Page 45 of All of You

I wandered around the chilly Boston Common, padded along the Freedom Trail for hours, investigated Bunker Hill like the good soldier I was, wandered through book stores and an instrument shop, and sipped a seven-dollar cappuccino at a café by myself.

Sipping that cappuccino—which tasted admittedly verging on miraculous since, at three in the afternoon, my energy and will to go on were flagging—I let what’d been sitting on my shoulders all day down to inspect it: I wanted Whit.

In all the ways, I wanted her, and it made no sense for my life. I had no idea of my direction. I would disappear into the madness of her life, get lost in the ruffles of fame and sequins before I could find my way. It was stupid to even let myself think it, but there it was, glaring back at me in the swirling foam of my drink.

It wasn’t all fun and games anymore—not that it ever really had been. It wasn’t simply me fulfilling my side of the deal, a deal supposedly motivated by me getting access to travel and maybe sporting events and award shows.

Right.

And a year ago, that would have made me feel inconsolable. A year ago, that might have kicked off a long weekend with whiskey as my only friend, eventually texting Thatcher or Flint back after ignoring them, allaying their concerns that I’d done anything irreparable.

Now, it gave me something like determination. Or at least, it didn’t feel as dead-end as my logical brain thought. That you are, too rang in my head as I slugged back the last of the liquid before it cooled completely, and then wrapped up in my scarf, hat, gloves before launching myself back out into the Boston winter to find her.

I came in the hotel suite to the tune of Whit’s voice arguing with Nikki, yet again.

“I’m going to be working with him a lot if we get the Oscar nod, too. What’ll we do then, have Ben propose to me on stage?”

Whit was pacing around the living room in sweats and a T-shirt while Nikki sat stiff on a chair in front of the windows, her clothing black and business-like as always.

Nikki’s voice sounded casual. “Of course not! If we do an engagement, we need it to be more of a surprise, but make sure someone’s snagging photos?—”

“You are not serious.” Whit’s voice, on the other hand, sounded deadly.

Nikki must have let the door opening and closing register, because she shifted her focus to me. “Ben, you need to kiss Whit tonight at the event. Make sure it’s public, make sure it’s good.”

My heart picked up and ran with the idea, though fortunately, my brain didn’t start imagining that scenario just yet. With incredible genius, I said, “Uh…”

Whit scampered to me on her tiptoes, practically running. “Ignore her. No.”

I looked from her face to Nikki who had now stood, collecting her bags.

“Don’t ignore me. The whole point of you being here is to help the image. If that’s what you agreed to, which I happen to know it is since you signed a contract to that effect, then you’ll kiss Whit like you’re gaga over her and make the press and everyone else forget about the fact that she’s repeatedly been seen with Jamie Morris, a man whom she supposedly cheated on.”

Whit’s face appeared thunderous. I’d never seen her look angry—nothing close, if this was it. She took a long, slow breath, then said in a deceptively calm voice, “Nikki. I’ll see you in DC.”

Nikki’s dark eyebrows lifted. She blinked slow, then padded soundlessly to the front door. When she opened it, she looked directly at me. “Remember why you’re here.”

Then she was gone.

I turned to Whit who seemed to be having a rather animated conversation with herself and touched her lightly on the elbow. “Talk to me.”

She took another slow breath. “You don’t have to do this.”

She wouldn’t meet my eye.

I waited for her to turn to me, but she kept herself tilted away, not allowing herself to turn.

“Whit, look at me.” She moved slowly and brought her eyes to look into mine. “I’d be honored to kiss you.”

Nothing about her face changed except the color of her cheeks, then the visible rise and fall of her chest. “You don’t have to. I’m sick of the press.”

I stepped closer, putting my hand on her shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a burden, I can tell you that.”

If I was breathing a little heavily, could you blame me? We were plotting out the very thing I’d been trying to figure out how to accomplish the entire half hour walk back to the hotel.

She chuckled despite her serious face. “You’re too sweet. This is too much.”

Next, she studied her hands.

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