Page 67 of Meant to Be

I laughed, then said, “So. What name did you use?”

“Myles Savage.”

I laughed and said, “How’d you come up with that?”

“It’s a guy I prosecuted,” he said. “Who I liked a lot.”

“But you prosecuted him anyway?”

“Had to. But I may or may not have fumbled in my closing argument,” he said with a wink.

I smiled. Joe had previously confided that he sometimes blew a case on purpose when he didn’t think justice was exactly being served.

“So how do you feel?” he asked.

“A little nervous,” I said. “But happy.”

“Good. Me too,” Joe said, grinning, before leaning over and giving me a light kiss on the cheek.

A few minutes later, we turned onto Sixty-first Street. Joe finally let go of my hand as we pulled up to the restaurant. I’d been there once before, back in my Calvin Klein days, and I winced remembering how I’d embarrassed myself by eating the fuzzy-hair layer of the artichoke heart. I’d come a very long way since then, but I still didn’t belong here with Joe. I pushed the thought out of my head as the driver started to get out of the car.

“It’s okay, man,” Joe said. “Stay put. I got this.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Kingsley?” the driver said.

Joe said he was sure, then pointed out my window to a man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk just a few doors down from the restaurant. “There he is,” Joe said. “My guy. Eduardo.”

I nodded, my stomach churning, then checked my lipstick in my compact. It looked fine, but I touched it up anyway, stalling.

“You ready?” he said.

I nodded.

Joe smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before getting out of the car on the street side, then slowly circling around to my door, giving Eduardo time to get in position. The second he opened my door, the car was bathed in camera flashes. As Joe reached down for my hand, I gave it to him, stepping as elegantly as I could out of the car and onto the curb, which is always tough to do in a dress and heels, especially while being blinded.

The next few seconds were, as much as I hate to admit it, a bit of an adrenaline rush—so different from the last time I’d been photographed on the street. This time, it felt more like modeling. Plus, I was ready, and I was with my boyfriend, who was always doing chivalrous things, like putting his hand on my back, guiding me toward the front door of the restaurant, murmuring for me to watch my step. I still didn’t believe in fairy tales—or that this story was going to have a happy ending. But in that moment, I couldn’t help feeling a little bit like Cinderella.

Right as we got to the door, Joe paused, his hand still on my back, then turned to look at me and smile. I don’t think he was staging a final shot. It seemed more like he wanted to reassure me that we’d made it through the gauntlet. In any case, I smiled back at him as the camera flashed one more time.

It would be the image we chose the next day, in a secret meeting with Eduardo right before he sold exclusive rights toPeoplemagazine for two hundred thousand dollars. He gave us half, which Joe and I donated to the Kingsley Foundation. It boggled my mind that anyone would pay that much money for onephotograph. But what really blew my mind was everything that came after the issue hit the stands.

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