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After the celebrity ahead of us finished answering questions and moved into the building, Crossland led Jesse and me inside. I breathed a sigh of relief at leaving all the cameras behind.
“You doing, okay?” Crossland asked, leaning down to whisper the question in my ear.
“I'm okay,” I answered honestly. “I'm just not sure I'll ever get used to that kind of attention.”
Crossland’s smile fell, but he nodded. “I know it can be a hassle,” he said. “Especially when you're not used to it.” He shrugged. “It does get easier,” he continued. “But it's never really enjoyable. It's just something you learn to accept overtime. I find I have acamera-readymask and anI'm with my inner circlemask. It helps if you can compartmentalize the two.”
I tilted my head as we lingered in the entryway. “If that’s the case, then when are you just Crossland?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his hand settling in the small of my back as we crept forward, the crowds of people bottlenecking into the small entryway as they filed out into the much larger event hall where the fashion show would take place.
“You said you have masks,” I said. “Even with your inner circle. I'm just wondering when you're simply you?”
“Did I?” he asked, confusion fluttering over his features.
I nodded, feeling sympathetic for the way he had to live his life. Constantly on alert in case somebody was watching or recording, knowing that his reputation, wealth, and family legacy all depended on how he behaved.
“I'm myself with my inner circle,” he finally said. “But it's not like we live together,” he continued. “We're not this entourage of chosen family who all dwell on one estate.” He chuckled softly as we moved forward. Jesse tagging along behind us, mingling like he always effortlessly did.
“So, I guess sometimes,” Crossland continued. “Sometimes, I fall into the person who I am when they're around. And when I'm at home or when I'm with Bristol, I play a different role.”
I nodded, another little piece of the Crossland puzzle revealing itself to me.
“You have to be several versions of yourself,” I said. “Because you want to make sure everyone is getting the version of you they need. The big brother for your sister. The cocky comedic relief for your friends. And the playboy billionaire with a heart of gold for the public.” I gave him a soft smile. “And for me, the employer and guide to all things famous and wealthy.” I stepped a little closer, making sure I looked up at him and caught his eyes as I said the last part. “Who are you at home, Crossland?”
Crossland visibly swallowed, his lips opening and closing a few times.
He looked like I'd punched him in the chest as opposed to asking a simple question, and I realized I didn't exactly like that look on his face. It made emotion clog my throat. Made an instinct creep up inside me to continue to push him, to pull more pieces of himself out in order to understand him better, in order to help him understandhimselfbetter.
The crowd ushered us forward, and Crossland blinked out of his stare. We continued into the main event hall without him answering.
And that was fair. He didn’t owe me anything personal because this wasn't an actual relationship where that sort of give-and-take was expected. But it didn't stop me fromwondering, and it didn't stop the pang of empathy for him not even being able to answer it.
I may be a broke barista from Brooklyn, but I was the same person slinging espresso drinks as I was standing here among the rich and famous. I didn't know how to be anyone else because I’d spent my entire childhood trying to be someone worthy of my parents’ attention until I got older and learned that person didn't exist. So, I gave up trying to be anyone other than who I was, and it’d worked out so far.
“Where are we sitting?” Jesse asked when Crossland paused, his eyes scanning the sparse open seats on either side of the catwalk that had been placed in the center of the grand room.
The lighting was muted, just enough for us to find our seats and see the other faces filling the crowd.
Crossland took a step toward the left, where he spotted three empty seats, but then he halted.
“We can't go there,” he grumbled, and I followed his trail of sight to see a gorgeous model glaring daggers at him.
“Why can't we go there?” I asked, even though I had a good guess.
“I wasn't open to her proposed adjustment to our arrangement,” Crossland reluctantly answered. He stepped to the right, then stopped again. “Can’t go there,” he said, and I laughed.
“Let me guess,” I said, glancing at the other equally gorgeous woman glaring at him. Actually, there were two this time on the right side. “They wanted to be the ones to change your mind, too?”
“Yep,” Crossland said, shifting gears back to the left.
Jesse chuckled, then pointed to an unreserved single seat that was in the front row. “Can I just take that one?” he asked politely.
“Be my guest,” Crossland answered, waving Jesse forward. “I never take front row seating at my sister's shows. I never want to take any of the spotlight off of her.”
“That's considerate of you,” I said, then winked at Jesse as he rushed off to snag the prime seat.
“I can’t tell if the surprise in your tone is a good or bad thing,” he said.
