Chapter 39
ANNA
It was the kind of perfect day you never wanted to end.
After the whirlwind of media chaos, Luke and I were given strict instructions: lie low, but, if we chose to go out, stay disguised.
The publicist hinted at the possibility of future public appearances together, but for now, discretion was key.
No one knew we were staying at Topher’s mansion, which made sneaking in and out relatively easy.
I’d taken a few days off from Muses to avoid the inevitable crush of curiosity. Marie Antoinette had texted me a picture of the crowd crammed into the bar, standing room only, people hoping to catch a glimpse of Luke or at least hear some gossip.
The media frenzy didn’t appear like it would let up, either. The paparazzi had unearthed every awkward high school and college photo of me they could find. There were even interviews with people I’d never met, all claiming some intimate connection to my life.
Luke’s publicist had pulled off a minor miracle. Public opinion was shockingly positive, with headlines hailing me as a “regular woman” who had “caught the eye of a Hollywood heartthrob.” Newer headlines identified me as a writer, highlighting the award I’d won in college.
Still, the constant noise felt suffocating. That’s why the day after everything broke, Luke and I went wandering through City Park, and both of us had to wear disguises.
We started at the Sculpture Garden, where Luke pretended to narrate each piece like a museum tour guide.
“And here we have Stick Man Contemplates Existence,” he said, gesturing dramatically to a minimalist piece. “A poignant commentary on the futility of waiting in line for coffee.”
I laughed so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Stick Man deserves better than that.”
“Oh, absolutely. Stick Man deserves a beignet.”
From there, we rented a pedal boat. Luke insisted on doing all the work at first until he quickly realized pedaling wasn’t as easy as it looked.
“You’re enjoying this too much.” He panted as I lounged back, my feet nowhere near the pedals.
“Maybe a little,” I teased, dipping my fingers into the cool water. “But hey, you’re the one who wanted to steer.”
By the time we made our way to the Café du Monde stand near the art museum, we were sweaty, a little sunburned, and laughing. We split an order of beignets, and powdered sugar stuck to both of us as the breeze scattered it like confetti.
“This is what heaven tastes like,” Luke said through a mouthful, his grin boyish and carefree.
“Powdered sugar and fried dough? Sounds about right.”
“You’ve got some right there.” Luke gestured vaguely at my face.
“Here?” I asked, swiping my cheek.
“No, the other side.”
I swiped again, and he grinned. “Still missed it.”
“You’re the worst.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
Before I could attempt another pass, Luke leaned in, his hand cupping my chin gently as his thumb brushed over my cheek. The moment felt electric, his touch sending a wave of warmth through me. His eyes met mine for the briefest second, something unspoken passing between us.
“There,” he said, his voice lower now, his thumb lingering a second longer than necessary. And then, he kissed me. Soft and sweet, his lips warm against mine. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was enough to leave me tingling, my skin humming with the aftershocks. “Got it that time.”
After we ate, we wandered the paths around Big Lake, pausing now and then to admire the view. Luke bought a watercolor from a street artist, a painting of the iconic live oaks draped in Spanish moss.
“These trees remind me of you.” His voice was low, gravelly.
I tried to laugh it off. “What, because I’m old and creaky?”
“No.” He stepped closer, and I could see the warmth in his eyes. “Because you’re beautiful. And no matter how hard the wind blows, you stay rooted.”
My face flushed. We held hands, and everything felt easy and natural.
As the afternoon stretched on, we sprawled on a picnic blanket under one of the park’s massive live oaks. The air was warm, the light dappled through the leaves, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
Well, the two of us, plus Tom and Hal leaning against a tree, arms stiff, clearly ready to tackle anybody who recognized Luke.
Luke leaned back on his elbows, watching the clouds drift by. “This,” he said, his voice quiet, “is perfect.”
I glanced over at him, taking in the peaceful expression on his face. “It really is.”
But perfect days don’t last forever.
On our way home, Tom turned onto Topher’s street, and my heart sank before the car even stopped. The driveway was now a frenzy of noise and movement. A cluster of paparazzi swarmed the gates like wasps, cameras raised, lenses glinting like weapons in the afternoon sun.
