Chapter 17 #2
She nods, her accent thickening. "Grew up in Chauvin—tiny speck on the map.
Cypress knees in murky water, shrimp boats with peeling paint.
Daddy fished with more hope than luck. We ate whatever the tide brought—blue crabs on good days, mudbugs on bad.
That's why I love poutine—reminds me of Momma stretching crawfish into meals with gravy thick enough to stand a spoon in.
Lord, I was round as a barrel in Hollywood—one-seventy of pure bayou. "
We talk like two girlfriends from way back for about an hour.
I tell her about Mom and Lexi, and she's no longer an untouchable goddess but flesh and blood.
Her Cajun drawl deepens with each sip of Wildberry Poppi as she traces my chipped counter with one manicured finger.
When Max's name crosses her glossy lips, her eyes actually sparkle.
I want to tell her: take him. He's yours.
She'd love that offer—it's why she's here in my flickering kitchen, talking about crawfish boils and humid bayou nights.
I even found out her name isn’t really Elody.
“Oh, lord, you thought a Cajun Momma would come up with a name like Elody?” she asks. “No. My birth certificate lists me as Ellie. I never even heard the name Elody until I read that book Before I Fall. Great book, by the way.”
At some point, I know it’s time to address the elephant in the room. She’s not here to shoot the shit with me. No way would a mega star like Elody Martin come slumming with the likes of me if she doesn’t want something, no matter how humble her upbringing.
“So, Max,” I say. “I know that’s why you’re here.”
She sighs. "That's why I'm here." Her hand squeezes my arm.
Four Poppi sodas in, my bladder's screaming, but I need to hear her out.
Maybe Elody holds my escape from this marriage, though I can't see how.
"I know you probably know how I feel about him.
" She rolls her eyes. "Everybody in town does.
" Her hypnotic gaze locks with mine, measuring me, weighing whether I can be trusted with whatever she's about to share.
She finally takes a deep breath. “Please don’t breathe a word to this to anyone. I have an image I need to maintain.” She puts her perfectly manicured hand on my arm. “I don’t know, I just have a good feeling about you. Like I can trust you. Please don’t let me down.”
I nod. Elody Martin is giving me that look—you know the one—where she's basically saying "this stays between us" without actually saying it.
Half of me is like, holy crap, Elody Martin just inducted me into her circle of trust, and the other half is convinced I'm having some kind of fever dream.
Like, seriously? Me? The girl who still has IKEA furniture she assembled wrong?
Somehow sitting here with Hollywood's golden goddess like we're sorority sisters or something? But here we are. Wild.
“Okay…” My heart is hammering in my chest. I’ll be squeeing about this with Olivia later, and we will do some serious fan-girl squeeing, that is for sure - but, for now, I’m talking to her, girlfriend to girlfriend, about to be let in some big secret that I’ll put right in the vault.
She leans in, voice dropping. "Don't laugh, but where I grew up in Louisiana, mysticism was just part of life.
Vodou, spirits, all that bayou stuff." She waves her hand dismissively.
"I don't practice it myself, but it opened my mind, you know?
To the universe having plans." Her violet eyes widen.
"That's why I see Aurora—just Aurora, no last name—whenever I need guidance.
She's uncanny. Predicted my breakout role, my agent, everything. "
I nod, fingering my rose quartz bracelet.
If only she knew about my Saturdays in Venice Beach shops, letting women with jangling bracelets read my future in tarot cards.
At dinner with his grandparents, Max smirked when he noticed my crystals.
I seized the opportunity, launching into chakras and energy fields, certain the grandparents and Max would find me too ridiculous for this arrangement.
It backfired. Now I'm still marrying a man who can't stand me, but the quarter-million will keep Mom's treatments going and Lexi in school.
She shakes her head. "If this leaks, I'll know who to blame.
" Her manicured finger jabs the air between us.
"Back in Chauvin, only my ride-or-dies Clementine and Evangeline knew about Aurora.
They'd die with that secret." Her voice drops.
"So when TMZ posts about my psychic consultations, I'll know who talked.
I won't sue you, but you'll have to live with the guilt.
