“You know you love me!”
And I obviously slip on some unseen patch of ice because that’s the only explanation for how much I stumble when I hear those words. My almost face-plant is definitelynotbecause every cell in my body chooses this moment to come to a particular realization.
Oh fuck.
I think I love him.
—
I bolt from the set as soon as Deidre signals it’s time for lunch. I hole up in one of the trailers, closing and locking the door behind me. I ignore the suggestive texts from Grayson and the inquisitive ones from Liz.
And then I do the one thing I should’ve done days ago.
I pick up the phone and call my mom. She answers after the first ring, like she was staring at the screen, just waiting for my call. As soon as it connects, she switches it over to FaceTime and I suddenly regret my decision. Once Diane Brenner has you on FaceTime, there’s no turning back.
“I like him.” I blurt out the words the second our faces pop up on the screen. “I think I actually really like him.” Relief courses through me at the admission.
“Youthink?” Her smile is all too knowing.
“I know. I know I like him.” I cover my eyes, like that will accomplish anything.
“Youlikehim?”
“Please don’t make me say that part out loud again.”
She chuckles, but there’s nothing unkind in it. “Look at me, Emilia.”
I peek through a small window between my fingers.
“Why is it so terrible to admit that you lo—that you have feelings for someone?”
“Because I used to hate him?”
She gives that response all the credence it deserves, answering it with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Because the world is already blasting our personal business out into the ether of the internet?”
She scoffs, which is fair. I’ve basically spent my whole life in the tabloids. I should be used to it by now. But somehow this feels way more personal.
I drop my hand from my face, tunneling it into my hair instead.
“Does Grayson West have some sort of shady background or terrible character traits that I don’t know about?” she asks.
“To be fair, you don’t really know him, Mom.” I’ve barely mentioned Grayson in our weekly conversations, not wanting to fill in my mom on our costars-with-benefits arrangement, for understandable reasons.
She rolls her eyes again. “I’ve seen all his movies, andever since Liz clued me in that there’s something going on between the two of you, I started studying him. He seems to be a charming and talented and compassionate young man.”
“I’m going to kill her.” Although at least my mom’s research has led her to the right conclusions. Grayson is all of those things, and so much more.
“As usual, you’ve avoided the real question, Emmy. Is there something about Grayson that would lead you to believe you shouldn’t have feelings for him?” She peers down her nose at me, and even with hundreds of miles separating us, I feel that look deep in my soul.
I let out a begrudging sigh. “No. Not even close. He’s basically a perfect human specimen.”
“And I’m assuming the sex is good?”
“Mom, seriously?” I bury my head in my hands, not that she’ll let me hide from this conversation.
“A healthy sexual relationship is very important, Emmy. I just wanted to be sure the two of you are compatible in the bedroom.”
