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“Not so much anymore,” I answered, ignoring Scarlett. “She used to, but I’m nineteen now, so she usually just stays at her house in Bel Air.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense,” Mrs. Rees said, but I could see the disapproval in her eyes, and I wondered what kind of mother she’d be if Scarlett were the one who was famous. Would she still insist on accompanying her everywhere? Something told me she would’ve sheltered her from the world, and I wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing.
“Wellp”—Scarlett slapped her thighs with her hands and stood—"we’d better get going.”
“Already?” Mrs. Rees frowned.
Grateful for the interruption, I glanced at my watch. “Actually, she’s right.” I stood. “We probably should, or we’ll be late.”
We headed for the door and said our goodbyes, waving as we left.
Once we got to the giant SUV, we piled into the back seat as I ordered Joe to head for the party, and Scarlett turned to me. “What was that about?” she hissed.
“What?” I asked as the SUV’s engine roared to life, even though I knew exactly what.
“Um, the whole inviting my family to Pismo Beach thing?”
“I just . . . really think they’ll like it.” I shrugged, and Joe slowly backed down the drive as she blinked over at me.
“Are you forgetting that we’re not actually dating?”
“I’m quite aware, and if I’d somehow forgotten, luckily, I have you here to remind me,” I said through a tight-lipped smile.
When her shoulders slumped and she shook her head, I instantly felt sorry.
“Listen, we’re friends, okay? But my parents take people in,” she said, her tone soft. “It’s what they do. I don’t want them getting invested, only to get hurt.”
Friends. Ugh. The word was like a dagger to the chest. And if that wasn’t enough, her meaning was crystal clear. We were temporary, so I shouldn’t make plans outside of a one-week window. I knew this. Understood it. So why did it make me so mad?
As the car backed down the driveway, I glimpsed her parents waving goodbye from the window. “So, once I’m back to filming, and you’re back to your normal existence, sketching and doing whatever else you do in your spare time, that’s it?” I glanced over at her. “We can’t talk anymore? We’re cut off completely?”
“Well, no, but . . .” She paused and stared at me, a crease in her brow. “The truth is, I want to be your friend, but I’m just not sure what that will look like.”
I said nothing as Joe turned onto the street, away from her house, unsure of what else to say because honestly, I wasn’t sure what a friendship beyond our arrangement looked like either. Even worse, I wanted to be more than friends. And that’s what killed me the most.
The party was held at the Wilmington, one of Fairfax’s posh hotels, inside a suite reserved by the director, and if I was being honest, it was a relief to have Scarlett on my arm. At least until Mimi Blevins, the forty-year-old actress cast as the role of my mother, took an immediate liking to her and stole her away.
I glanced at the clock one last time and shoved my hands in my pants pockets as I meandered around the room, scanning the familiar faces for my date.Where was she?They’d left nearly forty-five minutes ago, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where they’d gone. Worse yet, what was keeping them?
I imagined Scarlett cornered by one of my costars. Someone who hadn’t made her sign a contract detailing the terms of their relationship. Someone more her style, who didn’t have a sullied reputation and would flirt and say all the right things that I apparently didn’t.
My stomach clenched at the thought, and my feet moved. I pushed past several people. A woman I vaguely recognized as the wife of one actor smiled at me from the bar, and I offered her a polite nod before turning back to the view outside. Normally I’d say hello. I’d make the rounds.
I should be charming the room and saying all the right things, ensuring my role in the film was firm. Maybe it was the conversation we’d shared prior to our arrival that had gotten under my skin. Either way, I no longer wanted to be here. I’d rather spend time with her one-on-one where it didn’t feel like I was doing so for the sole purpose of flaunting our relationship to the press, which was completely counterproductive.
I felt a hand on my arm and I spun around, expecting to see Scarlett—dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her dark eyes staring up at me in earnest—but instead, a woman I vaguely recognized with auburn hair and blue eyes smiled back at me.
“Thorne,” she greeted, placing a hand on my arm, but my mind drew a blank. When I said nothing, she removed her hand and her smile wavered. “It’s Trina Miller. We met at a Vanity Fair party last year, remember?”
“Right. Of course,” I said, though I didn’t remember. I had no idea who she was.
I offered her a polite smile, then glanced over her shoulder, shifting so I could continue my search for Scarlett.
Trina shifted, following my gaze. “Do you want to get a drink? It’s always hard at these things without a buffer, am I right?”
“Right. I’ll have to pass though,” I said, trying my best to sound polite. “I’m actually looking for someone, but it’s nice seeing you again.”
I stepped around her, knowing my exit was rude, but I didn’t care enough to change it.
