Benny
I wake up to my grandmother calling the police from my living room.
“What’s going on?” I ask Colby, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a protein drink.
“She’s trying to get rid of the paps.”
“They’re outside?”
“All over the sidewalk.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “As long as they don’t cross private property, there’s nothing the police can do. The sidewalk is public space.”
Colby’s brows shoot up. “Tell that to Grandma.”
“The police better tell her so she believes it.” I pour a glass of water and down it. At least nothing from the beach last night has shown up online yet. They must not have gotten any good shots. “How are we going to shoot the video if they’re all out there?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
My frown follows Grandma as she paces the living room and speaks on the phone. “Yes. Lining the sidewalk. Yes. Exactly. It’s an infringement of our rights and personal boundaries. I appreciate it, thank you.” She hangs up and marches into the kitchen. “Good morning, Benny.”
“Morning.” I try to give her a bright smile. “Nothing like a couple of paparazzi to wake you up.”
Grandma scowls. Maybe now she’ll remember why I got out of the business and think twice before pressuring me back into the spotlight.
Anyone can see she wants Bree to become her next granddaughter-in-law, and nothing will catapult me into regularly hiding from aggressive photographers than a public alliance with Bree Belacourt.
“Once the police come and move them—”
“They can’t do that,” Colby says patiently. “The sidewalk is public property.”
“We’ll see,” she says primly.
That’s concerning.
“We have to get the girls out to film. But anywhere we go, we’re going to run into the same problem. We need a private strip of beach.” I close my eyes, watching Bree’s dream of filming a few scenes at the Bodega school fly away on the wings of her evil birds. “Or even a deserted field would do.”
“Bay Hill Road?” Colby suggests.
“Wherever we go, they’ll follow us.”
We stand around the kitchen in silence until I can’t take it. “I’m going to shower. Let me know when the police are here.”
“I’ll get my equipment together,” Colby says.
Grandma pulls my broom from the closet.
“Where are you going with that?” I ask.
“Just to wait outside.”
“Grandma,” I say in warning. “Remember that anything you do will be giving them a story, too.”
She pauses, then makes an unintelligible grumbling sound. “I’ll cook then. Do you think those girls have anything to eat over there?”
“Unlikely.”
She picks up a lemon and opens my fridge, and I escape.
By the time I’m ready for the day, I find Colby and Grandma in the entryway speaking to two tan-clad police officers from the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office.
“As I was saying, ma’am,” the first officer says, his short buzz cut so low he nearly looks bald. I check his badge for a name. Officer Gutierrez. “There’s nothing much we can do unless they cross onto private property or use extensive zoom lenses to film inside your home.”
The other officer crosses her arms, her low bun tight and sleek. She notices me, and her eyes momentarily widen. She must recognize me and think I’m the reason for the paps. “Have they been harassing you?”
“No, but I haven’t been outside yet. My grandma is concerned.”
“Naturally,” Officer Gutierrez says. “I want you to give us a call if the situation escalates in any way. We’d like to move them for your peace of mind, but unless something happens, our hands are tied.”
“We understand.”
“Do we?” Grandma asks.
Officer Moran laughs lightly. “It’s frustrating. I’m sorry, Mrs. Rhodes. Please call us again if you need us.”
“You can bet we will.”
“We’ll remind them of your rights and their boundaries before we leave.”
“We appreciate that,” Colby says.
Grandma walks the police officers to the door, and Colby tugs me back into the hallway. “Hey, what do you think about sneaking over to my house through the backyard? Think Grandma’s up for it?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because my old Bronco is still in the garage, and all those paps think Bree’s staying here. As long as the battery isn’t dead, maybe we can sneak out.”
“It’s a great idea, but even if we get out, we’ll be spotted wherever we film.”
Colby’s smile widens. “I have an answer for that, too.”
Sneaking between our houses to get in through Colby’s back door is more complicated than I had imagined at first. There’s a large number of shrubs to protect us from view and no fences between the yards, so physically it’s no hardship for Grandma.
The tricky bit is passing the one small open space between our yards without any of the paps noticing.
Colby goes first, which he manages to do without catching any attention.
“Let’s wait a minute,” I whisper.
Grandma nods, then when she feels it’s safe, she hurries over, holding a Tupperware of hot pancakes and bacon.
I follow shortly after, and before long we’re all slipping through the back door into the kitchen, where Bree is seated at the table and Olive is doing her makeup. Zoey is sitting next to them, looking at her computer.
“Good morning,” pretty much everyone echoes.
“Nancy,” Bree says, though her voice sounds funny while Olive is painting her lips. “These are my sisters, Zoey and Olive.”
“Well, this is just delightful.” Grandma beams, carrying the breakfast into the kitchen and plating it.
“That’s Colby,” Bree says offhand.
“Glad to be here,” he says dryly.
“He came up with your escape plan, but it involves you all laying in the back of the Bronco and us covering you with a blanket.” I suppress my amusement. “What do you think?”
“That old dusty thing in the garage?” Olive says, straightening. Her eyebrow is hitched in total judgment.
Colby doesn’t get intimidated easily, and I can see the Belacourt sisters haven’t phased him. “Yeah. That one.”
There’s a beat of silence to go with Olive’s wrinkled nose before she returns to her task.
“That’s great. Thanks,” Zoey says, looking up from her computer at the table. “Now, let’s plan the video—”
“All done.” Colby takes two plates from Grandma and sets them on the table with a distinct thud. “When you’ve eaten and Bree’s finished getting ready, we can go.”
“It can’t be in a public place,” Bree says. “We’ll be swarmed now.”
He hesitates, giving her a compassionate smile. “I know. Don’t worry. I have the perfect place.”
