Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
“You’re not in this alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere, and if you’ll let me, I’ve got broad shoulders for you to lean on whenever you need me.”
— LISA KESSLER, ICE MOON
A lthough I was ready to tell the world about my promotion to future Mrs. Professor Boone (and Maverick’s to my Mr. Ruiz), it was surprisingly difficult to spill the beans to my near and dear. My parents had left on a visit to Easter Island and weren’t due back for another day, but I called (got voicemail) and texted (left unread). Mami had already reported—via a paper postcard with a stamp starring a guy with a pompadour—that although they’d heard spectral chains in the streets at night, they had not yet encountered the ghost of Pito Pito. As he was an evil French Tahitian businessman who’d done horrible things to women, it had been a lucky break for Pito Pito. She’d have exorcised him on the spot.
Despite my previous failures, I tried texting again, but no luck. I stuck to vague remarks (Almost done shooting! Miss you!) and peppered my message with mushroom emojis. Maybe it was for the best? I could Facetime them and introduce them to my mister. He could meet my parents while sitting side by side with me. He’d charm them. There would be baby pictures. Fern jokes. Happy crying.
I wanted it to happen now .
I needed to share the news with someone, and they were the most important someones in my life pre-Maverick. I needed to hear Mami’s happy curse, and then we’d both go buy the same bridal magazines and flip through them while we Facetimed. She’d ask overly personal questions about the wedding venue and my honeymoon plans, and what my thoughts were on sexy lingerie for both the bride and the groom, and was I pregnant right now because that would be perfect, and she couldn’t wait to be the lita for my babies. Then she’d be horrified that she’d brought up babies when she’d promised Papi that she would never, and I’d tell her it was fine and maybe soon.
My mami had lamented, loudly and frequently, to my siblings and me that all of us were underproducing in the grandbabies arena. So smart, so good at your jobs, and with health insurance! But where are my grandbabies? she would ask, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve got four Sterilite containers of baby clothes that I bought on sale waiting. First come, first served! And who am I going to give my Christmas village to? Hmmm? I have twelve houses, a village church, AND a train set. Those are for your children!”
Maverick had mentioned wanting to fill up his family home with babies, a comment that was permanently incised on my ovaries. And, given his enthusiasm for baby-making activities, I suspected he’d be on board with having a family sooner rather than later.
Eric dropped me and the rest of the security team off at the private terminal for charter flights and disappeared to park the car. After checking in and meeting back up with Eric, we were ushered out to the tarmac where the jet was already waiting.
I clutched my phone in my hand the whole time, hoping my mami would pop up online before we left. She didn’t, but Maverick did. That was both better and worse.
Maverick : I scheduled a virtual appointment with a PR fixer person for Monday. Anchors away!
Sonnet : I miss you. I wish you were here. I saved you a seat.
I snapped a photo of the empty seat next to me and sent it. I hated making this trip without him. I hated not having him here by my side. I also hated that we were keeping our relationship a secret, our engagement a secret. I hated that my parents were ghost hunting on a remote volcanic rock. I was a hate monster hating on everything. Mature, logical Sonnet understood the necessity of sticking to the plan, but inside I kinda just wanted to go on a charm offensive and compel everyone to fall in love with Maverick. Now that would have been a spell.
Maverick : We could honeymoon in London if you want.
Sonnet : I should have squashed you into my suitcase.
Maverick : An emotional-support wolf?
Sonnet : Always howling after something.
Maverick : I love you.
“Mr. Hensley, we didn’t expect to see you.” Eric’s surprised announcement yanked my attention away from my text messages.
Luke had just stepped through the doorway of the aircraft. He had a bottle of Perrier in one hand and a cashmere throw in the other. A red Louis Vuitton micro steamer bag was slung across his chest. His assistant popped up behind him, laden with matching travel bags.
“Why are you on my plane?”
Did I want to get into it with my ex-boyfriend and colleague?
Yes, I did. Anger and upset raged inside me. I shot out of my seat. One eviction, coming up!
