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She’s been my date for every event, every award show, every fashion show for the last nine months. Not a week goes by that a gossip magazine or blog doesn’t write a story about when we’re tying the knot. We even have our own hashtag, #GrAmber.
We boarded the flight to New York and let ourselves be photographed standing far apart. When we land at Teterboro, we’ll go straight to the Ritz and have a very public argument. She’ll slap me, storm off. Spend the night and then she’ll go back to LA in the midst of all the talk about it, and I’ll stay here.
I’ve decided to get my master’s. I want to teach. Maybe even something more ambitious. More than anything else, though, I want to find a way to be with Apollo.
I know I’ve got to earn her trust again. It won’t be easy. She’s in a relationship. I think they live together. Either way, I don’t care.
I reach into my shirt front pocket and pull out the piece of paper I read every time I feel a pang of doubt about what I’m doing.
Dear Papa,
When I was seven and Derick Moore pushed me on the playground, remember how Ms. Rofe said it was because he liked me and that boys are mean to the girls they like? You got really mad. Madder than I’d ever seen you. You asked me to leave the room. I did. But, I hope you won’t be mad if I tell you now that I didn’t close the door all the way. And I heard what you told her right before you came out of the room. You said “Don’t teach my daughter lies that will make her think it’s okay for someone to hurt her.” And then you told me that the only boys I should talk to are the ones who are always nice. Even when they don’t have to be. Well, today, I met the nicest boy in the whole world. He saved me after I fell into a lake. I hiked there all by myself, Papa!!
And then, he carried me on his back so I wouldn’t get bitten by snakes. He’s like a hero but in real life. And he’s a lot skinnier than the ones on TV, but he’s strong. He loves to read and Papa, he’s very smart. Not as smart as me, but you told me no one was, so that’s okay, right? Can you see him from heaven? I hope so. Because one day, I’m going to marry him.
I miss you. But, I have your books, and it makes me feel like you’re reading with me.
I love you so much. I hope you and Arti are happy in heaven. Tell her that I’ll never give her back and that she’s always mine.
Apollo
This letter reminds me that she loved that boy. I have to show her that I’m still him.
I press the note to my nose and inhale. In the darkest of hours, it has been my lifeline. Now, I need it to be the keys to the lock she’s put on her heart. At least when it comes to me.
Love Jones
Apollo
“Hey, Sunshine.”
My heavy fork clatters onto the glass top table. I freeze, disbelief and shock swirl together and run through my veins like horse drawn chariots. I close my eyes and count to three before opening them again.
I’m not dreaming. This nightmare is actually happening. I look around my table. All eyes are on me. In fact, the entire room’s volume has lowered to a hush.
I look across the table at the normally placid expression on his face that has morphed into one of star-struck stupefaction. It’s all the evidence I need to confirm I didn’t imagine hearing Graham’s voice behind me.
“Uh, hey … um, Mr. Davis. Are you … are you talking to us?” Lucas stammers. His voice is about three octaves higher than it normally is. He reminds me of a YouTube video I watched of a thirteen-year-old-girl meeting Zac Efron for the first time.
“No. I’m talking to Apollo.” Graham’s deep, sexy, sweet and easy as syrup Southern boy drawl floats through the air, and cloaks me in layers of panic, anger, and wild, unbound elation.
It’s about fucking time.
I push the unbidden thought aside, fix a smile on my face, and turn around to face him.
He hits me like a cannonball to the chest.
I gasp. My smile falls, and my breath comes out in pants.
I’ve seen his face every single day for the past three months. On television, billboards, in the magazines that littered the apartment I used to share with Lucas.
In my dreams.
But none of it compares to seeing him in person. He’s taller than my memories had made him. Leaner, yet larger at the same time.
Or maybe it’s just that he’s finally grown into his God-given star power.
He’s dressed in one of his signature dark metallic blue Burberry suits, with an open collared white shirt underneath. His trademark punch of color is a dark yellow silk square.
