Twenty-Two
CHARLOTTE
I’ve never felt as trapped as I do right now, especially not in my own home.
My home is my safe place, a lush, cozy sanctuary, a monument to “this sister did it by herself.” I bought, renovated, decorated, and upgraded every inch of my three-bedroom bungalow with my own money and my own hands. It’s a place where I usually feel held and proud of all I’ve accomplished.
Now, I feel like a rat in a trap, waiting for the catcher to come collect his prey.
I always suspected that fame was overrated. Now, I know for sure.
Fame sucks.
The paparazzi sucks.
And having a famous, deranged ex sucks worst of all.
God, I feel so awful for Beatrice. I thought the public passive-aggressive bullshit Teddy spouted in that magazine was bad, but this…
This is so bad it’s scary. I haven’t been able to sit down since the first news van pulled up hours ago, and every text alert from my phone or Beatrice’s makes me flinch. The last time a message popped through from Makena, I yipped in surprise, startlingBeatrice so badly, she nearly fell off her stool at the kitchen counter, where she’s in damage-control-triage mode with her publicist, her publicist’s mentor, and several trusted singer friends who’ve reached out with tips on managing vicious exes.
It truly takes a village to recover from a bad man…
After apologizing for scaring her, I retreated to the front of the house to twitch alone. Beatrice has enough on her plate without my high-strung energy adding to her overwhelm.
So, I pace the length of the foyer, heels clicking softly on the hardwood, doing my best to walk the stress away without breaking a sweat. I’m dressed for battle today. A very specific kind of battle. In wide-legged cream trousers, a camel cashmere sweater, and a smooth blowout, I’m leaning into my best “Gwyneth Paltrow on trial for a ski accident” energy.
The look says—I am elegant, unbothered, and have nothing to hide. It insists, “Iam the reasonable person in this room, and all who contradict my narrative should be ignored.”
I thought getting ready to face the public would help, but so far, the pinch of my camel pumps is simply reminding me why I usually go for boots or sandals with this outfit instead.
I’m not twenty-five anymore, and neither are my feet.
As I turn, pace, turn, and pace again, the toe box rubs in all the wrong ways, and my gaze keeps drifting to the closed curtains. The heavy linen blocks us from prying eyes but does little to keep out the noise. The low drone of conversation, the occasional burst of “news anchor voice” as they go live, the shuffle of equipment, and the scooter buzzing in with food delivery all easily reach my twitchy ears.
A peek through the curtain reveals it’s Phillipe, the driver who delivers my weekly Indian food order, and I feel betrayed. I’ve tipped Phillipeverywell. Foryears. I can’t believe he’s delivering supplies to the enemy!
Logically, I know I can’t blame a man for making a living, but still…
Phillipe’s a nice guy. Great smile. Sweet energy. If he knew these scavengers were re-traumatizing an already traumatized woman, I doubt he would be okay with bringing them the caffeine they need to keep going.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down—another text from a number I don’t recognize, asking for a comment.
I silence it and keep walking.
In the kitchen, I hear the low murmur of Beatrice’s voice as she answers another call from Laurel, her publicist, the third since we woke up to Hurricane Kai sweeping through our lives.
She sounds steady, but I know she’s angry and scared and worried about the repercussions of all this. Not just for herself, but for Nix, me, and my business. I’m not worried about my business—my clients aren’t the kind to pay attention to rock star drama—but Iamworried about Nix.
It’s 11:43, and he texted that he was on his way from the airport twenty-five minutes ago.
He should be here any second.
My anxiety spikes again. I shake my hands loosely at my sides as I resume my pacing, attempting to give the nervous energy somewhere to go.
I know Nix understands what’s at stake. He’s too smart not to have put two and two together and realized a burst of temper would be playing right into Kai’s hands.
But still…
