39. Aspen
Chapter 39
Aspen
“ O kay, what’s wrong?” Willow asks on the car ride home from the photoshoot, as our driver expertly weaves through the city traffic.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lie.
“Don’t insult me, Aspen. I know when something’s off with you. And anyway, you’ve been staring wistfully out the car window like you’re in a sad music video. Something’s definitely wrong. Was it my ‘hope’ lecture? Did I push too hard?”
“You’re fine. I’m just tired. Can’t I be tired?”
“You’re not tired. Well, maybe you are, but that’s not your primary emotion right now.”
I sigh, knowing Willow won’t let this go. Her eyes, so similar to mine, are staring into the depths of my soul, trying to read my mind. Then, just when I think she’s going to argue with me again, she pulls out her phone and calls someone.
“Hi, how are you?” she asks when the person answers. “I’m great, thanks. Can you and a colleague be at the penthouse in half an hour? I’ll pay triple the normal rate. Uh huh. Fantastic, see you then. Mm-hmm. Bye.”
“Who was that?” I ask once she’s hung up.
“The masseuse. If I can’t get you to talk about what’s wrong, I might as well try to get you to release all the tension in your shoulders.”
I narrow my eyes at her but she just smiles in return.
“My treat,” she adds.
“And the colleague?”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I? And besides, you’re not the only one with tension.”
“What’s up with you?” I ask her.
“Nothing, really. But I haven’t gotten a massage since before fashion month and I could use one after all that.”
“So…” Willow prods in a sickly sweet tone about forty-five minutes later when we’re on side-by-side massage tables in our family’s penthouse. When our parents were renovating this penthouse right after they were married, our mom, being the wellness guru she is, insisted on building a home spa in the space adjoining the home gym. So we have a massage room, complete with two fully-functioning, heated massage tables, surround sound, bars of Himalayan salt lights built into the ceiling, clear-quartz countertops for ‘chakra balancing,’ a waterfall wall, and, of course, state-of-the-art essential oil diffusers. On top of the massage room, there’s also a separate sauna room and hot–tub room. Us Jordans are spoiled, there’s no question about it.
“So what?” I respond sleepily. Massages always make me doze off, especially in this room. It’s always been my safe space, ever since I was a little kid. From a young age, whenever my mom noticed I was stressed or anxious she’d insist on having a spa day. Those moments were sacred to me, a chance to break free from the rest of the world and recharge, my mom at my side.
“Tell me what’s bothering you, Aspy.” Willow’s clearly taking a page out of Mom’s playbook, but I’m too tired of battling all of these emotions myself. If I could confide in anyone, it would be Willow. She’s always been there for me to lean on, even when we were just little kids, sharing snacks, painting our nails, or watching movies together, completely in our own bubble together. And besides, the masseuses aren’t going to tell anyone—they’ve been with our family forever, and they sign annual NDAs.
“If I tell you, you won’t tell anyone?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Not even Riley?”
“Not even Riley. I promise.”
I sigh into the table’s memory foam headrest. “Okay. Can I ask you something first, though?”
“Anything.”
“What does falling in love feel like?”
If Willow finds this question odd, she doesn’t let on. “It’s like the exhilarating, empowering feeling you get when you’re on one of those huge roller coasters, with the drops and the loops and the speed. Or like the feeling of walking into the penthouse after a long, winter walk through the city. You didn’t realize how much you missed the warmth, comfort, and silence until it envelops you. It’s like sunbathing on the first warm, sunny day of spring.” She pauses. “Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Unfortunately, I do.”
“With who? Grey?”
“Yeah. It’s not fake anymore, at least not for me.”
“That’s incredible, Aspen. I’m so, so, so happy for you. Wait, what do you mean by ‘at least not for you?’”
“I was starting to pick up that Grey felt the same,” I start, taking in a deep breath of the lavender-scented air before continuing. “But earlier today, while they were taking your photos, I watched a video of him—you know, from the Bond press tour he went on during his week off last week—and he completely downplayed our relationship, even though it's supposed to be fake. And he was flirting with Vivienne Karavella the whole time.”
“Vivi?”
“Yeah. I know you’re friends with her, Willy, but I’m serious, they were flirting. And she thinks he’s with me.”
“If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be. That girl could flirt with a wall—in fact, I’ve seen her flirt with men worse than walls. I wouldn’t be concerned about that. She’s just one of those naturally flirty, charismatic people, sort of like Heena. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“But Grey was flirting back.”
“Aspen,” Willow says, pulling the sheet up to cover herself before turning from her stomach onto her back.
I do the same and meet her blue-eyed stare, so similar to mine that it’s almost like looking in a mirror. Our masseuses expertly adjust accordingly, switching their focus from our backs to our legs. “What?” I ask.
“Remember the whole reason why you and Grey were asked to fake date? Because people are much more eager to see a romance film if they think the two leads are actually together, or at least have palpable chemistry?”
“I remember.”
“So, why wouldn’t Grey and Vivi be doing the exact same thing? Stirring the pot a little, making people speculate if they’ve ever been involved?”
“Because he’s supposed to be my boyfriend.”
“Still, they should probably show some chemistry. I mean, they’re supposed to be love interests, just like you and him.”
“But it seemed so real.”
“So does your relationship.”
“It is real, at least to me.”
“But it wasn’t always like that.” Willow sighs. “Aspy, trust me. I know Vivienne, and I know you. She’s not interested in Grey.”
“What if he’s interested in her?” I ask, my voice soft.
“I wish I could say for sure that he isn’t,” Willow replies. “There’s only one person who can truly answer that question, and it’s Grey himself. But, if it means anything to you, one thing I’ve learned about love is that it’s rarely one-sided. If you’re feeling this way around him, he’s probably feeling the same around you. Sometimes our souls can pick up a mutual connection even when our minds can’t.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “When did you get all spiritual?”
A hint of a smile plays on her lips. “Maybe I’ve always been; it’s just taken love to help me realize it.”
“You make me sick,” I joke. “If this is what love does to you, keep it far away from me.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t you carry amethyst on you at all times?”
“But I don’t believe it really does anything. I just keep it around just in case it does.”
Willow laughs. “I love you, Aspy.”
“You too, Will.”