“There’s no way I’m coming back from this,” I tell them. That’s the truth in more ways than one.
“Not going isnotan option. You need this, Lu. You know you do,” Cassie says pointedly.
I bite my bottom lip. She’s right. I know it. She knows it. I need to go to the ball to try to get some inspiration for my next book. I’m on a deadline, and things aren’t looking good.
Cassie starts pacing in the living room of her New York City apartment. It’s a tiny place, so she doesn’t have much room, but she moves when she’s anxious. “You need to go out and find a dress from someone.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Absolutely not. I’m in hiding, Cass. The only reason I agreed to go to the gala tonight is that it’s a masquerade ball. I’m not about to bring attention to my doorstep.”
Cassie presses her lips together. She can’t argue with me there. The whole point of moving here was to get out from under media scrutiny. I tried to stick it out in Los Angeles with my stepmom and stepsisters for the first couple months afterThe Incident, andwhile chatter around what I said and what I did died down a little, there was still this suffocating commentary anytime I was seen, detailing what an awful person I was. That, and my family was about to start filming the next season of our show, and we all figured it was better if I distanced myself. I didn’t want to drag them down with me.
I haven’t written a single word since the People’s Picks. It’s not because I got cancelled. I mean, Idid, but mercifully, my author career was spared because I’ve always written under a penname. No one knows that Lucy Dupree, the girl who burned her whole life down on the People’s Picks stage, is also Ava Reese, bestselling author of feel-good romance novels.
Writing has always been my outlet. Living in the fictional world of my daydreams was more fulfilling than living in the real world. Chalk it up to childhood trauma, I guess.
Even though my secret life has remained a secret through the fallout, all the negative buzz surrounding me as Lucy has been emotionally and creatively crippling to my alter-ego of Ava. I can barely even call myself an author at this point.
“What about your landlord?” Philly suggests.
“Daisy?” I knit my brows. “What about her?”
“She knows who you are, right?” When I nod, she continues. “So you won’t be revealing yourself to anyone new. You’ve been there for a couple months now. She can obviously be trusted. Maybe she has something you could wear. Or she could find something for you?”
Cassie snaps her fingers. “This is the kind of thinking we need. Yes. Good. Lu, go find Daisy.”
“And say what, exactly? That I’m a klutz who ruined my ball gown and I really need to go to this gala so I can try to get inspired to write a romance novel before my career implodes like the rest of my life?”
“Tone it down, drama queen,” Bex says dryly.
I glare at her.
“That’s exactly what you should say,” Cassie says, ignoring the two of us. “Minus the part about being a romance novelist. Unless you’re ready to let her in on that secret, too.”
I shake my head vigorously.
“Didn’t think so.” Cassie makes a swishing motion with her hand, flicking her wrist like she’s shooing me away. “Go on, now. You can do it. The ball starts in less than two hours. You don’t want to be late.”
“I don’t want to go at all.”
Cassie narrows her eyes at me, pointing a long, pianist’s finger in my direction. “As your agent, I will not let you sabotage the career you’ve built over a ripped dress.”
It’s so much more than a ripped dress at this point.
I keep those thoughts to myself as Cassie’s stern expression melts into something warmer, softer, before she goes on. “As yourfriend, I know you need this because you love writing, and I hate seeing you stuck. I want you to have some fun, get inspired by life again. I want you to write the best book of your career for the readers who are dying for the next Ava novel, but more so for yourself, because you’re happiest when you’re creating. I miss seeing you smile.”
“Me too,” Philly chimes in. “I miss you in general. I’m going to look at flights and come for a visit soon.”
Tears wiggle their way to the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall if I make any sudden movements. I don’t deserve my friends. I don’t know why they’ve stuck with me through the last nine months, but they have, and I’ll never be able to repay them for their support. Checking in to make sure I’ve eaten. Inviting me to our virtual writing sprints and not making me feel bad when I’m obviouslynotwriting.
“I guess I miss you too,” Bex says with a shrug, but her lips twitch, and it’s enough to loosen the knot in the back of my throat.
“Okay.” I blow out a long, slow breath. “I’ll go find Daisy, and I’ll try my best to get to the ball. I make no promises, though.”
“Make us one,” Cassie says, and I tip my head to the side. “If—no,when—you get to the ball”—she gives me a steely look—“do something you wouldn’t usually do. Use the anonymity of the mask to let yourself be free. Just for tonight.”
I twist my lips in disgust, demonstrating exactly what I think of this proposition.
“Just for tonight,” Philly echoes, and she looks so earnest and hopeful that my shoulders roll forward.
