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“Grace!” I say, smiling for real, for what feels like the first time in weeks. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!”
***
“This place is amazing, Lexie,” Grace says a few minutes later, once I’ve opened the wine she’s brought (It has to be five o’clock somewhere, right?), and shown her into the living room, whichis the warmest room in the house, thanks to the old log fire I never got round to replacing. “I love it. I justloveit.”
“Really?”
I look doubtfully around the room, which I guess you’d describe as “shabby chic” if you were being kind, and just plain “shabby” if you were being honest.
“It was my gran’s,” I tell her, sinking into a corner of the worn old sofa. “She left it to me. I was planning to gut the place at one point — you know, just completely modernize it? But I never seemed to have the time. Or, well, themoney.”
“Oh, no,” says Grace, coming to join me. “I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s socosy. I really, really love it. And all those roses around the door! It’s like a house from a fairy tale.”
She beams with happiness, and I find myself smiling back at her. It makes my cheeks hurt a bit, actually. I guess the muscles in my face aren’t used to that particular movement these days.
Grace is Jett’s personal assistant, which means I should technically hate her almost as much as I hate Violet, given how much time she gets to spend with him. But Grace is the kind of person who’s impossible to hate. Like, when you say “personal assistant to a movie star,” you’re expecting a certain type of person, aren’t you? Probably a sleek, glossy, organized one, who is good with spreadsheets, and can get you a restaurant reservation at short notice.
Gracecanactually do that, to be fair. And sheispretty good with spreadsheets, too. Other than that, though, she’s about as far removed from the Hollywood stereotype as it’s possible to get. She looks way more at home here, in Gran’s chintzy front room, in fact, that she ever did in Jett’s contemporary mansion.
Andalsoway more at home thanIdo.
“So,” she says, tucking her feet underneath her, and looking at me over the rim of her wineglass. “I saw the video. I figured you might like a friendly shoulder to cry on.”
“I’m not crying,” I say nonchalantly, taking a giant slug of my wine. “It’s done. There’s nothing I can do to change it. And anyway, Violet deserved it. She called me pathetic. And ‘cringe’. I bet they didn’t showthatbit on TikTok. Wait:didthey show that bit on TikTok?”
I brighten as it occurs to me that maybe Violet will come out of this latest escapade looking just as bad as I do. Maybe her true self will finally be revealed, and her fans will see what she’sreallylike behind her careful facade. Then I see the sympathetic look on Grace’s face, and all hope dies.
“Hey, does Jett know you’re here?” I ask suddenly. “Isn’t this a conflict of interest or something?”
Grace blushes. She does that a lot.
“He doesn’t know I’mhereexactly,” she says, guiltily. “He gave me a few hours off to settle in, get over the jetlag, you know? And he’s busy going over the script with—”
Her blush intensifies, and she takes a swig of her wine to try to hide her embarrassment at almost mentioning Violet’s name. Most of the liquid ends up on her cardigan. So far, so Grace.
“Here,” I say, passing her a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Look, Grace, it’s okay, you know. You can say her name. I’m fine. Really. I’m totally over it. I’m seeing someone myself, actually. So, you know, I haven’t even beenthinkingabout Jett. Or Violet. I’d forgotten they were even coming here until I saw it on the news.”
I laugh, shakily, more to give myself time to think than because any of this is even remotely amusing.
I’mseeingsomeone?What?
I have absolutely no idea why I said that. For one, it’s not true; and for another, I’veliterallyjust attacked Jett’s new girlfriend in a blatant show of Not Being Over It. Only someonesupernaïve would believe I’ve ‘moved on’ to the extent that I’m already seeing someone else.
“Oh!” says Grace, her glass wobbling dangerously as she turns excitedly to face me. “Is it the guy who dropped you off earlier? The blonde one?”
“McTavish?” I ask, confused.
Oh yeah. McTavish dropped me off here. Grace must have seen him in the car.
Shit.
“Is that his name?” she asks eagerly. “But Lexie, he’sgorgeous!”
“Is… is he?”
I gape at her, not knowing quite how to respond to this. McTavish is… I mean, I guess he’s notbadlooking, really. He has that healthy, slightly weather-beaten thing going for him. And he’s in pretty good shape, thanks to all the manual labor he does on the farm. But he’s no Jett Carter, that’s for sure. And now I feel really bad for lying to Grace about him.
“Look, Grace,” it’s not what you think,” I say quickly. “McTavish isn’t… We’re not…”
