Chapter 31 #2
He’s lanky and reasonably solid, and he smells pleasantly enough, and looking at him is like looking at a god, though I’d expect a god to be like seventeen feet tall, and he’s merely a little under six feet, as you’d expect of a Hollywood hunk, and he is truly a Hollywood hunk , but as a man— blech .
No offense, Jonas.
But there’s still the Hollywood hunk factor short-circuiting my brain.
“Kindly remove your hands from my girlfriend,” Hayes says mildly behind us.
“But she gives the best hugs,” Jonas replies.
“You’re decent, but you’re no Hayes,” I tell him, which, yes, is a variation on another of the most popular lines ever used in Razzle Dazzle films, and yes, it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and yes, I am cringing so hard to myself right now.
My chin is hanging on his shoulder, and my voice is a little croaky with the strain.
I am the biggest goober known to gooberdom.
This is where I will actually die of mortification, and I do not embarrass easily.
I’m attacking my fake boyfriend’s movie star brother, and he’s letting me, because it makes it look like we’re besties, even though we’ve never met, which means he knows .
He pats me on the back and releases me, giving nothing away, because he’s a freaking actor . Of course he’s giving nothing away.
Maybe he doesn’t know.
Maybe he’s playing along with Hayes dating a middle-class, suburban nobody because it amuses him and he likes to irritate his mother.
Maybe he’s a good brother.
Hayes slips his hand to the small of my back, his body close enough to make up for all the heat that’s left my body as my blood cells flow to my brain to make sense of all of this. “You’re back early,” he says to Jonas.
“Peyton loves the sea lions.”
“Who wouldn’t? They’re such cute bundles of flub.” They’re such cute bundles of flub? Shut up, Begonia. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
Hayes rubs my back. “Not nearly so much as you, bluebell. Minus the flub, though you’d be absolutely perfect with or without it.”
His eyes are twinkling.
Hayes.
Hayes Rutherford.
Grump supreme. Hater of people. Bigger hater of peopling with people.
And his eyes are twinkling as if he knows he’s genuinely funny .
“Are you enjoying this?” I whisper to him while Jonas turns to take another glass of champagne from a passing server.
“I enjoy everything about you, Begonia,” he murmurs back. “Everything.”
I glance behind me, where Sturgis and Mrs. Sturgis are eyeballing us, and a wave of utter gratitude washes over me.
Hayes is safe here.
Even with the freaking sharks circling.
Jonas is here and has his back.
I have his back.
“Begonia.”
Amelia’s saying my name.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I forgot she was there, and it’s making me cuss in my head now.
Also? Amelia would have Hayes’s back, I’m pretty sure.
“Amelia!” I leap for her and hug her too, trying for a dainty socialite hug, and instead, our jeweled necklaces get caught up together and our faces are stuck mere inches apart like we’re debating kissing each other.
“Um, good to see you,” I say.
She smirks. It might actually be a warm smirk.
I can’t tell, because I’m a little out of my league has just changed to Hayes will never take me out in public again, which means I’m useless as his fake girlfriend, and this is all over.
He has to dump me now, because I got his family’s jewels tangled with Amelia’s .
“You’re quite the breath of fresh air,” she murmurs while she reaches behind herself, bringing her face closer to mine while she fiddles with the clasp on her necklace. “These events are rarely so entertaining.”
Filed under the world is so unfair : my deodorant is failing, while Amelia’s lifting her arms and all I can smell are fresh flowers and baby powder and maybe warm chocolate chip cookies?
How do people get to be rich and have their armpits smell like warm chocolate chip cookies? And I really want to know what kind of toothpaste she uses, because her breath is remarkably pleasant too.
“I thought that’s what the sea lions were for,” I say. “For entertainment.”
“You get tired of them after the first seven galas of the year with them present.”
“Oh my gosh, I could never?—”
“I’m aware, Begonia,” Amelia says, but there’s no snark in her voice. It’s all warmth. “I only wish I could’ve counted on you to slice and dice Brock and Trixie Sturgis’s livers.”
“I tried, but I don’t know if they were smart enough to get the insults.”
She makes the same kind of noise in her throat that Hayes has made several times tonight. The kind that made me wonder if I was amusing or annoying him.
Warm hands settle at my neck, igniting goosebumps all over my skin, and I’m suddenly free.
Amelia pulls back too, dangling our intermixed necklaces in hand. “Shall I send yours back once my assistant has solved this little issue?” she says to Hayes.
Not to me.
To Hayes.
We can be friendly, but I get it. We’re not friends. And I’m clearly borrowing jewels, because I don’t belong here.
