He blinks at me like I’m speaking another language.
“I’m going to change into costume,” I inform him breezily. “Good to see you, Dunn.”
With that, I turn on a heel and leave him in the dust, like he’s no more than a stranger. An acquaintance. Certainly not a man who has traced his fingertips over every secret part of me, who once fucked me senseless beneath a waterfall, and beat me at chess on a weatherbeaten board, and danced with me in solar-system socks around a hotel room until we were breathless with laughter.
No matter how much time passes, it’s never easy to run into someone who once owned a piece of your heart. We put past loves into boxes in the dark, dusty corners of our memories, shove them out of sight and call ourselveshealed, but that doesn’t make it any simpler when they inevitably cross our paths again. When you’re standing in their space, breathing their air, staring at features you once memorized in the dim light beneath bedsheets, wanting simultaneously to kiss their lips and kick them squarely between the legs… it’s hard to keep the lid on that box firmly shut.
I take a deep breath and keep walking.
It’s over.
I survived.
I saw him and I didn’t fall apart.
I feel his eyes on me as I cross to the door that leads to the dressing rooms. The smile on my face is a forced, frozen grimace, but I must admit, it feels good to be the one walking away from him this time around. To let him watchmevanish for a change.
My feet move on autopilot as I make my way down the hall and slip inside my dressing room. Mechanically, I strip off my clothes and change into costume. Once a gauzy blue sundress, the garment has been altered to appear shipwrecked — stained by sun and sand, ripped at the bodice to reveal just enough cleavage to draw the eyes of male movie-goers. Someone in the costume department probably spent days calculating the optimal amount of side-boob to appeal to the masses.
I’ve just zipped the tattered dress closed when the door behind me swings inward. I suck in a startled breath, half-expecting to see Grayson standing there, but relax when my eyes take in the sight of a familiar, feminine silhouette.
“Hiding out in here?” Harper asks, flipping a lock of lavender hair over her shoulder as she strides into the room, rolling a small cart of makeup and hair products behind her.
“No.” My voice is defensive. “I’m just getting ready for the photoshoot.”
She pins me with a skeptical look.
I plant my hands on my hips. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. Totally fine. Grayson Dunn has no effect on me anymore.”
“You mean Giant Douchebag?”
“Harper.”
“Just calling it like I see it, honey.”
I roll my eyes and collapse into the chair in front of my vanity mirror with a huff. She grabs the curling iron out of her bag, plugs it in to heat up, then walks over to stand behind me. When her eyes meet mine in the reflection, I see a look of deep concern in their depths.
“Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to break out the straight-jacket.” My voice gets quiet. “It makes me feel pathetic.”
“You aren’t pathetic. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about you.”
“I’m not going to fall apart again. I’mfine.”
“You’ve said the wordfineso many times in the past two minutes, it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.”
I scowl.
“Don’t do that — you’ll smudge your mascara.” Her hands land on my shoulders. “It’s okay, you know. If you aren’tfinewith all of this. With… him.”
“But I am! He said hello. I said hello. It was…civil. Cordial, even.” I swallow hard. “I can do this. Iwilldo this. I will make it through this day.”
“I know you will, honey.” She extracts a hairbrush from the bottom of her bag. “I know you’ve been avoiding the tabloids, not going online to read the news, but I really think I should tell you about—”
“I don’t want to know.”