“Sonnet.” I looked up the plane toward the cockpit, and there was Elena in her usual black sweatpants travel outfit. We hadn’t seen each other since our not-so-happy Los Angeles pool party, where she’d expressed her concern about my romantic situation and I’d called her out on her anti-Maverick sentiments.
Currently, she looked un concerned—and not at all surprised by Luke’s presence. “I invited him.”
She smiled pleasantly at Luke and continued, “It’s better for our carbon footprint, plus I thought the two of you could catch up. Relax. The shoot schedule has been insane, plus you’ve been writing. I thought this would give you some downtime.”
What. The. Hell.
Downtime was beaches and spas. In what universe did confining me in a flying tin can with my ex-boyfriend for eight hours constitute rewarding me for my hard work ?
I made horrified faces at her.
She gestured.
I had no idea what she meant. We weren’t speaking the same language.
Me: I need a vacation! I need downtime!
Her: Here’s eight hours of close proximity to someone you can’t stand! You’re welcome! Should I book you a bonus root canal?
Some of this must have been conveyed because she came over. Possibly, she sensed my imminent departure from the plane.
“Is something wrong?” She blinked at me, looking bewildered.
“I’m not flying with him. He’s intolerable.” I might not have entirely used my inside voice.
Her mouth tightened. “Sonnet.”
Despite her excellent imitation of our mami, I was unmoved. “He gets off the plane, or I get off. Your choice.”
“You can’t kick him off the plane,” she gritted out. “He’s attending the premiere.”
“Alrighty then.” I turned for the door. Luke was still standing there blocking the entrance—apparently, he was confused by the lack of a marching-band-and-confetti-cannon welcome—but I was happy to go through him. “I’ll see you when you get back from London.”
She threw up her hands. “You are such a diva!”
No. Wait. I wasn’t the diva?—
I was the BOSS.
This was my plane.
I’d paid for it.
Luke was just lucky I’d decided to evict him before we’d taken off. I didn’t think he was the flying type of Fae.
Turning to Luke, I pointed to the door. “Elena didn’t have the authority to offer you a seat on my plane. I want you to leave.”
Luke’s gaze bounced between me and my sister. He blinked. He turned the charm up another notch. I was a duck, and it was water. It just rolled off me. Maybe he’d have better luck with the United Airlines desk inside. His face hardened, his expression turning ugly.
“Is this because of your bearded boy toy?”
Elena cursed. Guess it won’t be a secret for long.
It was awesome being the boss. “Crickets and clovers! Could you just leave without turning this into a big scene? There are no cameras and no audience. No one cares. Just go.”
He tossed his mane of platinum hair over his shoulder, flicking his assistant in the process.
I waited. Yes, you are a pretty boy, but I’m not interested in your package. I’m in love with someone who actually understands what it means to be a partner.
Countenance souring, he pivoted, handed the bottle to the cabin attendant, and tossed the throw around his shoulders. Oooh. It was going to be a dramatic exit. “You’re a has-been. This guy is making a fool out of you. Everyone is laughing at you.”
This was not the Luke I’d thought I knew.
Lovable, dumb puppy Luke had been replaced by Mean Guy Luke.
Anger was a volcano inside me. It was so hot that my self-control melted. The words rose up, collected, formed sentences.
“No.”
Luke frowned.
“Out.” My temper erupted. I pointed toward the door because Luke had always needed directions, hadn’t he? “Get. OUT. Exit stage left. FYI, I write funny romances, so laughter will be totally on-brand for me.”
He stomped toward the door, then paused. “You want me here, Sonnet. You and I attend that premiere together, and nobody will be talking about the bearded wonder. I’m the perfect decoy. I’ll help you and your sister clean up the mess you’ve made.”
Wow. The anger rushed out of me. Exhaustion took its place. “There’s no mess, Luke, and your tone is disrespectful. Maverick is not a mess. He’s a smart, caring, capable person, and he’s exactly what I want. I love him.”
“Even if it costs you your career?” Luke sounded baffled, as if he truly couldn’t imagine a life as something other than being an actor and mega-influencer.
But all I needed was one like—from Maverick.
