Chapter 30 – Willa
THIRTY
WILLA
“I still can’t believe you dyed your hair,” Jackie says, touching a strand of my hair as we drive to the restaurant where I’ll go on my first public date. It looks seamless, just like my old hair, and the hairdresser who styled it this afternoon agreed it was a good-quality piece.
So good, that Jackie didn’t realize I was wearing a wig until we came back to my place to chat and go over my calendar for the next month after the meeting with Chris Klein.
As expected, the actor was a complete gentleman, charming and kind, complimenting me and accepting the basic terms we always lay out for each relationship before the first appearance: boundaries I hold, such as no extreme PDA, and the contractual rules, like no external relationships for the next six months.
I made sure not to look at Leo when that was spoken; instead, I doodled on paper, a couple of words and lines for another song that’s been swirling in my mind.
The meeting ended, and then Leo stayed in the building while I left with Jackie, making sure to follow my usual routine before stepping out this time and leaving without a panic attack.
I still felt like I was leaving half of my heart behind when I stepped out of the doors, though.
“I’ve got something on the calendar for tomorrow to fix it,” Jackie continues, scrolling on her phone.
“No,” I say firmly.
“No?” Jackie asks, lifting her eyes to look at me, confused, a hint of shock on her face. I’ve seen that expression more today than I have in the entire time I’ve worked with her, and I’m sure it’s because I’ve never been one to argue with what she’s saying.
But I’m not the same girl I was three months ago, and even more, I don’t want to be her anymore.
“I’m not dyeing it,” I clarify firmly. Jackie stares at me in horror. “It’s not healthy for your hair to be that light, and honestly, it washes me out. I don’t like it. I like my new color.” Despite my confidence, a hint of nervousness settles in my gut. “I’m going to wear a wig when I’m on.”
“You can’t wear a wig all the time, Willa. What are you, Hannah Montana?”
I smile at her words, though she clearly isn’t amused.
“It’s fine, Jackie. I already wear contacts. What’s some fake hair, too?”
She stares at me, then must realize it isn’t worth the argument because she sighs and shakes her head.
“We’ll revisit in two weeks. Putting on a wig every day is going to get annoying,” she says, but I shrug, knowing I’d rather maintain a level of anonymity outside my career. The wigs are just another small way I’ll be able to have it all.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and when I look at the screen, it’s a text from Leo, a reply to the photo I sent him this afternoon while getting ready. It was before I put on the boring black dress Jackie picked out for me, and my arm was covering my breasts.
Miss you already, I had said. It seems he only just saw it, or at least only now found the time to respond.
Fuck, honey.
You can’t do this to me, not if you don’t want me to crash your date.
It makes a smile spread across my lips, even though we both know he wouldn’t crash the date. It’s a fun image of him throwing me over his shoulder as he did at the Mill and claiming me in front of everyone.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, giving me a skeptical look, and I fight not to let the blush burn across my cheeks.
“One of my friends from Holly Ridge just texted me,” I say, deciding the fewer details the better. Leo is one of my friends from Holly Ridge, after all, so it’s not a total lie.
181 days left.
Counting down every single one.
Me too
After I send that, I check my other messages and see I’ve been added to a group chat with Nat, Wren, and Hallie, and another smile comes to my face as I watch them go back and forth. Hallie sent a paparazzi pic of me from this morning, from me leaving, thankfully.
Hallie
I am so borrowing this dress, Willa.
Wren
You look so pretty! I hope you have a great time today!
Nat
The wig looks SO good! Look at me, styling a celebrity!
You’ve been styling me for months, Nat.
Nat
Yeah, but not for everyone and their mom to see.
Mentally, I try to figure out whether I could bring Nat on as my actual stylist and how to convince Jackie of it. They would definitely butt heads, but Nat understands the industry and my vision for my brand, and I think she would be an amazing asset.
Another message comes through, this one from Leo. I fight back a smile when I see he sent me a photo of a beaten-up wooden vanity with chipping paint. It’s sitting on the side of the road near what I think might be Adam and Wren’s house.
Should I bring this home?
Home.
God, I love that.
Instantly, my mind goes to ideas for it, where we could put it, and how I could style it. I saw a video on stripping paint, and I’ve been dying to try it. It looks like the wood might have been really pretty before the owner painted it a distressed white.
Yes, please! She’s gorgeous!
Got it. Adam’s grabbing it, and I’ll pick it up when I get home later.
Since he drove my car up here today, he’s taking a rideshare on the hour-long drive home, and knowing that distance is already between us aches in my chest.
