Rainer doesn’t respond.
I move closer to him and put my hand on his back. He flinches, but he doesn’t move away from my touch. “Maybe you should talk to him.”
“How can I?” he asks. His voice is quiet. I realize: He’s not angry—he’s sad.
“He’s your father,” I say. “No matter what else has happened, that’s still true.”
He turns around to me, and I see that his face is hard, set. He’s so much paler now that he’s not playing Noah. He looks almost ghostlike compared to how he was on the island. “He tried to sleep with my eighteen-year-old girlfriend,” he says. “How do I forgive that?”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “Maybe you don’t. But you can’t cut your family out forever.”
Rainer’s eyes are cold. “Why not?”
“Because you heard Sandy: He’s our producer, too. He’s going to be in our lives.” I hug my arms around me. I want to reach out and touch him, but I’m not sure how I would be received.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Rainer shakes his head, turning back to the window.
“You know we don’t have a choice. If they want us for the next movie—and it’s pretty clear they do—we have to do the next movie.”
Rainer doesn’t turn. “It’s humiliating. The thought of being a part of something he created, that he made happen? I hate it. And now Wyatt might not even be on board. Who knows what kind of shitty sequel this could be?”
“Well, I’ll be in it. And so far my track record is pretty good.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but a part of me worries that Rainer could find a way out of it. How could I even think of doing these movies without him? It’s us—on camera and off. I need him next to me in all my worlds.
Rainer sighs, and then he finally turns to face me.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He puts his hands on either side of my face, and then he’s drawing me toward him. His lips meet mine, and his hands move down my back. They feel solid there, strong, and I let myself go pliant against his chest, the tension of the last minutes flowing out of me. “I don’t mean for this to involve us.” He pulls back and touches his forehead to mine.
A knock on the door makes us lift our heads up, but Rainer keeps his arms around me.
“Yeah?” he says.
Sandy comes into view. “I’m heading out, but don’t forget the Awards next week. The stylist is coming by tomorrow with some dress options for you.”
The MTV Movie Awards. I’m nominated for Best Female Performance and Best Kiss… twice—once with Rainer and once with Jordan. My first awards show, and there’s absolutely no chance Rainer and I arenotgoing to win Best Kiss. As proud as I am to stand beside him on the carpet, I don’t love the idea of having to kiss him onstage in front of all those people. Especially since I know Jordan will be watching us, sitting right in the front row.
“You look like I just sacrificed a puppy,” Sandy says. “It’s an awards show—you dress up, you get your picture taken, you watch some people sing and dance and say things they’ll probably regret the next day.… It’s fun. Speaking of which, have some fun today. Just don’t get photographed with a champagne bottle between your knees.”
“That’s specific.”
“You’d be surprised,” Sandy says, waving good-bye.
CHAPTER 3
“Wow,” Rainer says. He’s leaning against the bedroom door, dressed in jeans, a button-down, and a navy blazer. My breath catches a little when I look at him. He is so damn handsome. “You look incredible.”
I glance down at my black slip dress—something Tawny got me for press tour that I kept, because it was one of the only things I actually liked. It’s not as binding as everything else they had me in. Tawny said it was sexy, but understated—which fits the bill for tonight. Rainer and I are going to dinner, just the two of us.
I have my hair up in a loose ponytail, and I’m wearing the gold cowrie shell necklace Rainer gave me at the end of the shoot. I’ve even put on some makeup—I learned a thing or two from hours in the chair with Lillianna, our makeup director on the first movie. “Thanks.”
“Come here.”
He takes my hand and leads me over to the bed.
“Rainer…”
“I just want to give you your present.”
I look at him, his dimple winking. The box is blue velvet, and small. The size of a ring. I feel my heart begin to pound in my throat. He wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t. I don’t care how many tabloid stories about his proposal there have been. We haven’t been really, truly together that long, and I’m only eighteen—he wouldn’t ask me to marry him. Would he?
