Chapter Seven #3
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m jumping into his arms
and kissing him. We’re both kissing and laughing and carefully maneuvering
through the doorway. I kick the door closed and go back to kissing him. When he
finally puts me down, I just look at him because I’m so happy to see his face.
Which currently has a lot of my lipstick on it.
“Hey, Ella Rose,” he says in that sweet voice, and I swear
he’s blushing a little. “You didn’t really give me a chance to greet you
properly.”
“Sorry about that.”
But I’m not.
“I’m just so excited that you’re back.”
“It was only two and a half weeks, and we talked every day,”
he reminds me with a wink.
“True, but it’s not the same as you being here in person.”
“Hey, Christian,” Jen calls out from the other room.
“Hey, Jen.” Then his attention’s back on me, and he gives me
a very thorough look. “You look beautiful.”
Now, I’m the one blushing. “Thank you. I just need to put on
my sandals. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out.” I’m halfway to my
room when I stop and grab a handful of napkins and race back to him. “Here.
Sorry about all the lipstick.”
But then I kiss him one more time. Because I can.
Jen and I pass each other in the hallway, and she assures me
that she is ready to go. In my room, I slip on my shoes and grab my purse
before checking my reflection again.
You look beautiful.
I can’t help but study myself and try to see what Christian
does. I don’t ever see beautiful because being an actress in Hollywood
can really destroy your confidence. Agents, casting directors,
producers…sometimes, it feels like they aren’t even considering the fact that I
am a person with feelings. They critique everything about me. I am too short,
not thin enough, not pretty enough. Gosh, if I had a dollar for every time a
casting director said I wasn’t “Hollywood pretty,” I would be the richest
actress in LA.
It was enough to make me feel like maybe I shouldn’t be
walking the runway in elegant dresses and instead be hidden away in a bell
tower like Quasimodo.
“Don’t you listen to them, Ella,” Mom would always say.
“You are so much more than a pretty face.”
“But they just said I didn’t have a pretty face.”
“You are a naturally pretty girl. You’re the girl next
door. Someone everyone can relate to. And that’s better than being someone who
needs all that hair and makeup to make them pretty. Remember, beauty fades.
It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
I love my mother, and I love how she always has words of
encouragement at the ready. Sometimes, it’s just hard to hear negative things
said about me.
Especially right to my face.
In my mind, I know I’m not a supermodel, but I also know I
have more talent than many of the girls I compete against. It’s pointless to
wish I were taller, thinner, curvier, or had bigger boobs. Sure, those things
would be nice, but it isn’t my focus. I don’t want to be known only for my
looks. I want people to look at me and remember my name because I’m talented.
Because I put on a performance that touches them.
I want to be the best Ella Rose Holt I can be.
You look beautiful.
But when Christian looks at me and calls me beautiful, while
I know I don’t see it, he does. And that’s really incredible.
“Ella?” I hear Jen calling my name. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave now.”
“Coming!” And with that. I dash out of my room with a smile
on my face, ready for a great night.
The room is already buzzing before the song even
starts—music pulsing, laughter spilling over the fizzing sounds of soda cans
being opened and the hum of conversation. Strands of colored lights are draped
across the ceiling of Freya’s loft, making everything look fun and festive, and
everyone is in party mode.
We’re an hour in, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Someone
insisted on a round of karaoke—my friends never need much convincing—and now
I’m standing center stage, mic in hand, eyes sparkling with the mischievous
confidence that comes from pure joy and adrenaline and turning twenty-two.
The opening chords of “I Will Survive”
blast through the speakers, and my friends erupt in cheers.
“Oh, this is one of my favorites!” I shout with pure joy.
Laughter echoes around me, and I am living my best life
right now. I spot Christian sitting at a table near the front, leaning back in
his chair, grinning. His gorgeous blue-eyed gaze never leaves me. It’s like he
is completely transfixed. Like I’m the only thing worth seeing in the crowded
room.
I am in my element, all energy and light, twirling my free
hand in the air while singing into the mic with unapologetic joy. This is what
I’m good at. This is what I was born to do.
“At first I was afraid …”
The crowd claps along, and I throw myself into the
performance, half-singing, half-laughing, but feeling completely alive. When I
catch Christian’s gaze and take in his soft, proud smile, my heart does a
little somersault.
And then, midway through the second verse, the door opens.
I’m looking right at it when it does, and it feels like a pathway appears out
of nowhere. The energy shifts. Just slightly, but enough. And then I see him.
Jim.
He’s standing framed by the doorway, hands shoved into his
jacket pockets, that familiar half-smile on his face as I’m singing about how
I’m somebody new.
My breath hitches for a second, because…come on. How ironic
is that?
Maybe it’s muscle memory, or something braver, but I keep
singing. Louder this time. My chin lifts a little higher. The words that have
always felt like a fun karaoke anthem suddenly hit with weight, truth pulsing
through every syllable.
Christian’s eyes are still on me. I can feel it. I wonder if
he noticed the hitch or saw the change in me, the sudden renewed energy, and
how I’m standing a little straighter, even as my hand holding the mic trembles
slightly. I dance and twirl so I can find him again in the crowd. When I do,
his expression is soft, and I can see pride and protectiveness mingling in his
eyes. It’s all I need to turn around and finish the song.
That’s when I notice poor Jim still standing near the door,
clearly unprepared for what he walked into.
Meanwhile, I spin toward my friends, who are cheering even
louder, clapping and dancing along with me. When I belt out the final line,
laughing through it, I almost wish there were a few more verses.
But when the song ends, I drop into a playful bow. The
applause is deafening.
And then Christian is there, already moving through the
crowd, reaching me just as I step down from the little stage. His hand finds
mine, warm and sure.
“You,” he says quietly, with that smile that makes my knees
a little weak, “were incredible.”
I squeeze his fingers, breathless and laughing. “Thank you,”
I say, throwing a quick glance toward the door where Jim was. “I’ve always
loved to sing, and that’s a fun song to do.” When I look a second time,
Christian gives my hand a gentle tug.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You keep looking at the door,” he says. “Is everything
okay?”
Ugh…
Taking his hand, I lead him to a quiet corner. “Okay, so
remember the game I went to when I was wearing your jersey?”
He nods.
“Well, I was there with a guy I was dating. He’s the one who
bought me the jersey.”
Another nod.
“He’s friends with all of my friends and, he’s
here.”
“Okay…”
“I already called him to let him know I’m dating someone, but
he doesn’t know it’s you.” I pause, waiting to see if he’ll react, but he
doesn’t. “I’m just a little…I don’t know. It feels a little surreal that he
brought me to an Anaheim Magic game, bought me your jersey, and now you and I
are dating.” The words fly out of my mouth so fast that even I can barely
understand what I’m saying. Somehow, Christian gets it.
“Ah. Okay. I guess that is a little bit of a coincidence,
but you weren’t dating him when you and I went out for the first time, right?”
“No. I had already broken up with him.”
“Then I don’t see an issue. It’s a coincidence, but that’s
all it is. And maybe a little funny.” Then he tugs me in close. “And you and I
were going to meet, whether or not you were at that game. We had to. Our
friends were already talking about it. You being at the game just added a
little more, you know, luck to our story.”
Our story.
I like that we have one.
But I love that Christian knows it, too.