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But then I wonder if she’s doing the same thing I am, holding back the full force of her feelings, not wanting me to be able to see the true deepness.
Or is that more wishful thinking?
Obsessed is the word I’d use, too, I reply. When I saw you, I wanted you. Right away. There was no delay. It was like a flip switch in my mind. Or my soul… if you don’t mind me being cheesy.
What? Never. Be as cheesy as you want. Be so cheesy it makes me sick.
I grin, finding it easy to flit between moods with my woman.
What if I said I wanted to take you to a land of rainbows, puppies, and clouds and feed you grapes until you’re sick? Is that cheesy enough?
That sounds like you want to treat me like a queen. I’m down for that.
My mind returns to the recording, to what I have planned….
Or not planned, since that means I’ve decided.
And I haven’t, yet.
Despite everything – despite her knowing there are no other women, and definitely not Kennedy – I still can’t bring myself to take the final step.
But then I think about the future, the one in which I’m with Alice, and she’s pregnant, and we’re both whelming with thoughts of how perfect it’s all going to be.
And the other future…
The one in which I don’t take the chance, in which I let my fear rule me, and then, Alice slips away from me.
She finds somebody else.
Another man wins the future that belongs to me.
The woman that is mine.
And then what?
I spend the rest of my life wondering what could’ve been, wondering what would’ve happened if I had taken my shot.
Are you nervous? she texts when I don’t respond. I guess you’ve done stuff like this so many times. Maybe nerves don’t factor into it.
No… they do. I am. This time. This is more important than any interview I’ve ever done.
Really? You think so? Because of the PR situation and its effect on your public image?
I don’t give a damn about that, I type.
I don’t explain why it’s the most important interview.
It’s not a feeling I’m used to, indecision.
It’s almost time, I go on. I’ll talk to you after.
But I won’t tell her what I said in the show, even if I go through with it.
She’ll have to wait for it to air.
Everything could come to a crashing end, the whole world laughing at the sad old bastard who put himself out there and got shot down.
Or it could result in a future so bright, and it isn’t easy to believe.
CHAPTER 18
Alice
“Are you sure you want to watch this?” I ask.
Natasha looks across the couch at me with a tight smile.
We had another conversation about plastic surgery about an hour ago, Natasha insisting she needed to work on her apparently endless number of wrinkles.
She got pissed when I told her she was wrong.
It’s the same cycle, repeated over and over, but I’m not going to budge.
I’m not going to tell her, Yeah, sis. I think you should get the surgery you don’t need.
“Yeah,” she replies after a pause. “I’m excited.”
My phone vibrates. I take it out and check it. My heart begins to flutter when I see it’s Weston.
Are you going to watch the show?
Obviously. Are you?
I never watch my own interviews. And this one… I think it’s going to be even more difficult. But I’m going to make an exception. I want to watch it at the same time as you.
Where are you? I reply.
About to catch my flight. Aurora wanted me to take care of some other PR stuff too. Did you see Kennedy’s social media posts?
I did, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning as I watched Kennedy announce to the world that, while Weston defended her, there was nothing romantic about it.
When Weston said he was interested in her, he was talking about an acting role – that’s the story, anyway.
I don’t care if it’s a lie, spin, or whatever.
As long as the world knows nothing is going on between them.
Yes, at least that’s cleared up.
“Who are you texting?” Natasha says, with some bitterness in her voice.
I tuck my phone away. “The show’s about to start.”
She gives me a long look as though she suspects something’s going on, but then we turn to the TV.
Michael Henley, the host, walks onto the stage and tells a few jokes. I’ve never been a huge fan of his show, and I find it even more difficult than usual to laugh today.
There’s this pit in my belly, threatening to swallow everything up, as I think about how many times Weston has asked me if I’m going to watch the interview.
It’s like he desperately wants me to.
But why? What is he going to say?
Finally, Michael Henley – a short man with dyed black hair and a baggy suit – announces Weston.
