Sure, sure, we can fill larger venues. And while there’s certainly something to be said for the thrill of packing an arena, the small, intimate performances with an audience of true fans is on another level.
And if she calls this off, that vision goes poof and disappears.
I’m not ready to let go of that fantasy yet.
She swallows and clears her throat, her cold fingers finally squeezing mine back rather than passively lying in my hands. “No. It’s not … I don’t want to call this off. I just had things in my head in a certain way, you know? Dating a while in the public eye, an engagement, more being seen together, and maybe eventually actually going through with a wedding. But we’ve only been out on one date and suddenly we’re eloping?”
I give her a crooked smile. “Well, the story goes that we’ve been dating for months. So in that case, while an elopement is still a surprise, it’s not totally crazy.”
Her face says are you kidding me? louder than words. “But in reality, not the lies we’ve fed the media, we’ve only known each other a few weeks, and this is all just for show.”
I want to ask, “Is it though?” but I bite my tongue. She wants it to be just for show. She needs it that way. And I’m here to give her what she needs in exchange for getting what I need. That’s our deal, after all.
Nodding, I squeeze her fingers once more before releasing her hands. “Then we continue the show. If that’s all this is, then eloping is just the next step. We’ll get a prenup that protects us both, and when the time comes, we file for divorce and go our separate ways. Simple.”
She stares at me, her lips pale, her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine, weighing my words. “Simple. Right.”
I wait for a moment, wondering if she’s going to say more. When she doesn’t, I ask, “So does that mean we’re going to do it?”
Another long moment where she stares at me. She clears her throat. “Yeah,” she croaks and clears her throat again. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I rub my hands on my jeans. “Did Delores say how soon? Or where? Or … I dunno, anything?”
She crosses her arms and rubs them like she’s cold. “She said something about next week. To call her after I’d told you and she’d arrange everything.”
I nod, mentally adjusting my expectations of reality. Next week.
Next. Week.
Holy shit.
“I’m gonna have to tell my mom,” I breathe.
And for some reason, that sets Alexis off. It starts as a giggle, but she clamps her lips and shuts it off. But another laugh bubbles out. And another. Soon she’s bent double, waves of laughter rolling over her.
More out of reaction than anything else, I start laughing too. A chuckle at first, then I’m lying back on the couch, shaking with laughter, both of us barely able to catch our breath.
She calms sooner than I do, each shotgun burst of laughter getting farther apart, until she lets out a soft “Whooo,” as she catches her breath. “Oh my god. Thank you.”
Still chuckling, I roll my head over to look at her. “For what?”
She picks up a hand and lets it drop. “For that. I was hoping you’d take everything in stride and that you could pull me back from the brink. But then you being so calm and businesslike about it actually just freaked me out more.” Her eyes scrunch closed, a tear leaking out as she starts laughing again. “And then—“ More laughter. “And then you said, ‘I have to tell my mom,’ with the most panicked look I’ve ever seen on the face of a grown man.” She fans her face, trying to calm down. “I’m just glad I’m not the only one freaking out.”
I’m laughing again too, though not as hard. “Glad I could help.”
Reaching over, she tangles her fingers with mine, her laughter dying away, and her face becoming more serious. “You did. You are helping. Thank you.” The last two words are imbued with extra weight.
I flip my hand over and lace our fingers together. “You’re welcome.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alexis
Things start moving at warp speed after Delores’s announcement that Colt and I should elope. I call her back while Colt is still at my apartment and let her know he’s on board.
“Great,” she says, like she had no doubt about his agreement. Which is fair, I guess, since I’ve given her no reason to doubt either of our commitment to this plan. “Come see me tomorrow. We’ll review the prenup. I think we should do an intimate ceremony on the beach. It looks more romantic, and the pictures will fetch a higher price that way. Sound good? See you tomorrow at three.” And she hangs up before I even really have time to agree.
And then it’s a series of meetings and reviewing selections that Delores has made. I’m not sure what to make of my agent being my wedding planner, especially since she seems to expect me to rubber stamp all her decisions.
I’m doing this for my career, I remind myself at regular intervals when I feel overwhelmed. And like this crazy train is about to derail. This isn’t my real wedding.
So it doesn’t matter that she’s picking my dress and flowers and the venue and the officiant. It’s not the real deal. This will last a year or two, tops. It’s just to get Colt and I back where we want to be.
I’m not even sure if I ever want to get married for real. After my parents’ marriage fell apart, it didn’t exactly give me hope that people can make a lasting partnership work anyway. And nothing else in my life has given me reason to doubt that conclusion.
Sure, you see feel-good stories on the internet about cute little old people who are still in love. And maybe they are. But that’s, what? A one in a million chance?
I’ve found my true love—music. And I’m pursuing that with my whole heart. That’s what matters right now. I can get dick on my own terms when I have the time and energy for it.
All too soon, it’s Wednesday afternoon, and I’m in a hotel room on the coast about an hour north of LA getting dressed in a white sleeveless dress with a simple satin bodice and overlapping layers of chiffon making up the skirt. It’s pretty and whimsical and will float gently around my legs in the offshore breeze. But it’s nothing like what I would’ve chosen for myself. I would’ve gotten something floor length, for starters, though I do like the flowy chiffon. Other than that, I don’t really know, and I’m feeling some kind of way about the fact that I’m putting on a wedding dress that’s not me-me or edgy pixie girl pop star me, which is honestly what I would’ve expected from Delores. Something a little more punk, a punch of color, definitely not traditional white. Somehow that would make this feel a little better. Like I’m just playing the role I’ve been playing for years now. It’s just a publicity stunt. Not really real.
But this is a real wedding dress. And one I didn’t choose. I will admit it goes well with the romantic beach wedding at sunset theme, though.
Colt is somewhere in another room getting ready in gray slacks and a button down that he’s to wear cuffed above the elbow with the collar open—Delores was very specific. Does he feel as awkward about having his wardrobe chosen for him as I do? Maybe not, because I don’t know how much input guys expect to have in their wedding attire anyway. It’s usually a tux, and the bride gets to pick the colors and all that jazz. Right? That’s how it seems in the movies and on TV anyway. I was never one of those girls who dreamed of their wedding or planned what they might wear. Maybe that only happens in movies too, where people create their dream weddings before they’ve even met a person they want to marry. As far as I know, none of my friends ever did that, either.