Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
elena
There’s still more than a week left until filming begins and I’m restless.
After Isaac acted like a lunatic then pulled a disappearing act, I contemplated leaving too. Not going home, but maybe somewhere with a beach. And mojitos.
I didn’t.
I stayed.
I tell myself it’s because I’ll save money this way. And I can take a fancy vacation when filming wraps in a few months. But the truth is—I stay because I don’t want to leave.
So, I’m here. In the Montana mountains, among the flowing rivers and impossibly tall trees. In the quiet. Where nobody expects anything from me.
Except maybe to show up for girls’ night.
“Don’t be a hermit,” Ivy says, pressing a hand to my back. “You’ve already got that mysterious loner vibe going. It’s intimidating.”
I laugh. “I promise I’m the furthest thing from intimidating.”
And that’s how I find myself crammed into a booth at The Stillery, a half-empty pitcher of margaritas in the center of the table and Sutton firing questions at me like she’s studying investigative journalism.
“Have you ever met Taylor Swift?”
“Can’t say I have. Sorry.”
She barely takes a breath. “What’s it like to be in Us Weekly?”
“Mortifying.”
“Are your lashes real?”
“No.”
“Do you get Botox?”
I choke on my water. “I’m twenty-four, Sutton.”
She shrugs. “Never too young for wrinkle prevention treatment.”
Willow puts a hand up in front of her sister. “Okay, Button. Let’s not scare the poor woman off. She’ll never come to girls’ night again.”
“It’s fine,” I say because it’s easier to laugh with them than mope over the fact that Isaac left without saying goodbye.
He didn’t say where he was going. Just vanished. I found out from Ivy, who mentioned in passing that he’d gone to Wild Canyon—to a ranch a few towns over—to “check on some friends.”
Friends.
Sure.
Female friends I’d bet. Because he’s gone through everyone in this town already apparently and we bore him now.
My stomach flips. The margarita isn’t helping.
Neither is the guy in the booth behind us who just ordered a bacon cheeseburger. The smell hits me like raw sewage. I grip the edge of the table, my pulse skipping like a scratched record.
“You okay?” Ivy leans in.
“Yeah, just the grease, I think.” I force a smile and order a grilled chicken salad when the time comes.
Except I couldn’t eat even if I wanted to. My head feels fuzzy. My chest is too tight.
I press a hand low on my belly, trying to calm the weird churn. It's probably nothing. Maybe my blood sugar.
Sutton resumes her interrogation. “What’s the hardest part? Like the least glamorous part.”
The question surprises me.
“The pretending,” I say. “Pretending to be okay when a director touches your waist too long. Pretending to be flattered when a reporter calls you sexy instead of talented. Pretending you’re lucky to be there when you know someone in the room wanted a prettier version of you. Younger. Blonder. Skinnier.”
The table goes quiet, but Sutton is never at a loss for words.
“You ever want to quit?”
I decide to be honest. I pretend for a living, tonight I’m going to be me. “Pretty much at least once a day.”
Ivy tilts her head. “Well, I for one am glad you haven’t.” She sips her wine. “I tried to get you on the cast for Captive but my ass of an ex wanted to cast—”
“Heidi Holloway,” I finish for her when it looks like it pains her to say. “I heard. Like I said, she’s younger, blonder, skinnier.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “For what it’s worth, I much prefer this project to that one.”
She smiles. “It all worked out for the best.”
Sutton is still watching me closely. “If it kind of sucks, why do you keep at it?”
Inhaling deeply, I try to put my heart into words. I let my fingers trail over the crescent moon and stars tattoo on my left hand.
“At first, it was just for the money. To help my family and then for a way out of my tiny town. But then, I met some fans, fans who looked like the little girl I used to be. Who come from nothing and need proof that someone like them can change their stars.”
Willow blinks as if seeing me for the first time. Ivy looks like she might cry.
Sutton tilts her head. “So you don’t want to be like, mega famous? Like Eli James?”
Willow flinches beside her. Busies herself peeling the label from her beer bottle.
I can’t help but suspect Isaac and I aren’t the only ones breaking the no fraternization policy.
I shake my head. “I imagine being mega famous is kind of a drag. Being a tiny bit famous made my life a lot harder. Like going to the grocery store with unwashed hair, no makeup, and no bra is no longer a thing.”
“Damn, that would suck,” Willow offers. “I’d never be able to leave my house.”
Sutton scoffs loudly. “Not like you ever do anyway.”
A flash of pain flickers across Willow’s face.
“I just want to be an example of what young women can achieve when they don’t give up, when they push through the hard parts. I want to show them they don’t have to become what the world expects.”
“That’s badass,” Sutton whispers. “And I’m stealing that for my graduation quote.”
I let out a breath. Then the air shifts.
A figure walks toward the table, petite but poised, a fresh pitcher of margaritas in her hand.
Brooklyn, I think Isaac said her name was. The beautiful young bartender from the night we met. I remember her name because I didn’t expect anyone in Montana to be named after a city in New York.
I brace myself for her to out me here and now. But if she remembers me from that night, she doesn’t let on—just smiles warmly at the entire group.
“Here you go, ladies. Courtesy of that handsome gentleman in the corner.”
My head whips around, half hoping to see my cowboy. Even though I’m still mad that he acted like a caveman, I miss him. I didn’t realize how much I appreciated the comfort of his presence beside me in social situations until he was gone.
But he’s not the one who bought the drinks.
Instead, we get an eyeful of Eli, who gives us a discreet wave.
Willow coughs and excuses herself to the ladies room.
When my salad arrives, I pick at it, still struggling to find my appetite.
But as the night continues, I’m filled with gratitude.
For the women at this table. For the anonymity this town offers. For the secrecy Brooklyn offered me. For the way Sutton reaches for my arm when we’re leaving, and the noise of the bar gets too loud, and the room spins just a little too fast.
I don’t know what’s happening with my body. Why I feel off. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone.
And that counts for something.