Chapter 33 #2
“Sometimes.” She says it so quietly I’m not sure I’ve heard it.
“I shouldn’t say that, though. Those women were very nice.
” Her gaze travels around us, making sure no one is within earshot.
“I have no right to want anything different when people would kill to be in my position.” She sounds like she’s pleading for understanding, but it’s not clear if she’s pleading for me to understand, or for herself to.
My heart drops hearing her say that. “You’re allowed to want something different for yourself if this isn’t working,” I gesture around us, trying to summarize the entire celebrity lifestyle in one inadequate motion.
“Maybe,” she says softly in a way that tells me she doesn’t truly feel it’s possible. “You need something for cooler weather at night there—let’s check in here.” Subject closed.
We browse the aisles for a few minutes before going to the shop next door.
There we spend a while sorting through various options, and I try on a handful of clothes curated by Jill.
In a rare stroke of luck, there are actually a few winners in the pile.
Jill even finds a few pieces for herself, and we’ve both got stupid smiles plastered to our faces.
That is until we look out the front of the store and see that a small crowd has formed.
“Shit,” Jill curses.
“What’s going on?”
“Paparazzi,” she sighs. Taking in the large cluster of people, I can see they all have cameras, and a frantic look about them. They’re pressed close to the store’s entrance, making it impossible to get past them without going through them.
“Can we go out the back then?” I suggest.
“Unfortunately, there will be more out there. I’ve learned the hard way.” She seems so sad I’m compelled by the urge to hug her.
“What can I do?” I ask. We can’t stay in the store forever.
“Stay close,” Jill says dejectedly before stepping out into the throng.
As soon as we’re outside, it all feels wrong. Camera flashes go off left, right and center, momentarily stunning me. Jill grabs my hand to make sure I keep walking behind her.
“Jillian!”
“Over here, Jill!”
“Any comment on your break from Hollywood?”
“What do you have to say about the rumors you were in rehab?”
“Where did you go?”
“Couldn’t handle it anymore, could you?”
They’re all shouting on top of one another now. We continue trying to push forward, but they’re all coming closer, making it impossible to move. What the hell is their problem? I turn around to give them a piece of my mind, but Jill gives me a quick sharp tug, letting me know not to.
Soon they’ve got us locked in a circle of sorts, corralling us in the center, and there’s no break for us to escape through.
My anxiety is climbing, and while I’m not prone to bouts of claustrophobia, this is making my hackles rise.
I imagine Jill is used to this sort of thing, but I am wildly uncomfortable right now.
“Clover, where’s Roman?”
“How’s filming going?”
“Do you think you’ll be as good as Hailey McDonald would’ve been?”
Okay, seriously, fuck these guys.
Looking forward, I can see Jill’s stopped moving, it’s like she’s frozen in place.
I nervously tug her arm, but she doesn’t respond.
The few seconds I wait feel like an eternity before I finally snap into action.
We need to get out of here, and if she’s stuck for some reason, I’m going to act for the both of us.
I step around and in front of her, pulling her behind me.
I’m taller than she is, just as tall as some of these assholes, and I’m going to use that to my advantage.
“You’re going to move,” I instruct one with daggers in my eyes, remembering how Roman handled the paparazzi outside of the cafe.
I go for the inch of space between him and the next photographer.
“Now,” I order as I get closer. Either my voice has enough authority, or he’s smart enough to realize I will literally push through him, because he steps to the side and lets us through.
I break into a run, pulling Jill behind me.
Luckily, she’s semi-snapped out of it, because she runs with me as we evade the paparazzi.
After a few quick turns down some side streets, I pull Jill into the nearest coffee shop.
“What the hell is wrong with those guys?” I breathe heavily, turning to Jill. When I see her face, it’s clear that something is very wrong. “Jill?”
She’s gasping for air, but not like she just had a workout. She’s gasping like she can’t breathe, and her eyes are wide and filled with unshed tears. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear to me we need privacy immediately.
Rushing up to the counter, I ask for the key to the bathroom. I purchase a bottle of water when it seems like the cashier is about to tell me to pound sand, and she reluctantly hands the key over.