Elena held out until we were halfway across the Atlantic before she started speaking to me again. Usually, she gave me shit right away, but she’d been either confounded or marshaling her arguments. There had been headshaking and facial gestures while she worked through my eviction of Luke.
She looked at me. “I can’t believe you kicked Luke Hensley off your plane.”
“Are you ready to discuss this now? Because I can’t believe you invited him after I said that I wouldn’t go with him to the premiere.”
Her look was disbelieving. “Sonnet, we’re going to the same place. There’s plenty of room in the plane. It’s environmentally irresponsible to demand he take a different flight when there’s room on this one.”
“He can fly commercial. He can pay a carbon-offset fee. Put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on his hotel door and reuse his sheets. But he’s my ex -boyfriend.”
“And?” Elena sighed, clearly exasperated with my shenanigans.
“He is my ex. Who in her right mind would want to be confronted with her ex over and over again? You don’t respect my boundaries, Elena. You don’t listen. It’s bad enough that I have to work with him, but then you try to tell me that he’s not that bad and that I should do more.”
Elena stared at me, speechless.
But I was on a roll.
I had not told her much about my relationship with Luke. We were sisters, but there were things we didn’t share—and Elena had never had time for girl talk. I hadn’t had time for girl talk.
We’d both been busy, busy bees and I regretted that.
So I took a deep breath and told her because how else would she know exactly how awful Luke was?
“We dated. It wasn’t for very long, but I ended that relationship because it wasn’t acceptable to me. Luke is very self-centered. I wasn’t his girlfriend—I was a validation machine with a vagina. All he wanted to talk about was himself: his acting, his roles, his performance in bed, what he needed. I’m not in the business of directing his life, nor am I here to make things nicer or more convenient for him. Sharing plane space with him would be in convenient for me, as well as not nice. So, he’s not welcome.”
Elena frowned. “But he’s so charming.”
I snorted. “Well, he is a Fae prince. He’s lovely to look at but trust me—it’s all about him. And sure, we all have days when we need to hear that we’re attractive and talented and fuck whoever just told us that we weren’t, but a few weeks ago he suggested I use an exercise app to manage my waistline better. According to him, chubby Wolf Girls are unattractive.”
Elena cursed very creatively. “Okay, yeah. I’d have introduced him to the emergency door if he were here right now. That was an asshole thing to say. There are no excuses.”
I threw up my hands. “You get it!”
“Get what?”
“Get that he is no Prince Charming, no matter what antediluvian fairy court he comes from.”
She smirked. “His only asset is that title. It’s definitely not his acting skills.”
It was no exaggeration to say that Luke made a wood knife block look like an award-winning thespian. He looked gorgeous on camera, but he had zero emotions other than self-satisfaction and pleased. Oh, also irate and temper-tantrumy. He didn’t even have an O face!
Elena’s grin faded. “But I’m still worried about you, conejita .”
“Why?” I asked softly, happy we were really talking and not yelling or sulking in silence.
“This guy you’re seeing.”
“Maverick.”
“Yes. Maverick. Have you done a background check? What do you know about him?”
I could not tell her about the shapeshifting.
She would shit bricks if she knew, though.
I grinned, just thinking about her reaction. “Everything. He was a car thief and a biker in one of those motorcycle club gang things.”
“ Dios mío .”
And as I was the little sister, the hermanita , I had to tease her just a little. Her horror at the optics was funny because once she met him, she’d love him. I knew she would love him.
“He was never convicted.” I winked at her. “Although he’s officially the town’s black sheep.”
Or maybe that was lone wolf? Despite his plethora of brothers and love of family time, he had run alone for the last five years.
Now he had me.
“And he gave me this ring.” I held my hand out and wiggled my fingers. Shit. I should have gotten a fancy manicure. I had an explicable urge to snap fancy photos of my beringed hand and post them on all my social media.
Elena face-palmed—and peeked through her fingers. She was so curious. Her eyes widened and she grabbed my hand with hers. “Holy SHIT.” My hand was turned in more directions than a yo-yo. “Are those real?”
Ah, my dear friend subtext. I nodded and then answered the unspoken question. “Very real. Ten-thousand-percent real.”
