Page 159 of Lovestruck at Sundown
He parted his lips to probably reply something to make me feel less shitty about it, but his phone buzzed again. Thankfully, it was Agent Hawthorne, not Arabella. I hoped she’d taken a hint.
William took the call and said “Yes,” “Okay,” and “I understand” a few times before hanging up.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He slipped his phone back inside his inner jacket pocket. “Hawthorne’s feeling a bit under the weather today, so he wanted to let me know someone’s filling in for him tonight.”
“Hope he’s doing okay.”
“He sounded fine.” William frowned and looked out the window for a beat before returning to our previous conversation. “I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t excited about working with Gustav Wagner because I’d already told you about it in the past. But you and your feelings are my priority. And if I have to reject a project or two along the way to ensure your peace of mind, I will not hesitate to do so. It’s not like I need the money, either.”
The situation became an inevitable paradox. We want to have our feelings taken into consideration without the guilt associated with the actions required to make that happen. It almost makes you want to say, don’t worry! Go ahead! Do that very thing that will hurt my feelings to clear my guilt away.
But I couldn’t do that. I wished I could be whatever I needed to be to avoid feeling like the world would come crumbling down if I had to watch William in bed with someone else. Kissing them. Fucking them. Even if it was all pretend.
“Thank you,” I said, my gaze dropping to my hands as I kneaded them on my lap. That was all I could think of saying without complicating the exchange. But I had one more question. “How many roles have you declined after the last premiere we attended, where we argued about the sex scenes?”
“A few.” The instant honesty was refreshing, as always. It was something I appreciated in our relationship. But damn, I couldn’t help but shake my head thinking how I didn’t want to be a hindering force in his career. “Don’t,” he said, catching mychin between his fingers and noticing my dilemma. “This is not on you.”
“We talked about puzzles the other day and how we would never allow anyone to assemble our puzzles, right?”
“We did. But these are my puzzles and I’m choosing not to assemble them,” he clarified. “I’m choosing to be better at accepting roles that will further my career without making you sad or uncomfortable or jeopardizing what we have.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m not even letting you buy the puzzle in the first place?” Perhaps I needed to wake up and be like other Hollywood couples, where both were actors, understood the business, and were more than capable of watching their significant other get it on with someone else on screen. I hated it, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t find a way to understand it in a way that would desensitize me about it somehow.
“Maybe you’re getting the puzzles mixed up.”
I cocked my head to the side, about to ask him what he meant by that, but Aaron parked the SUV in the venue’s stunning motor lobby and opened the door for us. We were already ten minutes late, so it was best to let the topic drop and go inside to look for my father.
From the moment we stepped out of the car, the flashing lights got directed our way. William shifted into celebrity mode, smiling and waving as he held my hand tightly and led the way toward the main entrance.
The gala’s venuewas breathtaking. The theme had been perfectly translated into the design and decorative elements. William told me to look up, and I gasped. I knew we were indoors, but it felt like we weren’t. There were thousands of tiny lights that looked like actual stars. You could even point out the constellations.
“Look!” I pointed at the beautiful crescent moon shining in the middle of the fake sky above us. It looked so real.
William looked up and smiled.
“There you are!” My dad approached us before the hostess could lead us to our table. He kissed my cheek and hugged me, then shook William’s hand with one of his genuine smiles. The blushing hostess waved William goodbye, turned on her heel, and left. “Come, come! Nathan’s already waiting at the table.”
Of course, Nathan would be here. I kept forgetting they were business partners, and my dad mentioned that an important potential client was hosting the event. I had neglected to ask about Nathan’s presence.
William widened his eyes at me, which translated to, “Nathan is here?”
I replied with a “How was I to know?” shrug. Nathan was athing of the past, but I knew William and Nathan disliked each other too much, and I feared the vibes would be awkward.
When we reached the table, Nathan was sitting alone. No Vivienne in sight. He was being his usual charming self while chatting with a couple around my dad’s age who sat beside him. My dad introduced us to the other guests sitting at our table, and we greeted Nathan last. Thankfully, there were two free seats across from Nathan, and we took them.
The man Nathan was talking to interrupted his conversation with him to ask William a few questions about his work. Nathan seemed annoyed about it. Maybe these people were important to him business-wise, and William’s presence was a distraction from his agenda. Everyone at the table joined the conversation, which inevitably revolved around William.
Minutes later, one of the hostesses approached our table and invited us to visit the various booths and stations prepared for us after briefly explaining what each of them offered. With champagne flutes on hand, we visited the Adopt-a-Tree booth first. William adopted ten trees to our names, and we received a personalized certificate with the GPS coordinates of our adopted trees.
One of the sustainability stations was empty, and the guests who approached it quickly fled after the young woman who was attending it exchanged a few words with them.
“Can we check that one out?” I asked, pointing at it.
“Of course.” William sipped his champagne and grabbed my hand to lead me there.
When we arrived, I quickly realized why no one wanted to participate. It was a Make-Your-Own-Seed-Bomb station. It provided clay, soil, and wildflower seeds to create a personalized seed bomb. And, of course, no one wanted to get their hands and elegant outfits dirty.
