Epilogue
One bright, sunny L.A. day in September—the obnoxiously gorgeous kind that people pay through the nose to live in California for—the time had come for Olivia Martin to do something she’d been running from her whole life. Give an interview about her parents.
She sat out on her back patio, a sweeping terrace with a swimming pool that edged up to a lawn that then gave way to a hillside tumbling over into the basin below. Her and Chuck’s house nestled like a jewel in the Hollywood Hills and had a view of the L.A. skyline, a distant, pointed tiara, from every room. A giant oak tree shaded half their yard. Olivia listened to its leaves rustle in the breeze, the birds chirping from its branches. As she gazed out at the spectacular, perfect day, she couldn’t help thinking that the city was nodding on in approval—that her parents were nodding on in approval.
She took a steadying breath, a rare quiet moment to herself that she’d learned to steal whenever she could, and smoothed her hands over her skirt. Her life had done a one-eighty over the past two years, and although it still sometimes made her dizzy, she had a profound sense, a knowing deep in her heart, of being right where she belonged.
Thanks to the bombshell profile she’d written, the Izzy Ramírez film being a smash hit, and the endless offers that followed, Chuck had become a certified A-lister. A got-recognized-everywhere, paparazzi-followed-him-to-the-grocery-store, had-to-book-reservations-under-a-fake-name A-lister. He relished it. He ate up every moment of it and left no crumbs. But through it all, he always, always put Olivia first. Making sure she was comfortable with any public appearance, shielding her from any attention she didn’t want, hiring her a bodyguard so people would leave her alone in public. When his name blew up and fans started camping out outside their apartment, which they’d identified from the viral breakup video, they bought a house in the hills behind a gate.
Olivia woke up in that house every morning now feeling at once like she was in a dream and like she was fulfilling a destiny buried in her heritage.
Chuck wasn’t the only one who got recognized these days, though. Word was out that a documentary on Rebecca Martin, Bradley Harris, and Astrid Larsson’s torrid love triangle was in the works. Not to mention, Olivia’s book deal chronicling the same events had made news when it sold for seven figures. The book and the documentary would release in tandem the next spring, and the world would finally learn the truth about her parents.
Parker was helming the documentary, and the paycheck was obscene, of course. The likes of people who Parker and Astrid got to agree to participate kept driving up the production value. A-listers from the eighties and nineties who’d known Olivia’s parents jumped on board once they knew Astrid was part of the deal and would finally be opening up. Olivia had had starry-eyed dinner dates with actors so famous, their only choice was to host them privately, and she’d left every one of them overflowing with love and joy for learning more about her parents. She’d been given photos she’d never seen before and been told stories she’d never heard—things Grandma Ruby didn’t even know. The whole experience unlocked a door she’d spent her life reluctant to approach, let alone consider opening. Because of it all, she knew more about the people who’d brought her into the world than she ever thought possible.
Now it was finally her turn to sit down in front of the camera.
The production crew had overrun the house, but Olivia had grown used to cameras and cords and assistants buzzing around. The chaos didn’t make her as nervous as it used to, and that was largely due to Chuck purposely showing up to insert himself like a tonic every time things got hectic.
“Hey,” he said from behind her now in the soft, warm tone that immediately dulled her nerves. Like honey in a strong tea.
She turned to see him crossing into the backyard from the living room doors flung wide open to the day. Like many houses in the hills, the entire back wall of their home was mostly glass doors and windows that provided an unobstructed view. The living room doors had become the throughway for the crew. They’d set up cameras and lighting panels under the pergola laced with wisteria. Olivia waited perched on a cushy patio chair for the filming to start. Gina the makeup artist had just finished dusting her nose and glossing her lips.
Even after years of seeing Chuck every day, Olivia’s heart still did the bungee-jump hiccup at the sight of him. While she was trussed up in ready-to-wear runway and full makeup, he was at-home casual in a green tee shirt, loose shorts, and a pair of sandals that scraped the pool deck in a scratchy hiss when he walked. He was so stunningly perfect, it often overwhelmed her.
They’d spent the past two years fighting for each other instead of with each other. With counseling and hard work and learning to communicate, together they’d both become better versions of themselves and the partner the other person deserved. She didn’t run anymore, and he didn’t have to chase her. He’d also stopped trying to keep everyone happy all the time.
“Hey,” she said back when he rounded in front of her chair. Francis, their French bulldog adopted from Astrid, skipped at his feet like a little heartbeat. Olivia felt him weave in and out of her ankles, his way of saying hello, before he trotted off to lounge in the shade.
Chuck gripped the chair’s arms and leaned in. The scent of him, fresh, clean, spicy, hit her in a rush and forced her to straighten her posture. “You look amazing,” he said after a hungry sweep of her appearance.
