But I knew what it was: retaliation. I’d been on the awardspublicity circuit—flown round the country to attend dinners and parties with the right people.
But evidently all those nights away from home had riled up Oisín, who already felt like I put everything else before our relationship and before him.
God, I was so tired.
“Firstly,” Ruchi said. “Are you alright?”
Many people would try to poach Ruchi over the years, and though I would have been loath to lose her regardless of when that might happen, it was this that made it an impossibility: She cared about me more than she cared about the potential of a scandal for growth and reach.
Clever, in a way. We’d all seen celebrities crash and burn under the weight of their own mental loads. Looking after me was looking after herself.
But I couldn’t remember someone taking care of me like that since my grandfather passed away, and so I would meet any of Ruchi’s demands or pay disputes with whatever she requested.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m still dazed that this is my life. Nothing feels real. Especially not when it’s printed and glossy and selling my future heartbreak for $1.95.”
She had a tissue out before I even realized I was crying.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, if that’s what you mean to ask,” I proffered.
She nodded curtly. “Just let me know when you do. But please think about it. We might need to time whateverapproach we have right, whether we salvage this or leverage it. The Academy shortlists are announced in a few weeks, and the bookies have great odds on bothWherever You AreandTrellis.You certainly don’t need a relationship for publicity anymore.”
———
I wasn’t nominated for anything, but both films had multiple mentions across the various categories, andWherever You Arecinched a Best Picture nomination, which meant even though I only had two small roles in each, I had an invite and a seat at the Oscars.
I was beside myself. So happy I wasn’t sure what to do with that—and I think that’s what finally broke him.
I’d insisted on celebrations, asking Lana to book a table at Laurier and dragging Oisín out, even as he protested that it wasn’t even my accomplishment we were celebrating. He knew I’d seen the pictures. He knew I was concerned about us. He knew I had my doubts, and, honestly, I think perhaps we both knew this was a sinking ship; we just wanted to see it combust before we witnessed it slip quietly beneath the waves.
But here I was celebrating. Here I was, having the nerve to be happy.
We didn’t even make it to the first course.
“I have to choose my next project carefully,” I said, feeling giddier than the bubbles in my glass, like nothing was appropriate for the glee I was feeling, everything unmatched. “There’ll be momentum with this, so if I can—”
“For fuck’s sake, Nadine. Can we make it through one dinner without you planning out a career move?”
My happiness shattered so quickly, and what’s worse is I think I sort of knew this would happen. I was making the most of it before he broke it.
“This dinner is to celebrate my career move,” I said quietly, aware that the other diners were glancing over at us.
“Right, and that’s all you care about. Your films, your awards, your opportunities. Not me. Not us. I’m fucking devastated, Nadine, and you know that. You know how hard things are for me right now, and you’re rubbing it in my face.”
“I think we should go home,” I said, standing as quickly as I could. I left that restaurant without paying—knowing they’d send Lana the bill.
Oisín followed me, at this point shouting that I was a coward for trying to walk away the moment a conversation turned from me.
His comments battered me. “You’re so fucking selfish. You’re entitled. You’re a talentless slag who had to get her tits out to sell tickets, and you think you’re so much better than the rest of us just because—”
He stopped the moment I started crying, crouching in the street so I could bury my head in the folds of my dress, fumbling with my stupid brick of a phone for the right number to call and why the hell hadn’t I set up speed dial and where the fuck was my car and should I return to the restaurant and—
Oisín crouched beside me, hand on my shoulder as a camera flashed. And then, dozens more.
I leaped to my feet and stumbled back as the paparazzi crowded in.
I just stared. I was used to the cameras by now, and them finding us wasn’t a rare occurrence. But finding us now, in this moment, felt like too cruel a twist of fate, and I couldn’t fathom a world in which mere moments ago I had been raising my champagne glass and celebrating.
“I’m sorry,” Oisín said—and I don’t even know if it was only because of the cameras. “I’m such a prick. I’m just jealous. God, I need to get help. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t. I don’t know why I do this.”