She looks at me for confirmation, so I give her a nod, glad to see her body relax fractionally. When her attention shifts to the blueberry-lemon pancakes on her plate, she smiles. “These look great. Thanks Nancy.”
“Of course, honey. Now eat up.”
Olive picks at her food, her attention mostly on her phone and whoever she’s texting, but the other two practically clean their plates. Zoey tells me about her fiancé, whom I’ve only seen on their show a handful of times. He seems to be always working.
“Do you work with him?” I ask.
“In a sense, yes. But not really. We’re a partnership and a representation of both of our brands. To collaborate between our companies in a show of professional marriage, I’ve been working on a line of luxury dog beds and collars.”
“She’s going to use Peanut as one of her models,” Bree says proudly. “Or that was the plan.”
“Still is. We’re about to get our first shipment of prototypes, so we’ll get with Lonn—” Zoey coughs, correcting herself. “I guess we’ll connect with your new assistant to set that up. Who did you hire to replace him?”
Bree pushes her last bite of pancake around her plate. “No one, yet.”
It’s silent for a minute before Bree gathers the breakfast plates to take into the kitchen. I follow her, removing them from her hand and bumping her gently out of the way. “I’ll wash these while you finish getting ready. Colby wants to get started soon.”
She leans against me, looking up and smiling. She’s in the makeup style the entire country is used to seeing her in, red lips and everything. They didn’t even smudge when she ate—the woman is a pro.
“My lips are fascinating, aren’t they?” she quips.
“I was thinking about how perfect your lipstick still is.”
“It’s a stain. I’m not superhuman.” She runs her hand down my chest. “I’ll be right back.”
The chills pebble my skin, and I can’t help inhaling her scent as she walks away. How am I supposed to focus on the music at all when she’s distracting me like this?
When the dishes are finished, we load Colby’s equipment in the Bronco and lay a clean blanket in the bed of the trunk.
Olive stands at the tailgate, scowling. “There’s no other way to make this happen?”
“Nope.” Is it just me, or did Colby sound smug when he answered her? I understand that he was skeptical around Bree at first, but there was a reason for that. He had been under the false illusion that she’d broken my heart and might do it again.
What’s his beef with Olive?
I give him a look, but he ignores me.
“Climb in, ladies,” Colby says. “Grandma, you get the front seat. Benny, you should probably be in the back.”
I agree with him, but still.
Watching Olive and Zoey Belacourt climb into the trunk of a dusty old truck and lie down was not on my bingo card for today.
Bree joins us, and my breath catches. She’s wearing a long, flowy white dress, which is not her typical thing, and her hair is down and wavy.
She looks ethereal, which is perfect for our destination, and she doesn’t even know where we’re going.
“You had that packed?” I ask.
“Zoey brought it.” Bree adjusts one of the straps. “I brought a few other outfit changes, but with the wind, I thought this would give me good coverage and flow prettily.”
“You definitely look pretty.”
She glances up, handing me her bag. “Thanks.”
After Bree climbs in, I hand the women a blanket to pull over them, then push Bree’s bag in by Zoey’s feet and squeeze in the last remaining spot. Colby closes the door behind us while I settle in next to Bree, her entire body pressing against my side.
“The things we do for you, B,” Olive says, her voice disembodied in the dark.
Zoey laughs. “It’s an adventure.”
“What would you be doing now if you weren’t here?” I ask them.
“Arguing with my mom’s party planner about the engagement dinner,” Zoey says quickly.
“Probably sitting in Dash’s beach house,” Olive mutters.
“This is better than one of those things, at least.”
“Both,” Bree argues. “You’re in a beach house here too, Ollie.”
The Bronco starts up, rumbling loudly through our bodies, and we fall silent.
The garage door opens, letting in warm sunlight, and we draw the blanket up over our heads.
There’s no knowing what the paparazzi are capable of, and we don’t need them glancing back here and seeing a handful of reality TV stars and a has-been.
Colby backs out of his garage, closing the door behind him, while we all sit there silently. I hear the window roll down, then he shouts. “Got nothing better to do?”
“You know your neighbor?” one of the paps calls back.
A woman shouts. “Have you seen Bree Belacourt leave this house?”
Well, at least now we have confirmation that they think she’s staying with me. We also know Bree’s identity isn’t safe anymore, so I don’t feel as bad about how I had to ruin her cover with Sierra when I called her twenty minutes ago.
Colby must be annoyed. As one photographer to another, he’s always had strong opinions about the subjects of his photographs. “Get a real job,” he calls, pulling onto the street and driving away. “Exploitation isn’t journalism!”
Once we’re on the highway, I relax, pulling down the blanket so we can breathe.
“Where are we heading?” Bree asks.
“Sierra’s house.”
Bree’s head whips toward me, surprise evident. “Why?”
“Did you see her fields of flowers? Colby thinks they’ll make a good background. He also made a great point that she lives up a long driveway, so even if we were followed, you should have privacy shooting on her fields.”
Bree lays there, her brown eyes locked on me. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“Just trying to help.”
She nods softly. “I owe you.”
“No, you really don’t. This is what friends are for.”
There’s a flicker in her expression, almost as if it dulls, before she pulls on her smile again. What was that for? Because I called us friends? We’re on the same page. We can’t be together, so that’s the most we can be.
But as I look into her eyes, I’m struck with the real truth, deep in my chest: I want more from Bree. I don’t want to just be her friend. I don’t want us to part ways when she returns to her life.
I also can’t bear to have paparazzi on my sidewalk for the rest of my life.
At some point, one of these things needs to be sacrificed. I’ve reached a point where I can’t have everything I want.
So which do I want more?