“Thank you. This dress is actually comfortable for once,” she said, and gently tugged at the loose sleeves fluttering at her shoulders. To keep up with Chuck’s exploding career, she’d attended many red-carpet events and forced her body into countless outfits that looked gorgeous on camera but really had no utility beyond standing still and having photos taken. Having Chuck remove them from her after any given event—in a hotel room, sometimes the back of a limo, or in their own bedroom—was always the highlight of the night in many ways.
“Always a bonus,” he said with a grin before his face grew serious but tender. “How are you feeling? Are you ready?”
Olivia inhaled another deep breath, feeling sure of herself. “Yes. I am ready and I’m feeling good about this.”
Chuck’s mouth pulled up into the crooked smile he saved only for her. The one that popped the hidden dimple in his cheek and left her falling in love with him all over again.
Despite her freshly painted lips, she couldn’t resist kissing him.
He kissed her back, still leaning over her, and smiled. And then he kissed her again, deeper and harder. He slipped his hand around her nape and parted his lips. The heat of his mouth moving against hers, the glide of his tongue, the nip of his teeth, made her forget that someone had just spent an hour making up her face and hair, and that there were dozens of people milling about their house.
She pressed a gentle hand to his chest and pushed him back. “Chuck, you’re going to mess up my lips.”
Her protest did not deter him in the slightest.
“Well, you shouldn’t”—he paused to peck her lips again—“have made them so juicy, then.”
She pushed him back with a laugh. Then she reached up and swiped her thumb over the pink smudges clinging to his mouth. “ Ugh , now yours are juicy and mine are just smeared. I’m going to have to call makeup back in.”
Right then, Maddy appeared with the bottle of water Olivia had requested. “We’re almost ready to start shooting, Olivia. Here’s your water. Hey, Chuck,” she said pleasantly. Maddy and Chelsea had recently graduated from UCLA. They’d remained best friends and roommates, and Maddy was getting her feet wet in the industry again while Chelsea was starting in a local MFA program. They were both regular dinner guests at their house.
“Maddy, could you please tell Gina I need a touch-up because my husband can’t keep his hands to himself?” Olivia said.
Chuck playfully smirked at her. “Be sure to tell her it’s my wife’s fault because she kissed me first,” he said to Maddy.
The labels still sent her swooning. In true Olivia and Chuck fashion, their wedding had been an impulsive explosion but in the best way possible. Chuck had asked her to marry him the night the Izzy Ramírez movie premiered. She’d said yes, and two months later, they’d flown their loved ones to Maui for an intimate beachside ceremony. They’d exchanged vows with their toes in the sand, Chuck in a linen suit and Olivia in a fluttering gown with flowers in her hair. They’d honeymooned on the islands, and over a year later, Olivia was still adrift in the tropical glow of newlywed bliss.
“Sure thing,” Maddy said, unfazed. “Oh, and Ms. Patel and Mr. Smith just arrived. They said they’ll be in the kitchen when you’ve got a break.”
“Thanks, Maddy,” Olivia said.
In retrospect, it wasn’t too surprising when Mansi brought Chuck’s agent to their wedding as her plus-one. The two of them had been sneaking around together since that day way back in the Name Your Price office. When the show abruptly ended, Mansi hadn’t shared the news of the new man in her life given that Olivia’s world was in complete upheaval. Once things had settled, Mansi casually mentioned this guy she was casually seeing but failed to mention that it was Cameron. Turned out two quick-witted, sharp-tongued career warriors made an excellent pair.
“Oh, Maddy?” Olivia called after her. “Where’s my grandma?”
“She’s inside with hair and makeup. She’ll be out soon,” Maddy reported just as the phone in her hand rang. She answered it and headed back into the house, on a mission, like a seasoned PA.
Of course Ruby was going to be in the documentary too. Her daughter was the primary subject. She’d been hesitant at first, but Olivia’s encouragement that she had the most unique and intimate perspective to share, along with Chuck’s persuasive charm, ultimately won her over.
“Could you go check on her?” Olivia asked Chuck with a squeeze of his arm as the film crew spilled out from the house.
“Of course,” Chuck said. He kissed the top of her head and smiled down at her. “You’re going to be great.”
She gave him a smile back, feeling a surge of confidence at his faith in her.
“Okay, gang, let’s get rolling while the light is good,” Parker said with a clap of his hands as he marched out onto the pool deck. Gina the makeup artist reappeared to touch up Olivia’s lips with a knowing grin.
“Sorry,” Olivia guiltily muttered to her with a flush.
“It’s fine. I’d kiss him too if he were mine,” Gina said with a wink.
And then the space cleared out around her, and it was just Olivia, a camera pointed at her, and the crew standing behind it.
But it wasn’t just her. She wasn’t alone. She was with her friends, her family, the spirit of her parents being brought back to life by those who knew and cared for them. And Chuck. The love of her life looking on like he was the luckiest man alive.
He shot her a smile, and she shot him one back. Her heart bungee-jump hiccupped once more, and she took a breath, ready.
“Quiet, please!” Parker called. He circled behind the camera with their director and gave Olivia a nod. “Okay, here we go. In three…two…one …”