Chapter 7
7
Millie
“Josefine Noa Beckham, why the hell would you tell Cameron I’d come to dinner when Ezra will be there too?” I shoot off the couch and into my room, where I throw myself onto the bed. Yes, I’m being dramatic. I am an actor, after all.
My cousin follows me into my bedroom. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” I flop over onto my back. “Jo, I haven’t seen him since your engagement.”
“So?” She fists her hands on her hips, looming over me.
Pain lances my chest as I cover my face with both hands. “I was skinny then. Like NYC Pilates-toned skinny. And now I’m… this .”
“Oh, Millie.” Voice gentle, she sits on the bed next to me. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but you still look hot as fuck. And you’ve got to know that your worth has nothing to do with your clothing size.”
“I know,” I sigh. But emotionally…
“Listen.” She shakes my shoulder. “Thick thighs are in. Just look at Reneé Rapp.”
I can’t help but laugh. Joey knows she’s my celebrity crush. The amusement fades quickly, though.
“What about the shit that went down with Sam? We were dating the same freaking girl. Don’t you think that’s weird?” With a groan, I throw my arm over my face. “Why do I even need to come to dinner?”
“You need to hear that from him in person.”
Interest piqued, I heave myself up. “At least help me find something to wear.”
Standing in the doorway of my walk-in closet, I scan my inventory. It might as well be a pop-up shop for Zara—I have jeans in every size under the sun.
Joey snags a cream-colored strappy top from the rack as I pick out a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, and once she shuffles out to the living room so I can change, I pull the top over my head. It only takes an instant to realize it’s too small. Dammit . Rather than trying to force it over my breasts, I retrace my steps to take it off. Only, as I do, it gets stuck.
Fuck . This is a sensory nightmare.
My mouth is covered by the fabric, causing a sense of panic to wash over me. Tight spaces like elevators or the subway during rush hour don’t bother me, but getting caught in my clothes sends my heart racing. It’s why I must sleep naked.
“ Joey ,” I call, my voice pitchy and trembling. “Help me.”
“Just breathe,” she says when she approaches me, her tone calm. “Don’t move. I’ve got this.”
I’m surprised she isn’t laughing like she did the time I begged her to cut me out of a shirt in a changing room when we were teenagers. I swore I’d be suffocated by polyester that day.
After what feels like an hour—though is probably closer to a minute—I’m freed from the shirt and am panting for air.
“You good?” she asks .
“Fuck.” I double over, my hands on my knees. “I hate when that happens.”
Cursing the shirt, I settle on a flowy black V-neck instead.
“Damn.” Joey’s eyes are glued to my chest. “I hope this isn’t offensive, but your new boobs are a huge perk. Pun intended.”
“You’re right. My tits are a fucking smoke show now.” Laughing, I give them a squeeze for emphasis.
Once I’m fully dressed, she insists on curling my hair, so I let her pamper me.
An hour later, with spiked boots sharp enough to kill a man, we climb into an Uber.
At the restaurant, Ezra’s eyes scorch my body the instant I step through the door. Heat creeps up my neck as I force my shoulders back and keep my chin high. I’m so self-conscious right now.
When we approach the table, Cam tugs me into a tight hug, shaking me back and forth with so much vigor I feel like a bobblehead.
When he releases me, Ezra steps forward.
The sight of him up close makes my knees wobble. He’s also in ripped black jeans, accompanied by a fitted white tee. His beard is trimmed nicely, and his unruly curls rest just above his shoulders. He looks… different.
“Millie.” It’s quick, but he looks me up and down, probably assessing how much I’ve changed too.
“Ezra.” I nod.
“You look?—”
“Can I get you drinks to start off?” A petite young woman appears beside the table.
Thank god too. Whatever he was about to say regarding my looks, he can shove it up his stupidly tattooed ass. Yeah, I might have been intoxicated when we hooked up in Greece, but I remember that infamous peach well, along with the inked Your Name at the top of one cheek. Apparently he got it right after high school so that when he was with a girl, he could say “I got your name tattooed on my ass.”
I should have thrown him out of my hotel room right that instant for being so corny, but the way he told the story strangely endeared him to me. Don’t we all do stupid shit when we’re eighteen? He has to live with that tattoo for the rest of his life, so I’d say the guy has suffered enough.
The server sets four glasses of water on the table, then stands obnoxiously close to Ezra as she waits for our beverage order. She’s hot and moody-looking (totally my type), but I can’t peel my eyes from the man sitting across from me.
“A round of tequila shots,” he orders, head tipped back.