“Which is a mathematical impossibility,” she muttered, holding my hand up to the light.
“He’s talking to that image consultant we used when my phone was hacked, and people were asking if I really believed in faeries and the Fae. We’ve agreed to keep our relationship secret for now, at least until she can help us come up with a plan. We’re engaged. We’re getting married.”
Elena gently squeezed my hand and returned it—and my ring—to me. “Do Mami and Papi know? Because I don’t know what to say. Does he know about?—”
She mouthed FAE.
“Say you’re happy for me. Say you can’t wait to meet him but you already love him. Maybe threaten to rip him limb from limb if he hurts me, so I can assure you that he’s the biggest, sweetest teddy bear”— WOLF —“ever. And yes, he knows about my family and where I come from. He’s good with it.”
“I will tear him apart if he hurts you.”
“He won’t.”
“But you will be hurt. Your image will take a hit. You know that. He’s not only off-brand, but he’s also a criminal . Studios won’t want to be associated with that.”
“Which is why he wants us to not advertise our relationship for now. This is me accommodating him and agreeing. Reluctantly. Very, very reluctantly.”
“It could mean your career,” she persisted. “You know how Hollywood is. Maybe you’ll make a comeback some day, but you’ll be undoing years of hard work and for what?”
“For the man I love.”
She shook her head. “But you could do so much good. You have opportunities that women like us don’t get. You are representing more than just yourself.”
“But what I want matters too,” I said gently. “I get to live my life for me, Elena. I won’t choose unhappiness and giving up the only person I’ve ever loved like this. Why would I not want to spend the rest of my life with him, happy and fulfilled and maybe making babies to fill up our new life together? At the end of the day, no one thinks, OMG I wish I’d worked more hours! And not taken that vacation! And making more money, attending more parties, or even landing more projects—no matter how awesome they are and how fortunate I am to have these choices to make—nothing could ever mean as much.”
She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. “Fine. I’ll fly back with you to Tennessee. Introduce me to this wondrous male specimen.”
I grabbed her and squeezed her. Sneak attack! “Gah! You’ll love him!”
I did, so how could she not?
Her eyes met mine as she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed back. “I hope so. I hope you’ll be happy. Otherwise, I’ll have to hire Eric to kill him, and that’s both a felony and some toxic workplace shit.”
“I know.” I leaned back so I could see her face, and she could see mine. “I do know that. But, Elena, this is about more than just being happy. Which is amazing and wonderful, and everyone should try it. It’s about the way he supports me. He takes care of me, like it’s his one mission in life. And I do the same for him. We’re partners.”
I was used to the looks when I did things by myself. Want to go on an excursion to see cute little Komodo dragons? Please buy TWO tickets, Ms. Single Lady. Table for one at the restaurant? There’s no one joining you? That’s horrible! Let me suggest you sit with this other random solo stranger and share an awkward meal together because how can you possibly want to be ALONE.
People treated aloneness like a sexually transmitted disease.
Don’t advertise it, don’t show anybody the affected parts, and run and get that shit fixed as soon as possible.
Surprisingly, however, my solo appearance on the London red carpet saw no pitying looks or hmmm-I-could-introduce-her-to-my-nephew’s-cousin’s-dentist looks slanted my way. Not that I was actually on my own; the studio had sent a publicist to manage the press people and keep things moving. Talent traffic jams were the worst. No one wanted the carpet to pack up and have stars standing on stars (or dress trains, Louboutin heels, or tuxedo hems). My carefully cultivated image of bold, sassy, and independent meant people thought I’d chosen to make a statement.
“Sonnet!”
“Are you dating yourself?”
“Twirl for us!”
“Who are you wearing?”
“Where’s Luke?”
“I heard you had frittata for breakfast! What was in it?”
“How much weight have you lost?”
Frittata? Who thought up these questions? I’d been chatted up by the red-carpet hosts (who also asked who I was wearing), posed for the entertainment TV shows, and now had moved on to the magazine crews who were shoehorned into a space the size of an 8⒈／⒉′′x11′′ sheet of paper. One poor reporter was slowly listing to the right in her four-inch heels, not having got the memo that sensible footwear was a must. Still, the end of the red carpet was in sight! The door to the venue had been spotted!