And you don't strike me as someone who sleeps well with that burden. "
True enough. I couldn’t possibly have it on my conscience that I’m the one who went to Page Six to make Elody look ridiculous. And I’m now thinking of her just as Elody, not Elody Martin, so we’re on a first-name basis. How strange is that?
“Go on.”
She takes a deep breath. "Everyone knows I've always been obsessed with Max.
Aurora says we're destined for each other.
" Her laugh rings hollow. "I thought it was his looks, but he's always been cold to me, and I have plenty of gorgeous men after me.
" I twist my hair nervously, both dreading and craving what comes next.
"Maybe I just wanted the one man who doesn't worship me. But apparently he's my soulmate."
“I see. So you want me to back off, then?”
She nods. “Please. I could pay you to walk away. A million dollars.”
A million dollars! Two years of Mom's rent would have been enough, but this is beyond even Joe's offer. I could reclaim my life.
I should take her offer. Max might make my heart race, but I need stability, not whatever emotional rollercoaster awaits in Malibu.
His texts—"yes," "no," and that infuriating "k"—tell me everything I need to know about living with him.
And what if Mom doesn't make it? I'd be stranded an hour from everyone who keeps me sane.
Right now, Olivia's in Claremont with me, Tally lives in the city and Lexi is in Palm. I’d be way out in Malibu, which means I might as well be living on the moon.
LA traffic turns twenty miles into eternity.
I can already see myself spiraling while Max gives me the cold shoulder when I could be coming home to Olivia, who would be brewing tea and queuing up our comfort movies, knowing exactly what I need without my asking.
Why trade that for his beachfront hostility? This offer is my escape hatch.
“I-”
Just then, Max materializes just when I don't need him to.
His silhouette appears through the glass panels flanking my front door, and then comes the frantic knocking—my doorbell hasn't worked in weeks.
Elody's eyes roll skyward. "Damn it," she whispers.
"We were so close. Someone must have tipped him off. "
I raise my eyebrows. Oh my god! She doesn’t have an accent! When she whispered to herself, she sounded like a regular Californian. I shake my head. This woman is an actress and I fell for everything she told me. I ignore the insistent door pounding. I need answers from her.
“You don’t have a Cajun accent, do you?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Guess you should’ve done your research on me. My Wikipedia page tells the truth. Go ahead. The jig is apparently up anyhow.” She motions and glances at the door stoop where Max’s figure is hulking outside, his head shaking.
Yup. Definitely no Cajun accent.
My fingers tremble as I stab at my phone.
Elody Martin—born and raised in Santa Monica.
Her parents own a shipping company. A shipping company!
While I ate ramen, she bathed in champagne.
That drawl, those hurricane and crawfish boil stories—lies.
I fell for her "aw shucks" routine, and the humiliation burns my throat.
In my world, we can't afford masks this convincing.
After I marry Max, I'll be surrounded by these polished liars with their rehearsed smiles.
My vision blurs. First online trolls, now this betrayal.
The universe screams: YOU DON'T BELONG HERE, CELESTE.
I'm in a minefield without a map, already bleeding.
“Out. Now!” I point at the door and she smirks at me and heads to the door.
Goddamn it, how could I be such a fucking idiot?
Her Cajun accent hit me like a knife to the gut - perfect in every syllable, every goddamn drawn-out vowel.
I've heard real Cajuns many times. I should've known better.
Elody didn't just nail it, she buried it six feet deep.
That's her whole game - she's not just Meryl Streep with accents, she's Meryl on steroids with a vendetta.
Everyone in the industry knows it. Everyone but me, apparently.
As Elody goes out the door, Max comes in and I’m ready to throw him out the door, too.
“What do you want?” I ask him hostilely.
I've had it with him. DONE. His one-word texts make me want to hurl my phone through the window.
I'm drowning, and he doesn't care. Yes, he sent Hannah, who saved my online reputation when I needed it most—the broken clock got that right.
Without her, I'd be a muttering mess in my closet while Olivia slid crackers under the door.
But Elody Martin twisting my kindness into a weapon?
That was my breaking point. I want to tell Max to go to hell and watch his perfect face crumble.
I would, if Joe's lawyers weren't circling.
That contract is all that stops me from burning this whole arrangement to ash in front of him.