He wished he was here.
Did he mean at the recording? Did he want to meet the cast, or did he want to see me?
It hardly mattered. Itcouldn’tmatter. But lately, our friendship, or rather my developing reliance on his messages, was making me question our relationship again.
I tucked my phone away along with my smile, washed my hands, and met Pete outside the bathroom.
There was a driver with a sign with my name on it waiting for us at baggage claim. It was the coolest thing I’d ever experienced. I had to remember to tell RC about that. He seemed very unaffected by all things fame and fortune, but come on, a limo? Even that had to impress him a little bit. Pete thought the driver had taken a bad route after we sat in traffic for an hour, but I didn’t care. I was in a limo!
Not for the first time, I’ve found myself narrating my experiences as I would later recount them in an email to RC. I wished I could talk to RC about the growing doubts about Pete. But there were certain topics that we never touched. My relationship and/or the troubles that came with it topped that list. It would feel like a betrayal to him, and I wasn’t sure which “him” I meant …
The hotel was amazing; the lobby glittered with marble and gold accents. The staff jumped to help us with our bags at check-in and made me feel like a VIP. It was easily one of the fanciest places I ever stayed. Pete said he’d stayed at nicer hotels when he came here for work.
“I’m going to shower,” I said once Pete and I were settled in the room. “I want to leave in about an hour, so we aren’t late for the meet and greet, okay?”
“Sure. I’m lying down. That food at the airport made me feel weird.”
I ground my teeth. “Okay,” I said.
He didn’t have time for rest. I couldn’t be late. But if I rushed him, he would drag his feet more. Better to let him do what he needed.
The shower was refreshing after traveling all day, and I took my time luxuriating in the water pressure. I shaved my legs and exfoliated. I dried and styled my hair carefully. I did my makeup just right, and by the time I walked out fully dressed and ready to go, we had to leave in ten minutes.
Pete was still in bed pretending to sleep.
“Hey, Pete. Time to get up and get ready.” I gently shook his shoulder.
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “How much longer?”
“About ten minutes.” Which was more than he ever needed at home when we went out.
He sat up quickly, then pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, groaning. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner? I hope you left me hot water.”
I took a deep, steadying breath. “You’ll be fine. Please hurry.”
“Don’t rush me,” he snapped. “You know I hate that.”
He went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Hot tears burned my eyes. I squeezed my nails into my palms to keep from crying and ruining all my hard work. I had been looking forward to tonight for months. It meant so much to me, and yet he couldn’t be bothered to try at all. He made it seem like he was doing me a huge favor by being here, but he had done nothing but add to my anxiety. And now we were going to be late and …
The tears started to fall.
“Crap.” I sniffed them back and checked my makeup.
I fixed my mascara and examined myself in the mirror.Who was this person?I lifted my chin and glared at my reflection until I reminded myself of my mother preparing for a meeting.
My mom may seem like an unfeeling hard-ass at times, but she had instilled in me a strong work ethic and moral code. The producers had invited me, and I wouldn’t be late. I wanted to be here. This was important to me. I would have a good night. I would enjoy myself. How had it gotten to this point? Why had I let a man have so much influence over me to the point that I was crying on what should be an amazing evening? His easy charm made it so easy to slip right into dating, but with every week, I slid further away from myself.
No. I wasn’t this person.
I imagined RC shaking his head at me. Making a sarcastic comment about being a chicken and me teasing him back with a “takes one to know one” comment. Not that I really imaginedhim. Not really. RC was sort of this ambiguous masculine shape when I picture him. Kind eyes and an amazing figure that vaguely resembled Charles Downing.
I debated responding to his last email, but I was already so jittery with nerves, it would be rushed and probably too revealing. I would respond to him after the meet and greet and could catalog all the night’s events for both of us, once my nerves were more settled.
I’d dressed in a simple lavender wrap dress that worked nicely with my petite figure and coloring. RC said that Agata said I looked beautiful.
I looked at the clock. The water was still running, and I had to leave.
I left Pete his pass and a note explicitly detailing where to go. I couldn’t wait any longer. I wouldn’t.