The hours since my arrival in London had been a blur. In those ten hours, I’d met with the producers for my next film, done media interviews, called in to a talk show, and had an editorial photo shoot for a fashion magazine where we’d done three different looks with hair and makeup. We’d squeezed in three hours of hair and makeup for the premiere, my stylist working away while I answered “What’s in My Bag” interview questions and filmed a GRWM. There had been just enough time to trade a few texts with Maverick.
It had been so nonstop busy that I’d missed my parents’ return phone call. As soon as I got inside the theater, I’d try calling them from the bathroom.
Moving to the end of the red carpet, I walked to the section blocked off for web media. There were more calls for my attention, but I recognized one of the reporters standing in the center. We’d worked together before, and I respected and liked her. She smiled and mouthed, Have a minute?
For her, I totally did. She’d also been one of the first reporters to embrace my debut novel and screen appearances, asking in-depth questions about breaking barriers as a Latina author and my experiences in television as a new actress. She never asked about my weight, my beauty regimen, or my clothes. Nor had she ever assumed that because I was Latina, I must not “be from here” or be a US citizen.
“Sonnet.” Avalyn motioned with the mic she held in her left hand. I scooted in, making sure to make eye contact and stand up straight. Friendliness mattered so much. “Congratulations on the premiere! What was the most challenging aspect of bringing this season to life?”
“The Latina stereotypes.” I turned on the charm for her camera. “We’re not all hot-tempered, sassy lovers who work as house cleaners and have huge families. Many of us speak English as a first language, and not all of us are from Mexico. We’re complex —we’re not just one thing, or even a handful of things. I hope the episodes in this season show that a Latina can have any name or job or outward appearance. She can be anything, and her choice may not be at all loud, crazy, or sexy. The Latina witch lead isn’t a sultry bombshell—and she doesn’t want to be one.”
“How do you encourage action in others?”
“Obviously, I try to encourage it by writing books and scripts where there is plenty of dialogue for women from non-white racial groups. More than nineteen percent of the population in the US is Hispanic, so we need to have a bigger and proportionate voice in Hollywood’s scripts. Part of what motivates me to write is to make sure that Latina voices speak up and are heard in my projects.”
“What are you writing now?”
“Uhhh.” I had prepped several answers for this question, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. “I am working on a script for a new paranormal project with a strong female lead.”
“A source mentioned that you would also be starring in the new project?”
“That had been discussed, yes. But we haven’t signed any contracts yet, so I’m focused on the script. Doing lots of werewolf research. Nailing down my setting.”
Or nailing my werewolf.
The bustle behind me on the carpet warned me that we’d need to wrap this up soon. Avalyn’s assistant was tapping her on the shoulder, clearly a prearranged signal that another star was approaching, and it was time to end our interview. Luke Hensley, the assistant mouthed to me.
Avalyn laughed, then asked, “And how is shooting in rural Tennessee? Are the locals friendly? Any gruff and growly types?”
Those questions were unexpected. Had someone tipped her off about Maverick? She was clearly wrapping things up, however, so it was likely an innocent fluff question.
“Tennessee is beautiful—I love the mountains. People have been so welcoming, but I hesitate to share the details because otherwise there will never be a slice of hummingbird cake left in my new favorite diner!”
“Beautiful!” Luke stepped up next to me, sliding his arm around my waist and kissing my cheek. “You must be talking about me!”
I tensed, scrambling for something innocuous to say. Luke’s comments were as arrogant, unwelcome, and unpleasant as the Fae prince himself, self-centered and narcissistically joking. My plane eviction clearly hadn’t stopped him from making the premiere.
“Absolutely,” I quipped. “I was just telling Avalyn here about you and your beautiful bunnies. You know, the ones you adopted from the Moonlight Valley animal shelter?”
I had no idea if Moonlight Valley had an animal shelter or not, but All-Purpose Animal Services had rescue animals coming out of their Boone ears. Luke shot me a pissed-off glare, but his smile didn’t waver. Luke hated animals, unless you counted the goats that provided the wool that had made his cashmere throw.
