Page 63 of Off Script
About the time that we’re finishing the last slice of pepperoni pizza, Harper’s phone chirps with a notification. She gasps as she does a double take at what she sees on the screen.
“What?” I ask, curious and worried by her reaction. “Is something wrong?”
“We gotta go, Carlisle.” Throwing cash down on the table, she hustles me out of the bustling pizzeria and into her car without explaining our hasty departure.
Harper’s behavior has me concerned, and I beg her to tell me what’s wrong. “Is everything okay? Did you get bad news?”
“Ok, don’t get mad, but… when we found out thatyourBen was famous, A-list actor Ben Sutton, I set up a Google alert for his name. Just out of curiosity. You know how much I love Hollywood gossip,” she shrugs, her eyes apologetic.
I don’t like where this is going. “And?” I implore her to continue as my heart beats rapidly.
She flips her phone around so that I can see the screen. It’s open to a popular gossip website. Splashed across the screen is a photograph of Ben with his arm wrapped around Willa Radford and the headlineBen & Willa: Lovers at Lastemblazoned across the top.
Grabbing Harper’s phone from her hand, I scroll down to read the accompanying short article. It describes Ben and Willa’s very public date tonight at Soho House and suggests that the date confirms what the press has long suspected—that the onscreen lovers have taken their romance offscreen as well.
“Oh, shit.” I lean my head back on the headrest, totally bewildered and stunned. I knew things were weird between us today, but I never saw this coming.
How could Ben do this to me?I can't believe he would cheat on me after I told him about my father'sinfidelity.
But then the truth smacks me in the face.
He’s not cheatingonme. He’s cheatingwithme. I’m the other woman in this illicit love triangle.
God, I’m such an idiot.
It would certainly explain everything—why he never wanted to be seen with me in public, why he wanted his family to believe we were only friends, why he didn’t want the paparazzi to see me with him today at the airport.
“I bet it isn’t a date. I bet that they have a dinner meeting about their movie or something. The article is pure fluff,” Harper suggests, stubbornly clinging onto hope as we go round and round speculating. “Their agents haven’t confirmed anything.”
“Maybe,” I reply hesitantly.
"Let's go buy a phone charger. I bet when you turn your phone on, Ben will have sent you a reasonable explanation."
Before Harper can say anything else, her phone dings with another notification. This one links to the same article but with updated photos. In the new series of photos, Ben and Willa are kissing and embracing outside the restaurant, dispelling any doubt in my mind as to whether or not they were on a date.
Less than twenty-four hours after Ben had me in his bed, he has Willa in his arms.
Like a delicate crystal vase thrown to the ground, my heart shatters into smithereens.
22
Ben
Thanks again for going home with me, and I'm sorry for being weird earlier. Call me, babe.
I miss you already. Call me when you get home. We need to talk. I can come to you, or I can send a car to pick you up.
Are you home yet?
Can I come over? I need to talk to you.
We left my parents' house right after breakfast and then I spent the whole flight back to LA freaking out and debating how best to break the news to Carlisle about the arranged relationship with Willa. I kept procrastinating because I was fucking terrified for her reaction. When it became obvious to me that Carlisle sensed the dark cloud that was hanging over me, I knew I had to tell her before I worried her even more. I had just psyched myself up to broach the subject when Becky texted me about the paparazzi.
Then my attention switched from the showmance to damage control. Because the studio would've killed me if I was photographed with Carlisle twice during the very week that Willa and I are hard launching our fake relationship.
But now, after tons of missed calls and unreturned text messages, I’d give anything to go back in time and do it differently. I’m going out of my mind with worry. Berating myself for not speaking to Carlisle when I had ample opportunities to do so earlier, I pace my living room and try texting her again.
Carlisle, where are you? We really need to talk and I’m kind of on a time crunch here. Call me, babe.
