Page 11 of Ambiguous
“Fans want to know: who is therealJules Hill? Can you tell us a secret about him?”
Always with the secrets. Why anyone would bother knowing the kind of aftershave I like is beyond me.
It’s not like I’d ever tell them my true secrets.
I shrug one shoulder. “He’s a simple chap.” I close my eyes, shake my head, and chuckle. “Wait, I hate talking about myself in the third person. Makes me feel like a git.”
She gives me an obligatory laugh and encourages me with a hand gesture to keep talking.
“The secret, the real truth about me is no secret: I’m just like everyone else. The only difference is I like to sing, and I get to perform. I’m grateful for how far I’ve come. I spend my days just trying to keep a good thing going.”
Even if it kills me.
Karen nods, then adopts a flirty look. “Do you have a special someone in your life to keep it going with?”
I don’t know why the face of my new friend, the attorney, flashes in my mind.
I pause.
“Lots of special someones. Like you.” I reach over and graze her wrist.
She blushes again. “Are you ever going to get married, Jules?”
“If the right person comes along.”
Again, why am I thinking ofhim?
Then a look comes into her eyes, and my stomach drops again. Uh-oh. I can tell by not only the look but the time—the interview’s just about over—that she’s going to ask something I don’t want to answer.
That I’m not going to answer.
“A final question, because I’m sure all your fans want to know. If you were to get married, what gender would that person be? Or are you open to more than one possibility?”
There it is. The media loves to dig into my sexuality. Something about me having all the fangirls but wearing ruffles and frocks and jewelry makes them wonder. Makes them lust after a definition. Makes them ask the rudest questions. And the fan fiction feeds into it, portraying me as shagging everyone (and everything).
But seriously, my sexuality is the most pedestrian thing about me. It’s also the most private, and I want to keep it that way as long as I can. Which is easy when I’m not dating anyone.
I can’t really date anyone.
I glance over at Loren, who’s giving me the signal to leave.
Giving my most media-friendly smile, I lean toward Karen. “I appreciate your interest in the subject, but it’s not something I talk about. Thank you so much for having me today.” I give her a wink and stand, finally freeing my arse from the uncomfortable director’s chair.
Karen opens her mouth to ask another question, but Loren stands in front of her, effectively ending the interview, saying, “I think we’re done for today. Was that your last question?”
She nods.
I stand and give a slight bow, my hands pressed to my chest like I’m praying. “It was lovely to meet you all. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.” I shake hands with Karen, who seems surprised that I give her a smile after I refused to answer her last question, and then with the cameraman, boom operator, producer, and all the other crew standing around.
Loren rolls their eyes, because we need to get moving, but the crew often get ignored, even though they do all the work. Me shaking hands can give them a story to tell for the rest of their lives—not to be arrogant about it. It’s the least I can do.
After a few selfies—with Loren checking their phone repeatedly for the time—we leave the PR tent and head for the white van that takes me to my next appointment.
CHAPTER6
Sam
“Sam!” my mother calls from the entryway. “There you are!”