“You rescued bunnies?” I gave Avalyn full marks for her straight face; her assistant, on the other hand, choked.
Before Luke could answer, I cut in, “He rescued an entire litter! They were Easter basket rejects and he took them in. They sleep in his bed, and he feeds them by hand.”
Smiling evilly, Luke grabbed my hand and asked, “Have you seen Sonnet’s ring?”
Killing my coworker—or putting a teeny-tiny hex on him—was contractually prohibited.
My heart jumped to my throat. I gritted my teeth. I subtly tugged on my hand.
Do NOT do it, Luke.
Luke’s smile widened. Try and stop me.
“Isn’t it stunning?” He raised my right hand and waved my ring finger with its big, sparkly, wonderful diamond at Avalyn, who looked like a cat smelling chicken. “But you’ve put it on the wrong hand!”
For precisely one second, the press pool fell silent. Everyone stared at my beringed hand in Luke’s—and then leapt to the obvious conclusion. A barrage of questions erupted.
“Sonnet, are you and Luke engaged?”
“Why didn’t you arrive together?”
“When is the wedding?”
“Who designed your ring?”
Avalyn held out the mic between the two of us. “Are you guys making an announcement?”
Luke smirked at me. I win , his eyes said. You can take your bunnies and stuff it!
Don’t piss off a witch! I telegraphed back. You picked on the wrong person!
I was mad, and I’d been mad and out of sorts for days now.
I was mad at Luke, obviously. He was an entitled Fae twit waffle.
But I was also mad at myself. If I’d brought Maverick, if I’d listened to Ranger’s wise words about owning our shit and facing up to the music, then this scene would have gone very differently. I would be standing next to a man I loved and respected.
Instead, I was engaged in involuntary hand-holding with the twit waffle.
Yes, there would be ramifications. Yes, I might lose parts or contracts. There were people who would decide that I did not fit their brand, but did I want to work with those people? We had different values.
If Maverick had been standing next to me, we’d have gotten through whatever came next together. And I would have been true to myself.
For the first time in my career, I felt scared. And small. And like I’d sold out. I wasn’t being me—I was being the version of me I thought other people approved of.
And I hated it.
Maverick had hated the idea of us seeing each other in secret. I hate that idea. I flat-out hate it. Some of my hate is because it feels too close to lying to folks. I’m not worried about the ones we don’t know, but it feels wrong not to tell my brothers and your family our news. Mostly, though, I don’t want us to be a secret because I’m selfish. I love you. I want everyone to know that. I’m yours, through and through, and they’re gonna have to deal with it.
Those words resonated with me.
I was feeling selfish.
And I was going to put my needs first.
Not the studio’s, not Elena’s, and not even my fans’. This was my life; I was the one who lived it and made my choices.
Decision made, I looked Luke in the eye and flashed him my most brilliant smile. I also yanked my hand back, hard. “Why, look at that! My ring IS on the wrong hand. Thank you so much for pointing that out!”
Luke’s eyes widened as I slipped Maverick’s family ring—my engagement ring—off my right hand and onto my left where it belonged. Then I turned it to the crowd of cameras in front of me, holding my hand up as if I were flipping everyone off with my ring finger instead of the more conventional middle one. I was sure Luke got the message.
“I’m engaged to be married. My fiancé was unable to join me tonight. He’s a herpetologist researching the use of snake venom for treating diseases when he’s not rescuing bats and alpacas. Y’all will love him. His name is Maverick Boone, and he’s a professor in Tennessee. We fell in love while shooting my current show, and we’ll be getting married in the spring when the daffodils come out.”
I grinned, my heart swelling with the rightness of the moment. From the looks of Avalyn (mouth hanging open, mic drooping in her hand), she was both stunned and out of questions. I didn’t bother looking at Luke. He was chopped liver, a third wheel at a unicycle convention, the silent k in a knife fight. He didn’t matter. His opinions didn’t matter.
Because, as Maverick had said, it’s good to care about what others think, but only when those people matter.