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“Sorry about that,” Ben says finally. “If there was a photo of us kissing …” His voice trails off as he takes a deep breath. “It’s just that a picture is with a thousand words, and we should probably think of the words before the paparazzi get a picture.”
“Sure,” I say, giving an understanding nod with effort, but my voice is hollow. I look intently out of the car window, away from Ben, blinking my eyes rapidly.
“We’ll figure it out back at the house,” Ben says, laying a comforting arm on my shoulder. “When we’ve got some peace and quiet.”
“Sounds good,” I reply. “We’ll figure it out,” I echo him, repeating the words hopefully. Butwillwe figure it out? I’m not so sure anymore. This morning, I’d still been optimistic. After I’d managed to salvage that interview, providing the perfect response to how Ben and I knew each other, I’d felt like we were unstoppable. I’d wrapped up our story in a pretty bow, neat and tidy.
After tonight, it’s becoming increasingly clear that our story is anything but neat and tidy.
Chapter Eighteen
Benjamin
AsmuchasIlove LA, I’m relieved to be back at Rose Manor. The trip had started out great. But once the ‘incest’ scandal broke, it had gotten stressful. James had also suggested that it was a good idea to lay low for a bit, and I was happy to do just that. I wanted to get back to focusing on my music. I was even eager to get back to doing more renovation work at Rose Manor, although there isn’t much left to do. Finally, I wanted to return to that easy intimacy Lace and I had had, doing renovation work together while collaborating artistically—and getting to know each other again personally, after all these years apart.
The only problem? It seems like we’ve lost our connection. Every time I try to riff with Lacy or do some work together, whether it’s songwriting or manual labor, she shies away. She’s been quiet and anxious ever since the night at the piano bar.
I mean, I get it wasn’t our best night, but what was I supposed to do? Let the paparazzi photograph us kissing before we’d even figured out our story? James had made it clear that the ‘incest’ label could easily destroy my career. I’ve worked too hard to let that happen. On top of that, Lacy’s career is just kicking off. Who knows what it might do to her reputation? It could derail her promising future altogether. I’d simply wanted to play it safe in LA. But, in the process, I seem to have offended Lacy.
“Good morning!” I greet her as she comes into the kitchen, where I’m whipping up pancakes. “Want some?” I gesture to the griddle, where I’ve just poured on fresh batter. Are these apology pancakes? Maybe. Do I have anything to apologize for? I’m not sure.
“Nah, I think I’m okay, thanks,” she says moodily, as she squeezes past me without a second look and grabs the milk from the fridge, before pouring herself a bowl of cereal.
“What are we up to today?” I ask, insistent, determined to break her icy demeanor.
“I’d like to prepare for my interview,” Lacy says, anxiety furrowing her brow.
Maybe she’s not pissed at me, but just stressed about this interview?I realize with sudden compassion.Maybe it’s not all about you, Ben,I remind myself grimly.
“Right, the one with Maisie! Awesome.”
“My PR people sent over a list of questions to prep for, so I’ll be doing that today,” she says, giving me a small smile. I can’t help noticing that it seems forced.
“Cool.”
“What about you?” She asks, sitting down at the kitchen island across from me and digging into her bowl of cereal.
“Uh, I guess I’ll hit the studio today if you’re busy,” I say, suddenly realizing that I’ve made ten pancakes, which I now need to eat alone, apparently. I quickly turn off the griddle.
“How’s the songwriting coming? Any new tracks ready?”
“I’ve sort of hit a wall, actually,” I admit. “That’s why I was thinking we could do some renovation work today,” I add hopefully. “You always manage to get the good stuff out of me,” I add with a wink.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Lacy says noncommittally as she scrapes the last bits of cereal out of her bowl. “We’re pretty much done with the renovation work anyway,” she adds with a bored shrug. “So, I guess we’ll be out of here soon.”
“Okay, then,” I reply uncertainly. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” I add jokingly.
“Have fun,” Lacy says as she puts her empty bowl in the sink. Her voice is hollow and unenthusiastic.
“Thanks. Good luck with your interview prep. Let me know if you need anything.”
She doesn’t reply as she departs the kitchen, leaving me standing there with a stack of pancakes and an anxious pit in my stomach.
Is she still pissed about that night at the piano bar? Is she just nervous about her interview? Did I do something else? I can’t pinpoint exactly when or why, but the dynamic with Lacy has shifted completely.
That open, honest communication we had before has disappeared. Our magic collaboration? Also done. Is it just because we don’t have the renovation work keeping us busy anymore? Was that part of the magic of our collaboration, both personally and professionally? Nah… But whatisit?
I eat the pancakes as I dwell on our situation. I get so lost in my contemplation that I finish the entire stack of ten, and immediately feel sick.Ugh.
