Amy’s going to love this.
I shoot Will a quick text.
Me: Done. Where you at?
The reply comes fast.
Will: Corner café. Already ordered you the expensive shit.
When I walk in, I spot him immediately—sunglasses on, hair still damp from a shower, and sprawled in a corner booth like he owns the place.
“You look like a dick,” I tell him as I slide in across from him.
Will grins wide, no shame whatsoever. “Yeah, but a rich dick. That counts.” He nods toward the coffee waiting for me. “There. Black. No sugar… boring as hell.”
I snort but grab the cup anyway, taking a sip. “I’ve got that Men’s Health shoot on Thursday.”
“Ohhh… funny,” he says around a mouthful of macaron. “They didn’t ask me.”
“Funny that, yeah.”
His grin fades, brows drawing together as he studies me. There’s no joke when he speaks next—just quiet concern. “So? How’s she really doing? Amy.”
The fact that he asks without teasing hits me harder than I expected.
“She’s… good. I think.” I stare at the swirl of coffee. “Feels like she belongs here more than she knows. I’m taking her to The Immortal premiere.”
Will lets out a low whistle, his eyebrows shooting up. “Making it official already, huh?” He leans back, giving me that cocky, knowing smirk. “What—scared she’ll change her mind?”
I meet his eyes, dead serious. “No.” A pause. “Obviously.”
He studies me a second longer, then gives a slow nod, something almost like approval flashing in his eyes. “She won’t. But a premiere? That’s a different kind of brutal, man.”
“I know,” I admit quietly. “But she’s perfect.”
“For you? Clearly.” He snorts. “But you remember the fallout after the London premiere fiasco?”
I wince. “Yeah… I know. But I need this, Will. I need to make it official—for me. I’m proud to be with her. And the world needs to know exactly who I belong to.”
Will lets out a low groan, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Ah, shit, man… That’s some real Shakespeare-level romance right there.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, but I can’t help the grin pulling at my lips.
He waves me off, resting his arm across the back of the booth. “You know… ask Mariana to help. She loves collecting strays.”
My jaw tightens. “My Amy’s not a stray.”
“Relax. You know what I mean. She’ll want Amy looking the part, and as brutal as she is, Mariana knows how to handle this shit.”
Mariana Jones—Hollywood royalty. Officially forty-one, but let’s be real… no one actually knows. Her real age is kept tighter than Area 51 secrets, and if I had to bet? She’s pushing fifty.
She’s known for taking fresh starlets under her wing, shaping them, and molding them until they shine so bright they’re damn near untouchable. They call it Mariana’s circus for a reason. And yeah… once you’re in, you’re hooked.
I might not like her much. Hell, most days, I flat-out don’t trust her, but the truth is… she could be an asset. She’s not after me, never has been. There’s nothing she stands to gain by hurting me or Amy.
Maybe… just maybe, she could help Amy walk that red carpet next to me with the confidence and pride she deserves.
Still, the thought deflates fast, doubt curling low in my gut. “I don’t even know her. Why would she give a damn about me or Amy?”
Will grins like the cocky bastard he is, pulling his phone out.
“You don’t. But I do.” He wiggles his brows.
“Mariana used to suck my dick like it was her favorite candy back when I first hit Hollywood. Let’s just say…
I’ve been pretty good at scratching that particular itch whenever she needed it. ”
“Jesus Christ, Will.”
He shrugs, unbothered, already typing. “Don’t knock it. Favors like that build long-term loyalty.”
I rub a hand down my face as he fires off a text. Seconds later, his screen lights up, and he grins wide. “Done. She’ll take your Amy on a spa day Friday—get her ready for your premiere.”
I stare at him. “Just like that?”
Will grins. “Just like that. Never doubt the power of good sex and bad decisions, my friend.”
By the time I make it home, the sun’s starting to set, bathing the house in gold. But it’s not the light that stops me—it’s the smell.
Something rich, buttery, and familiar wafts through the air, wrapping around me like a memory. And then I hear her—humming softly and off-key from the kitchen.
I stop in the doorway, watching her.
Amy’s there, barefoot in one of my T-shirts, hair up in a messy bun as she fusses over something bubbling in the oven. She hasn’t noticed me yet—and for a minute, I just… watch. Memorizing her. Burning the sight of her into my brain because fuck, this—this feels like the dream. Like home.
And it hits me, not the food, not the humming, but the simple fact that she belongs here. Not hidden, not playing house while I chase the next job, but shining. Living the life she deserves.
And if that means pushing her until she finally writes that damn book she keeps dreaming about? Then I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to give her that.
“Hey,” I say softly, finally stepping into the room.
She startles a little, then smiles. “Oh! You’re home. I, uh… I made the potato and cheese gratin we talked about. Thought it’d be nice.”
Fuck. My stomach growls because it smells amazing, but it also twists because I know what I have to say.
I sigh, pulling her into my arms, breathing her in. “Fangirl… fuck. That smells incredible, but… I can’t. Not tonight.”
Her smile falters. “Why?”
I stroke her back gently. “I’ve got the Men’s Health shoot in two days. They want the abs to pop, so… I’m on a stupid strict diet until then. No carbs. No dairy. Just chicken and sadness.”
She lets out a soft laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Oh. No, it’s fine. Really.” She steps back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should’ve known.”
I catch the flicker of disappointment she tries to hide, and it guts me. It’s not just the food. It’s… this life. My world. The way it chips at her, piece by piece, until she starts expecting disappointment like it’s inevitable.
“You know what? Screw it.” I force a grin, stepping toward the dish. “It smells too damn good. Give me a plate.”
She shakes her head quickly, backing away. “No. No, Jake. I don’t want to mess up your shoot. You worked hard for this.” She waves it off like it means nothing. “Eat your… bland chicken or whatever. I’ll text Will. I’m sure he’ll happily come and finish the leftovers.”
I freeze, the words hitting harder than they should. She’s teasing, but there’s something else buried under it. Something brittle.
“Hey…”
She cuts me off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s fine. Really. Go shower. I’ll clean up.”
And just like that, the distance settles between us, barely there but real.
I stand there, staring at the bubbling gratin like it’s a damn line drawn in the sand.
Say something. Anything. Close the fucking gap, Hollander.
But the words stick in my throat because deep down, I'm terrified. Terrified that one wrong move, one too-honest look, and she’ll realize she doesn’t belong in this world after all.
So I stay silent, and I let her turn away.
Because this is the price, isn’t it? Loving me is not easy. I just pray to God I’m worth it.