Chapter 36
Ava
“Can I help you?”
The first-class receptionist blinks at me between slow chews of gum.
Fantastic.
By the look on her face, you’d think I’d just been hauled onto a rescue boat after whispering, I’ll never let go, Jack.
Completely unfazed, Sienna flashes the reservation barcode on her phone. “We have a reservation.”
“I see.” The receptionist immediately straightens, suddenly treating us less like stray cats and more like two women who could destroy her on TikTok.
I couldn’t.
But Sienna totally could.
A French production assistant once mistook Sienna’s silence for ignorance and spent an entire location shoot detailing all the filthy things he wanted to do to her, starting with her ass.
Unfortunately for him, Sienna speaks perfect French and is fluent in blacklisting dickheads.
Last I heard, he now cleans poodle shit off the Champs-élysées.
An incoming call lights up on her phone.
She taps the discreet earpiece hidden beneath her hair. “Go ahead.”
A muffled voice filters through.
Sienna rolls her eyes instantly like someone just informed her a celebrity got drunk and discovered Instagram Live.
Hopefully not one of her brothers again.
“What kind of situation?”
A pause.
She steps a few feet away, lowering her voice.
“A Harrison Evans situation?” Her eyes flick to me.
Oh God.
I give her my best apologetic grimace and mouth, Sorry.
This is probably about Harrison clocking a paparazzo yesterday.
Which I would’ve warned her about, but Zac claimed the situation was “handled” thanks to emergency dental work roughly the price of a Range Rover.
I strain to listen, trying to determine if my husband’s one paparazzo away from headlining a Netflix boxing event.
Sienna pinches the bridge of her nose and starts pacing back toward the entrance. “No. Any statements would come directly through me.” A beat. “At this time, we have no comment.” Another beat. “Hang on.”
She points directly at me.
“Stay here. Talk to no one. And if someone approaches you with a ring light, they are absolutely not your friend.”
Then she vanishes down the hallway in a brisk power walk that parts people like the Red Sea.
The second she disappears—
“Ava Alvarez?”
The receptionist lights up like the Rockefeller tree.
“Oh my God,” she whispers loudly. “Princess Luna.”
I force a polite smile because one blurry TikTok of me being rude to airport staff is exactly the kind of public relations nightmare Sienna does not need.
“I’m actually not supposed to ask this”—she says immediately, which is usually how people begin right before doing exactly what they’re not supposed to do—“but could I maybe get a quick selfie?”
Ah.
So we’re completely ignoring the giant PRIVACY FOR VIP GUESTS sign hanging directly behind her.
Awesome.
Before I can answer, she’s already halfway around the desk, phone stretched out like this is her Olympic event.
And I don’t care what happens, the giant Jackie O sunglasses stay on.
“Why not,” I hear myself say.
Lucky for me, she’s got a forgiving filter.
Three flashes later, she thanks me approximately seventeen times while I quietly slink away to die.
By the time I finally escape, coffee feels less like a drink and more like life support.
I collect the largest cup legally available to the general public and sink into the quietest corner of the lounge.
Which isn’t terribly quiet.
Or private.
In fact, it’s directly around the corner from the receptionist, who’s probably alerting everyone who follows her on Instagram that Princess Luna is now her best friend. Please see attached selfie.
Ugh.
When will this day finally end?
I wrap both hands around the coffee cup and stare blankly out the massive windows overlooking the runway.
Six weeks.
That’s how long I’ll be in Iceland.
Six weeks before I even get to come home.
Six weeks pretending my heart didn’t just get ripped clean out of my chest.
And maybe by then, it’ll hurt a little less.
“I’m sorry, you can’t go back there.”
I crack open an eye.
Apparently I drifted off somewhere between emotionally wrecked and caffeine poisoning.
“You need to respect people’s privacy,” the receptionist says gently. “See the sign? PRIVACY FOR VIP GUESTS,” she reads aloud.
I roll my eyes.
“We’re looking for Ava Alvarez,” a young voice says.
I blink through my fog.
Connor?
No. It can’t be. I shake my head and blow out a deflated breath.
Apparently, I’ve reached the stage of heartbreak where I’m hallucinating children to fill the empty spaces in my heart.
The receptionist lets out a tiny laugh. “Aren’t we all, sweetie.”
“It’s important,” Snooki says softly. I can practically see the sweet puppy-dog eyes she’s weaponizing. Any second now, the woman will melt.
“I said no. And if you don’t step back, I’m calling security.”
God, what a coldhearted witch.
By this point, I’m already on my feet when Ollie tags himself in.
“She’s in there,” Ollie insists. “We know she is.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” Connor says firmly. “You posted her on your Instagram story twenty minutes ago.”
Rookie mistake.
Uncovered by two children.
I beam with pride.
I’m about to round the corner when Connor says, “You don’t understand, we need her. Our dad needs her.”
“Dad’s having, like, a total midlife crisis,” Ollie reports dramatically.
Oh my God.
I cover my mouth.
We absolutely need a family discussion about oversharing with strangers.
Though I fully intend to get every detail out of them before that lecture happens.
Connor tries to reason with her. “She’s our stepmother.”
My heart does a little flutter. I am, I guess. I just never put a label to it.
“Sure she is,” the receptionist says dryly.
Snooki stops being my sweet little angel and transforms into a tiny fire-breathing dragon.
“You tell us where she is right now, or else!”
The receptionist straightens, hands planting firmly on her hips.
“Or else what?” the insane woman who very obviously has no children asks.
Snooki draws herself up to her full terrifying height of approximately three-and-a-half feet.
She sucks in a breath and screams at the very top of her lungs.
“Mommy!”
Every sound in the lounge stops.
The receptionist looks two seconds from drowning herself in tequila.
And I am smiling.
Full joy. Ear to ear.
And just like that, my broken heart becomes whole again.