Dylan…
…considering…
“Noelle,” she said, turning toward the designer. She held a floral skirt in her hand she didn’t even remember picking up. “What did you meanconsidering?”
Noelle glanced up. “What?”
“You said you weren’t sure how Dylan factored into it,considering. Considering what?”
Noelle didn’t even blink. “Considering your arrangement.”
Something in Ramona went cold, a warning.
“Arrangement?” she asked.
Noelle slipped off her glasses. “Yes, arrangement.” She sounded impatient, but Ramona just waited for her to go on. “Dating to smooth over her image? Isn’t that what you two are doing? At least, that’s what Gia wanted.”
The cold spread now, radiating out from her stomach to her limbs, her heart. “Gia.”
“After you two got caught at that miniature golf place,” Noelle said. “Gia said you’d agreed to date for publicity and you might be on set here and there. Happens all the time. Did you know Ryan Locke and Fiona Whalen’s entire marriage was a stunt? I get dating, but a legal bond?” She shook her head and slipped her glasses back on. “Hollywood needs therapy.”
Ramona closed her eyes, squeezed them hard until color exploded behind her lids. Opened them back up, but Noelle was stillthere, she was still here, and Noelle’s words still echoed against the spa-blue walls.
“Hang on,” she said, holding on to the bed’s fabric footboard. “Are you…What are you saying?”
Noelle glanced up, alarmed. “Oh, shit.”
“Are you saying Dylan has been fake dating me for…what? A publicity stunt?”
“Fucking hell,” Noelle said, standing up. “You didn’t know.”
“Wait. You’re really saying…Dylan…fake…me…” Ramona’s words tripped and gasped, the air thin, her lungs rebelling.
“Sit down,” Noelle said, grabbing Ramona’s arms and easing her down onto the bed. Then she hurried into the bathroom and emerged with a glass of water. Ramona held it, but didn’t drink. She was too busy trying to breathe, trying to get the words that were tumbling through her brain to slow down.
“You really didn’t know?” Noelle asked.
Ramona could only shake her head. No need to ask,Know what?orWhat do you mean?Noelle had been clear enough. And Noelle wasn’t prone to gossip. She hated that shit—was famous for her no-nonsense approach when it came to Hollywood drama, especially on one of her projects. She wouldn’t have said any of this if it weren’t true.
Ramona’s memories swirled back a few weeks ago to Dickie’s, then the photos of her and Dylan online, how riled Dylan was about it, and then…
“Just casual,” Dylan said. “You know…fun. Not so different from what we’ve been doing, really. Just, you know…it’s like…different because, I might, I don’t know. Hold your finger.”
“Finger?”
“I mean hand. Jesus.” Dylan rubbed her forehead. “I’m very bad at this.”
Except she wasn’t. Apparently Dylan was very, very good. God,Ramona had thought it was all so adorable, how Dylan had tripped over her words when she’d asked her out. How romantic it was when she’d taken her to the Earthstars Museum.
How she’d waved at the phones pointed in their direction.
Fuckingwaved.
When only the day before, she’d nearly lost her mind over the three paparazzi at Dickie’s.
“I didn’t know,” Ramona said quietly.
“My god,” Noelle said, pressing her hand to the base of her throat. “I’m sorry, Ramona. It wasn’t my place. I thought you—”