“Begonia would love to have her necklace back,” he replies. “Thank you.”
“Begonia!” Peyton joins us. Yes, Peyton Baker, Jonas’s movie star wife who won a Golden Globe and an Emmy this year, which I know because awards shows sometime get exceptions for my no-gossip rule.
To my utter astonishment, she grabs my hands and pulls me in to kiss my cheeks in turn, executing the move so flawlessly she manages to make me look like I know what I’m doing with air kisses too.
“We were so sorry to miss you at the wedding, but completely understood. I’m so glad you’re here. How’s Hyacinth?”
“She’s like a Thanksgiving turkey with her popper thingie stuck in the wing instead of the thigh. Ready to pop, but not fully baked.”
Peyton Baker knows who I am.
Peyton Baker. Hollywood’s biggest badass leading lady.
She knows who I am, and she knows my sister’s name, and that my sister is pregnant, and I just made the very worst comparison ever to turkeys and pregnant woman and I am making no sense, but everyone’s still smiling kindly at me.
Good gravy.
Whose life am I living right now?
Why can’t Hayes and I dash off to a little cabin in the woods and read and do clay art and talk and get naked and just have fun? How is he related to these people ?
More importantly, how did I forget that he’s related to these people?
Breathe, Begonia. They run out of toilet paper at inopportune times in their bathrooms too. Just regular people. Regular people. Regular people.
“We’re so excited for her,” Peyton says. “And where’s Marshmallow tonight?”
“H-Hayes assigned Nikolay to guard him so he doesn’t ruin Francoise’s kitchen or redecorate the family portraits.”
Jonas laughs. “I love that furry beast.”
“He’s worth the daily Benadryl.” Hayes slips his arm around my waist and squeezes lightly. He’s been talking about me. He’s been telling his brother about me. And I don’t know if this is an act or if they’re all merely kind, but I’m getting a warm, squishy feeling in my heart.
They’re doing it for Hayes. Not for me.
I know they are.
But I love that he has people who’ll look out for him like this.
“Have you gotten to explore the city yet?” Peyton asks me.
I shake my head. “Just a little with Keisha.”
And then I remember who I am.
Am I world-famous and sophisticated and comfortable here? No. But I’m a people person, and these are people . “And what about you?” I ask. “How was the honeymoon?”
Her bright brown eyes light up. “Everything we needed it to be, though unfortunately too short.”
“We’ll take another one at Christmas,” Jonas tells her.
“You should try the Maldives,” Amelia says, reminding us all, again, that she’s still here. “They’re beautiful at Christmas.”
“Thank you. We’ll add that to the list to consider.” Peyton smiles at her, and my heart suddenly aches for Amelia. She’s being dismissed. Politely, but still dismissed.
And even I can see it.
No wonder Hayes doesn’t want to be here.
Even with the kindest of people, there are subtle social hierarchies and digs and rules.
And are Jonas and Peyton kind?
I don’t know.
I really don’t.
“Excuse us,” Hayes says to Amelia and his family. “I promised Begonia front-row seats to the feeding.”
“You won’t really have to fight the crowd,” Amelia says.
“Do they do tricks?” Peyton asks. “We’ll come with you. Jonas. Where’s your phone? Show Begonia the video of the sea lions from our trip to San Francisco when we were filming Deep in Love . Amelia, so good to see you again. Have your assistant ping mine. We’ll do lunch next time I’m in town.”
They do the cheek-kisses, and once more, I get a pang for Amelia.
I shouldn’t. She’s one more of the women watching Hayes like he’s a golden ticket, and even knowing she doesn’t want him for him—Hayes told me she’s involved with someone her family doesn’t like—I can’t help feeling sorry for her.
How lonely must it be to not know who your real friends are, and to be hunting for a husband for convenience instead of love?
I want to hug her and tell her to say fuck the world and go after what she wants, but it’s not my place, and I don’t think she wants to hear it from me.
Also, it’s not like I don’t know how hard that is.
I’m dating a billionaire myself, and my mother is still holding my ex-husband in reserve as her plan for my future when I screw it up with Hayes, which she’s convinced I’ll do.
And she’s not wrong.
I mean, that’s actually the plan.
Sigh .
Why can’t the world support people doing what it takes to make them happy, instead of what it takes to make other people miserable?
“Do you think they know how lucky they are?” Hayes murmurs to me a few minutes later as we’re watching the zookeepers tease the sea lions into doing tricks for fish.
“The zookeeper or the sea lions?”
“Yes.”
I slip an arm around his waist and squeeze it too.
He gets it.
He really does.
“I hope so,” I whisper.