“Actually, I’ll have a vodka tonic with lime.” I zero in on him. “I hate when people order my drink.”
“Noted.” With a thick swallow, he props his elbows on the table and cracks his knuckles.
Why does he look so nervous?
“So, Millie, any cool auditions lately?” Cam asks.
Before I can answer, there’s a thunk under the table, and he frowns at Joey.
“Can we just cut to the chase?” Picking up my glass, I lock eyes with Ezra. “What are we doing here?”
“Fine.” He pulls his hair into a knot with an elastic tie, looking anywhere but at me, then lets out a sigh so big his whole body deflates. “I need you to be my wife.”
I choke on the sip of water I’ve just taken and spit it onto the table. “Come again?” I scramble for a napkin and dab my lips. “They must have put crack in this, because I could have sworn you asked me to be your wife. No, wait. There was no proposal. It was more of a demand. What the fuck?”
Joey lays a hand on my forearm, steadying me .
“Shit,” Ezra says, pulling at the front of his shirt like he’s fanning himself. “That’s not what I meant to say. I got nervous.”
The confident man I met a year ago is sweating now, so I give him the benefit of the doubt and remain silent so he can explain.
“I just found out that I have a brother.”
Eyes narrowed, I glance at Cam, but he’s staring at his buddy.
“He didn’t know that my father is also his father until recently. His mom died and, well, my dad, Rob, is the only family he has now. And me, I guess.”
My heart pangs at the thought of a kid losing his mom. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lips pressed together, I study him. “But what’s that have to do with?—”
“My dad’s a dick,” he interrupts. “He cheated on my mom when she was pregnant.”
There’s no stopping my grimace.
“Yeah. Kane—that’s my, uh, brother—found me on Instagram. We got to talking, and he wants to meet me.”
I turn to my cousin, then back to Ezra. “ Okay . Again, what does that have to do with me?”
He takes a swig of his drink, his eyes darting back and forth. “I may have let it slip to Rob that I’m married now.”
“I’m still not following.”
“My whole life, my dad has tried to convince me that I’m just like him. But he’s a misogynistic, cheating womanizer and I…” He huffs, falling against the back of his seat, his brows furrowed. “I’m nothing like him. But he continues to make comments about me being a ‘chronic bachelor’ and how it’s my ‘destiny to be single’ like him. I’m just so fucking sick of it.”
“I’m so?—”
“So.” He cuts off my apology. “I panicked and told him I eloped last month. I figured it would get him to shut up and drop the topic. Instead, he asked me to bring my wife when I meet Kane this summer. ”
I nod slowly. His reason for lying makes sense, but?—
Gasping, I slap a hand to my chest. Shit. I know exactly what’s coming next.
“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no.”
“Millie,” Joey hedges. “You just said you need a vacation.”
“I didn’t mean like this.” I push off the table, the chair screeching against the sticky floor, and turn to Cam and Joey. “I can’t believe you set me up.”
I’m out of the restaurant and striding down the city sidewalk faster than a bullet train. I’m halfway down the block, moving as quickly as my stilettos will allow, when I hear my name.
“Millie.”
Click-clack.
Hands balled into fists and vision tunneled, I continue on.
Click-clack .
“Millie.”
Click-clack .
“Amelia.” Ezra darts in front of me, blocking the path.
I have no choice but to come to an abrupt halt. The sudden stop causes a pedestrian to bump into me, which, in turn, forces me to fall like a domino into Ezra’s chest.
Hands splayed across his shirt, I steady myself. Damn, his muscles are hard.
“What?” Without making eye contact, I sidestep him.
He grasps my wrist and leads me under an awning. “Can we talk?”
“No, we can’t fucking talk. Have you lost all good sense? I’m not going to be your wife.”
“ Fake wife.”
Mouth agape, I stare at his stupidly handsome face. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
“Millie,” he exhales. He’s close enough that his breath causes the hair at my temples to flutter. “I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t desperate.”
I glower at him. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”
“That’s not what I meant. Ugh . I’m fucking this up.” He drags a hand down his face. “Please, can we go somewhere to talk, just the two of us?”
An exasperated groan escapes my lips. I really don’t want to, but obviously, he’s not going to give this up until I hear him out. Plus, my feet really hurt from hightailing it in these shoes.
“Fine.”
“Would you mind coming back to my apartment?” Head lowered, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Only so it’s quiet and you can say whatever the hell you want.”
Lips pressed together, I harrumph. It’s like he knows I need space to be dramatic.
