Page 92 of Anyone But the Superstar

‘Is that so?’ My voice sounds very far away.

‘Yeah, and I consider myself a good judge of people and I didn’t get a hint of cheater from Felix last ni?—’

‘Rose!’

‘Huh?’ The pitcher slips in Rose’s hand, water sloshing on the table. ‘What?’

‘Read the room.’ Trish’s Georgian accent hardens.

Catching my expression, Rose stills. ‘Oh.’ She bites her lip. ‘Fuck.’ She mutters something about Vance, super sperm and pregnancy brain. ‘I should’ve put it together sooner.’

‘Anne?’ Trish’s hand covers mine on the table. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine.’ I nod, plastering a smile on my face. Feeling very much like my old society doll self as the television shows a woman with white-blonde hair, tanned skin and perfectly contoured cheekbones dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. The closed captions flashing words like,Camilla Branson. Fiancée. Other woman. Home wrecker.

‘Um, just so you know,’ Rose offers, ‘you can’t really trust anything you read on the internet.’

‘Yes, sugar.’ Trish pats my hands again. ‘I’m sure Felix’s management team will be right on this.’

I concentrate on tilting the corners of my lips up, just enoughto give the appearance of grace and poise in the face of my worst fears coming to life.

But when the TV screen flashes a picture of Felix’s mom with the question,Where is Sofia Jones?my old façade cracks.

My hand, under Trish’s, contracts into a fist. ‘Fuck. A. Duck.’

Rose shares a mother glance with Trish before frowning at me. ‘Fuck a what, now?’

‘A duck. A motherfucking duck.’ I grab my tablet and my bag of books.

‘Yep.’ Rose nods. ‘That’s what I thought you said.’

I stand, shouldering my bag. ‘I have to go.’

And when they continue to glance uneasily at each other, I pull a trick from Douchebag Felix’s playbook – ‘Everything’s fine’ – before excusing myself from the table.

Passing my sister on the way out.

23

FELIX

I should pick up a Candy Crush addiction.

Playing a mindless phone game right now would be infinitely better than being caught in a mindless loop of self-recrimination and loathing while staring down a hairless cat.

Mike’s tail curls one way and then the other from his perch on the chair opposite my sofa.

Normally, he’d be taking my distraction as an opportunity to inch closer. To sneak beside me as I stare vacantly at the front door, waiting for Anne to return with my rental car keys.

But either Mike knows what the packed bag at my feet means, or he’s more in tune to emotional undercurrents than I’ve given him credit for in the past.

Forcing my gaze away from his beady-eyed focus, I click open my phone. However, instead of the smart thing – downloading my manager’s favorite app – I do the dumb thing and look over the Hollywood news feeds and scroll through my social media accounts.

Cheater. Playboy. Addiction. Missing mother.

It’s the last that guts me.

An hour or so earlier, after having finally digested who Anne,Elizabeth, is, Jack’s phone blew up from various news agencies asking to know if it all was true. That I’ve been cheating on my fiancée with various women while my mother’s been missing from her normal social life.

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