But this was the perfect storm, for lack of a better metaphor, and it was their kindness and warmth that broke me down.
My knife and fork hit the plate with a clatter. I moved quickly, pushing my chair upward and losing Duke’s touch. That was a good thing, I told myself.
“I’m so sorry, if you’ll excuse me,” I muttered, through tears and shame.
Then I bolted.
I actually ran from the table, like some dramatic heroine in any one of the movies I’d been in.
Duke followed me.
And I really didn’t want him to. I definitely didn’t expect him to. I knew that life was not like the movies, that the man didn’t usually chase the girl who ran away. Real-life men weren’t like that.
I was quickly realizing, however, that Duke was unlike any real-life man I’d ever encountered.
I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t that cliché of course.
I was pacing.
Treading tracks in the carpet of the room that I still considered “ours” in this house.
Duke didn’t stop me, didn’t say anything. He just quietly closed the door and watched me pace.
At first, I tried to ignore it. I figured he might leave if I kept ignoring him. But it didn’t really work that way.
He was trying to play a game of emotional chicken with me, just standing there staring. Usually, I’d be able to win at such a game since I held this part of myself as close to my chest as someone like me could.
Of course, the media had dug up details about my background. But as soon as I got enough money to do so, I hired a professional “fixer” to bury parts I wanted buried and alter parts I didn’t need in the public eye.
Such a thing worked.
You couldn’t erase history. But if you had enough money, you could change it.
So the media knew some of my past—the carefully cultivated version.
That I’d been orphaned at a very young age, been lucky to be adopted by a young couple who couldn’t conceive naturally. They had given me a happy, healthy childhood. They’d tragically died just before I made it big—convenient so they couldn’t give any interviews or pose for photos with their daughter.
The real ones, the ones who were unfortunately still alive and well weren’t really ones to follow Hollywood starlets. And even if they did, I had a new name, new nose, and sufficient cosmetic alternations to my face and body that they’d never recognize me. Even if I didn’t do all of that, they’d never looked hard enough at me as a child to pinpoint me as an adult.
No one knew the truth beyond the people I paid to make it go away and the people that were involved.
I’d planned on it staying that way until the day I died.
But here was Duke. Staring at me.
I stopped pacing, stared back. I wanted to glare but I didn’t have it in me.
“I don’t remember my father,” I said. “Not what he looked like, at least. Not from memory. I can recall the photos I’ve seen of him. I can tell you what a one-dimensional version of him is like. Dark hair. Extraordinary mustache. Smile on his face and in his eyes. But I can’t say what he looks like in motion. How tall he was. None of that. I can’t even really remember him at all. Sometimes I get snatches, like how he used to do my hair.”
I squinted into the past, tried to call up one of the precious few images I had of the man.
The harder I tried to remember, the blurrier and grainier the memory became.
“He’d spend so long brushing it, getting it just perfect,” I said. “I don’t know if it was because he liked doing it, or he didn’t want it to be so obvious I was a girl without a mother.” I shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter, since I quickly became a girl without a father too.” I paused.
Yet the night the police came to the door, and the teenager babysitting me broke down in tears—that was in stark detail.
“An orphan, and I didn’t have any extended family. My mother had no one and my father’s parents had died young,” I continued. “They put me into foster care. I got a home quickly. They were good actors, my foster parents, maybe they’re where I got my skill from. Because they looked nice, kind. Loving. They played their part perfectly, to everyone but me. I don’t know if they were just evil or if I wasn’t what they expected.”
I didn’t look up at Duke, as I wasn’t brave enough for that. So I looked down instead.
“Whatever it was, they made it clear their love was only for show and the paycheck. They never hit me or anything. They just liked to lock me away for hours, not buy me clothes—not that they had much money anyway—so I’d always go to school wearing things too small. Kids teased me, of course. It didn’t bother me. Or at least I acted like I didn’t care. I got so good that I fooled myself. They wouldn’t feed me much either. So it was a good thing I didn’t grow much so my clothes weren’t comical on me. And it prepared me for a lifetime of hunger.”
I laughed. “I’ve always thought it’s ironic, that I thought freedom and riches meant a full stomach, as no one controlled what I ate. But the riches came, and since then, I’ve never known a truly full stomach. Not that it matters. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous. The movie star complaining. I could eat, if I really wanted to. But I will say, I’m no longer quite as good at convincing myself I don’t care what people think of me.”
Only after all the words came out, the look on Duke’s face penetrated, did I realize just how much I’d spilled. Everything. My whole fucking soul on a platter for him to devour. To own.
“What I’m trying to say is, you’re lucky,” I said, trying to recover, trying to put a chill in my voice. “I know how annoying it is for people to point that out when you’re feeling pissed off. But it’s true. Your parents adore you, Duke. And I know that you don’t think they know the real you, the one that changed into a macho-man, but they see it. Because they’re your family. And, because you’re not that great of an actor.” I’d meant to end that last bit on a joke. A tease. Something light to distract from how unintentionally heavy I’d gotten.
From the look on Duke’s face, it hadn’t worked.
Fuck.
I’d been so sure that I’d do anything to get that blank dislike from his gaze, to be something more to him. Be careful what you wished for, because I didn’t like this. I hated how much I loved Duke looking at me like I was...somebody.
I tried to move. “I—”
No sooner than I had tried to make my escape, his hands were stopping me, yanking me, smashing my mouth to his. I was so shocked I didn’t do much at first. I let him control the kiss, mostly because he wasn’t letting me do anything but follow his lead. But then I gained coherence. Then hunger crawled up my throat. Then I kissed him back, gained control of my own.
The kiss was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I knew I’d acted to make a kiss look like this before, for the farce that romance and passion really existed. To sell a movie. But never, ever had I felt as if my entire body was on fire and my clothes were weights that needed to be lifted from my body immediately.
A throat cleared.
Loudly.
In a way that made me suspect the throat clearer had already tried to do this quietly previously, but we’d both been too lost in making out to even notice.