Neither of us speaks the entire ride to his place, but when his doorman greets us, I’m forced to dig deep for genuine politeness. The second the elevator doors close, though, I’m back to stoic. There’s no way he can convince me to follow through with this scheme of his.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, toeing off his shoes at the door.
I follow suit and hang my purse on a hook, then follow him to the left into the main living space. Only when I’ve parked myself on one of two leather captain’s chairs do I respond. “Something strong.”
While he moves into the kitchen, I observe the collage of pictures on the wall, all of which I assume Cam took.
Ezra returns with a glass tumbler filled with an amber liquid. One quick sniff confirms it’s straight-up whiskey.
“Would you prefer something?—”
“This is good, thanks.” I take a swig, welcoming the burn in my chest, then quickly gulp down another before setting the glass on the table beside me.
He sinks into the sofa adjacent to me, and for a long moment, we’re both silent.
“Look,” he eventually says, “I realize this is a lot to ask?—”
“No shit.”
He eyes me, his jaw clenched.
“Sorry.” I take another sip of my drink. “It’s just that… the two of us have slept with the same person. Don’t you think that’s weird as fuck?”
With a long exhale, he leans back, knees wide in that manspreading position I secretly find so hot. He’s got one arm draped across the top of the sofa and his other hand wrapped tightly around his whiskey, which he rests on his thick thigh. “It’s not ideal.”
A sardonic laugh escapes me. Honestly, our situation is ridiculous. “How did this even happen?”
“I met Samantha at karaoke night at?—”
“FrenchSHEs?”
He dips his chin. “Mm-hmm. Cam and Joey dragged me there one night.”
Head tilted, I consider his words. “Do you think there were others?”
“Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I feel like such a fool.”
He angles forward and sets his drink on the table between us. “You’re not a fool. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and a whole hell of a lot of therapy. It was not my fault or yours. Sure, it’s a little weird that we’ve slept with the same person, I’ll give you that, but it’s not like you and I haven’t…”
My face heats, and not because of the whiskey.
“Listen,” he continues. “We can’t change any of that, and I’m willing to get past this whole Samantha thing if you are.” His deep brown eyes penetrate mine.
What are the odds that in a city of over eight million people, the two of us have shared the same woman?
“Did you get tested?” I blurt.
He barks out a laugh. Probably at my word vomit. “Of course. You?”
I nod.
Another round of silence passes between us.
“You walked out on me, though,” I say, picking at a loose thread, gaze averted. “That night. At the party. You left me there after Sam dropped the bomb.”
“Fuck.”
The single word, spoken with so much pain, snags my attention.
He dips his chin to his chest. “I know. I was in utter disbelief, and I’m not proud of the way I handled the situation.” His eyes find mine. “I’m so sorry.”
He pissed me off that night, abandoning me the way he did. But I was shocked, too, so I guess I can understand.
“So, about that crazy idea of yours…”
“Right.” He scoots to the edge of the couch. “I realize it’s a huge ask. But I can’t show up at my dad’s doorstep single. I just—I just can’t.”
My stomach twists at the emotion in his voice. My parents are practically perfect, the spitting image of support, so I can’t imagine what it must feel like to grow up with a parent like Ezra’s dad.
“All my life, he’s told me I’m just like him. He acts like bachelorhood is some sort of club that gives men permission to be assholes. And I’m fucking sick of it. I don’t expect you to understand, but I need this.” He gazes down, like the words he’s searching for are written on the floor beneath his feet, and eventually homes in on me again. “Has Cam ever mentioned my depression?”
Lips pressed in a straight line, I shake my head.
He clears his throat. “It’s under control, and I’m on medication, but…”
My heart pinches inside my chest at his pained expression.
“That’s why I never contacted you after that night . I was in a really dark…” He shakes his head. “For a long time, I wasn’t myself. My breakup with Samantha brought up a lot of childhood trauma and other shit.” He straightens again and picks up his glass. “The truth is, I worry that if I go to Hawaii, spending time with my dad will trigger my depression. If I show up alone and am forced to hear him compare us over and over, I’m afraid I’ll eventually believe it.”
Emotion clogging my throat, I croak, “Ezra…”
He holds up a hand, but there’s nothing rude about it.
“Again, I don’t expect you to understand, and I realize this is a huge ask, but?—”
“Fine.”
His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “What?”
“I’ll do it.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance, despite the apprehension coursing through me. “How hard can it be? I am an actress, after all.” I flip my hair over my shoulder for dramatic effect.
Across from me, he cracks a grin that makes my heart thump against my breastbone.
It feels good to make him smile. I may not always know the right things to say during intense moments like this one, but I’m pretty damn good at making people smile, so I focus on that for the time being.