The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop before flashes lit up the windows.
I froze, every muscle in my body going tight. My chest clenched, like my lungs had forgot how to work. “Oh no.”
Luke let out a slow sigh, already reaching for the sunglasses on the dashboard. Tom drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as if it were a countdown, and Hal slid out of the car, his jaw tight, motioning for the photographers to back up.
Hal cleared a path, barking orders like a drill sergeant as Tom inched the car through the sea of flashing cameras. The gates finally creaked open, and we slipped inside just long enough for them to slam shut behind us.
Inside, I tried to shake off the unease. I opened my laptop, thinking some writing might distract me, only to be greeted by an email I hadn’t expected.
“Unfortunately, this piece is not a fit for us at this time.”
The rejection stared back at me. I hadn’t even remembered submitting the short story, a historical fiction piece about a failed revolution in 19th-century Poland. But seeing it rejected now stung more than I wanted to admit.
This wasn’t supposed to be the hundredth rejection.
I exhaled.
“Hey.”
I looked up to see Luke standing in the doorway, his eyes lingering on me with a tenderness that made my breath catch. “What’s wrong?”
I turned the screen toward him, waving vaguely at it. “Another rejection. I didn’t even remember submitting this story. It’s just, I don’t know. It’s silly.”
“It’s just one rejection,” he said gently. “You’re better than that.”
His kindness hit a nerve I didn’t know was raw.
“It’s not just one rejection. It’s my hundredth rejection. You don’t get it,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “You don’t know what it’s like to put your whole heart into something and have people tell you it’s not good enough.”
His jaw tightened. “I do know what that’s like, Anna.”
The silence that followed was thick and immediate; his words echoed louder than either of us had expected. Shame surged through me almost instantly.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, stepping toward him. “I didn’t mean that. I just…” My voice cracked. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”
I wrapped my arms around him, resting my cheek against his chest. He hesitated for a second, then pulled me closer. I listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand moved gently up and down my back.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and soft against my hair. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You don’t have to be perfect for anyone. You’re already enough.”
His words hit me squarely in the chest, leaving me breathless for a moment. I swallowed hard and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
He tilted my chin up, his gaze meeting mine. “You don’t need to apologize. I get it, Anna. I really do. I mean, I know rejection, too. Hollywood’s built on it. For every role I get, there are ten I don’t. For every glowing review, there’s someone saying I’m overrated.”
I reached up to touch his face, my fingertips brushing his cheek. “You’re one of the good ones, Luke.”
He smiled faintly. “And don’t forget that you’re one of the good ones, too.”
The tension in my chest began to ease as his words sank in. For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. The rejection emails, the headlines, the noise. It was just the two of us, wrapped in a kind of understanding.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering there. When he pulled back, his hands slid down my arms slowly, his thumbs tracing small circles that made my breath catch.
“You’re going to finish this book.” His eyes searched mine. “And when you do, the world’s going to see what I already see. That you’re brilliant and talented and absolutely incredible.”
“You make me believe that,” I said quietly. “When I’m with you, everything feels possible.”
“I mean it.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch so tender it made my chest ache. “I believe in you, Anna. More than you know.”
I reached up and covered his hand with mine, holding it against my cheek.
He leaned down to kiss my forehead, then the tip of my nose, making me laugh despite the emotion welling up inside me.
“There’s that smile,” he murmured, his own widening.
For a moment, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. The rest of the world felt very far away.
His phone buzzed in the silence, cutting through the moment. He glanced at the screen, and something in his expression shifted. It was so subtle that I thought I’d imagined it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He smiled and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Just Bob checking in. I should probably call him back before he sends out a search party.”
“Of course.” I stepped back to give him space. “Go ahead.”
He squeezed my hand once more. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Why don’t you pick something to watch? I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
I stayed by the window, staring out into the night, that brief flicker of unease still twisting in my chest.
Maybe everything was fine.
So why did it feel like it wasn’t?