There’s an article with my face from a couple years ago. I’m laughing after speaking at a tech conference with the cockiest fucking people I’d ever met.
Margot’s photo is right next to mine. She’s standing casually with a man who must be her brother, all of them in black, somewhere in Portland not long after Leonidas died.
Then the brutal headline:
New power couple? Tech king and retired hockey hunk Kane Saint caught hunkering down in small-town Sully Bay with Blackthorn heiress!
Fuck me blind.
Not good.
The article was barely posted an hour ago, but news flies once every gossip hound and celeb-obsessed gremlin gets a hold of it.
Margot’s already royalty in these parts.
The street musicians play on, ignoring how they’re suddenly not the center of attention. Sophie and Dan haven’t noticed anything yet.
Let’s keep it that way.
“The kids,” I whisper, and Margot nods.
“Let’s get them home,” she agrees.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I push through the crowd to them. They’re still swaying to the music and finishing their caramel apples.
I vowed early on to keep them out of the spotlight once I realized how corrosive fame can be.
I chose this life, knowingly or not.
My kids should never face the consequences.
They don’t get to pick when people fire off unwanted photos like gunshots, let alone if they show up in lurid stories about the divorce.
It’s not fair.
Everyone should get a choice, and I hate that the world doesn’t work that way.
I also don’t want them to face the constant invasion of privacy before their lives have really started.
The lies people tell because it sells or generates clicks.
The fucked up lengths people will go for their next scoop or million views on Instagram.
All your worst secrets, all your insecurities, all national news fodder in soulless gossip rags.
It’s worse that they’re not just print magazines anymore and the dirt goes supersonic speeds online.
“Hey, guys.” I touch their shoulders to get their attention. Margot’s at their other side, watching them intently.
It dawns on me that she’s no stranger to this shit.
She knows exactly how to handle it, possibly better than I do.
And maybe we both knew this thing between us was a ticking time bomb.
I just never thought it would detonate publicly.
“We need to head home now,” I tell them firmly, keeping my voice calm. Outwardly, I’m smiling, but inwardly I’m cursing myself breathless.