Will you be awake for me to call you tonight?
Yes. There’s a gift in your room waiting for you.
My eyes widen, and instantly I’m desperate to know what kind of present he could have left me and how he got it into my room.
I ask, and he avoids answering, as usual.
We text back and forth for a few minutes, Jackie occasionally asking me questions about interviews or lunches with other celebrities, but we’re close to the restaurant when she throws me back.
“We’re aiming for an engagement, this time,” she says, and it’s so casual, so offhanded, that I think I must have missed something important. Setting my phone aside, I give her my full attention.
“What?”
“An engagement with Chris. We’re still deciding whether it would be best to make it a quick, exciting whirlwind soon or in a few months.
Jefferson said that around Christmastime could be fun, and we could use it to promote your holiday album.
” I blink at her, realizing I didn’t miss anything at all.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No. No engagement.” Where the hell is this coming from? I’ve been on board with the fake relationships for years now, but I’ve always made my stance on anything further very clear.
”Willa—” Jackie starts, voice low and soft, the kind you might give a child who doesn’t want to take a bath, rather than an adult who doesn’t want to marry someone else.
“No. I told you from the very beginning that fake relationships were fine. Engagements, marriages, absolutely not. I’m only doing that once, and I’m not doing it for the cameras.
” It was the one condition I set when we started doing these relationships regularly.
Even though my hopeless romantic went into hiding when I thought I couldn’t have a relationship and a career, she wouldn’t let me cross that line.
It would have felt like a betrayal to the little girl who daydreamed about Prince Charming, and now that I’ve found mine, I’m glad I always stayed firm on that.
“Willa, please, be practical. How many high-profile relationships can you be in before people start to question you? Eventually, you have to stop being so stubborn and accept that this is clearly the next step in your career.”
Frustration is etched across her face, and it sets me back, leaving my voice firm when I respond.
“My career and my personal life are not the same,” I say, telling her something I thought we both understood, but when she rolls her eyes, I wonder if maybe I was wrong all along.
Over the years, Jackie and I have often disagreed about something related to my career, whether it’s outfits, timing, or which song should be a single, but I’ve never felt this pure irritation and, honestly, sense of betrayal toward her.
It settles in my chest in a way I very much do not like, though I push it back as just not being around her for a long time, losing some of the buffer that I’ve built over the years to handle her cutthroat desire for success.
“Willa—”
I lick my lips and take in a deep breath, speaking over her before she can continue.
I hadn’t meant to have this conversation right now.
I’d planned to bring it up with a strategy for countering each and every one of the arguments I’m sure Jackie will have, but it seems we have to have this talk now.
I take a deep breath and say what I should have said years ago but never felt brave enough to.
“I’m not getting engaged, and even more, I’m not doing any more fake relationships after this one.” I force my voice to come out firm and without any room for argument, and Jackie’s entire body goes still. “I hate them, the fake relationships. I hate how they make me feel.”
The nervousness leaves her face, and she waves a hand as if my concerns hold no bounds. “You just have first date jitters.”
“It’s not a first date, Jackie. It’s…it’s the first episode.
It’s acting,” I say, shaking my head and trying not to let the frustration I’m feeling leak into my words.
“I’m tired of faking it. I’m tired of creating this entire illusion.
I get that some of it is necessary, but I’m done with the rest.” Jackie is silent, and I continue to explain, desperate to get her to understand what I’m saying.
“No more fake relationships after this. The last few months have shown me I need to restructure my priorities. After this relationship, after this album, I want to slow things down. I want to live my life, find balance.”
“Willa—” Jackie says, a softness on her face that suddenly feels disingenuous. It’s no different from the one I’ve seen a million times over the years, but after three months with people who genuinely care for me, I can see the difference clearly. It makes my stomach cold. “We can revisit this—”
“No. I’m telling you right now I’m not doing this again, Jackie.”
She stares at me, trying to decide what to say, but before she can, the car stops.
When I look out the window, a group of paparazzi is waiting outside a five-star restaurant I’ve been to before.
Cheering starts, and through the tinted glass, I see my date approaching, a grin on his face as he waves to the fans waiting.
“Now, I have a date to get to,” I say, then close my eyes and take a deep breath, pushing the irritated Willa aside and putting my shield on just as the door opens, letting in the noise from outside.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Chris says, loud enough for the cameras to hear, and I smile wide, then let him help me out of the car and into the restaurant.
And with that, the show begins.