I return to Jill, who hasn’t moved a fraction of an inch, but is clearly deteriorating, and pull her toward the bathroom. When I get us both in there and secure the space, I turn back to her, hoping to see any sign of improvement.
“Are you okay?” I ask—possibly the most inane question on the planet right now.
Obviously she’s not. She’s trembling, and her lips are wobbling now, breaths coming in short little gasps that are getting shorter and coming quicker.
Her beautiful deep blue eyes are filled with something that looks like fear to me, and I hate it.
“Hey, hey,” I try to comfort her as I rub her arms. It does no good.
She backs out of my hold and sinks to the floor, appearing to give no second thought about sitting on the ground of the bathroom.
It’s a strange contrast seeing one of Hollywood’s most famous actresses crumpled up on a bathroom floor.
Tucking her head between her knees, she begins to hyperventilate hard.
“Jill? Jill? What can I do?” I hover nervously, feeling about as useful as pretend pockets.
She gives no answer, but now there are tiny vocalizations accompanying her breathing. It’s like she’s trying to cry, but the sound is being strangled on the way out. I feel completely helpless as I watch her unravel in front of me.
In all my time with her so far, she’s seemed so well put together, composed and eternally gracious, but right now she’s breaking.
“Jill?” It’s obvious that whatever I’m doing isn’t cutting it. And while it’s not my favorite idea, my first instinct is to reach out to Roman. I’m out of my depth here, and if there’s a chance that he knows how to help, then I need to take it.
“Can I call Roman for you?” I ask.
Jill ever so slightly nods her head between her breaths, and that’s all I need to whip out my phone.
Roman picks up after a couple of rings.
“Couldn’t go a whole 24 hours without talking to me?”
Idiot. I roll my eyes and get straight to business. “It’s Jill.”
“What happened?” His tone drops to deadly serious.
“We were out shopping and some paparazzi kind of ambushed us,” I say, struggling to find the right words for the interaction. “They started shouting a bunch of awful questions at her, and now she’s...” I look over to the poor girl on the floor. “I don’t know what to do, Roman.”
“Where are you?” I give him the name and location of the coffee shop.
“I’m on my way. Don’t move,” he orders. I don’t get a chance to respond because he hangs up immediately.
Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I peek around it and see Roman there. He blocks the doorway with his body so that anyone walking by couldn’t see into the bathroom.
I gesture to where Jill is, and he steps inside. It seems like a very private moment, so I head outside and guard the bathroom door, wanting to give the siblings the space they need.
A few minutes later, the door to the bathroom opens, and Roman has his arm around Jill’s shoulders. It’s clear she’s been crying, and she leans in to him for support.
“I need to get her home.”
“Of course. Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, feeling thoroughly useless.
“Can you please check that the coast is clear out front and text me to let me know? I didn’t see any paparazzi on the way in, but who knows where they’ve moved now? Fucking bloodhounds.” He rubs the bridge of his nose.
I nod and do as instructed. When I check outside the front of the coffee shop, I don’t see any paparazzi. In fact, there are very few people now. The wind blows a soft breeze, and my hair flutters around my face.
Me
Coast is clear.
Roman and Jill make their way out half a minute later, and he rushes her over to his car, opening the passenger door and getting her inside.
“Oh shit, her car is still parked a few blocks away, do you–” I start.
“I’ll have my assistant grab it. I can drive you back to your place if you want?” he offers.
I’m shaking my head before I say the words. “No, that’s okay. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
Roman sighs, and I take a moment to study him.
He seems tired, and I’m not sure if it’s the weight from our filming schedule or what just happened that’s pressing down on him.
He scrubs his hand down his face and looks at me, giving me an equally thorough inspection.
It’s as if he wants to say something that’s his usual smarmy self, but he simply doesn’t have the energy for it.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Loaded question, but I’ll do my best to help her when we get home.
Thank you. For calling me.” Roman catches an errant strand of my hair, and my heart thunders in response.
He tucks it gently behind my ear, hand lingering there for a second before the backs of his fingers ghost along the side of my face.
I’m too stunned to speak, so I simply nod.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says before getting into the car and driving away.
Right. Tomorrow. Napa. I feel all flustered when I look around me and realize there was no one there who could’ve witnessed that interaction. If no one could’ve seen us, why did he do that?