Such a lie. Nothing makes me feel better. The ice cream just numbs my taste buds long enough to distract from the hollow ache spreading beneath my breastbone.
With a sigh that speaks volumes about her disappointment in my coping mechanisms, mom retreats to the kitchen.
Back to my mindless TV safari. An infomercial promising abs of steel in just ten minutes a day. Mom’s favorite cooking competition. A sitcom where all problems resolve in twenty-two minutes flat.
Then—because the universe clearly enjoys kicking me when I’m down—I land on a channel with Logan’s name flashing urgently across the screen.
The camera pans in on his face, and I sit up instantly. His dark hair is as disorderly as ever. He’s wearing a fitted black leather jacket over a simple white tee—he looks good.
As the shot widens, Victoria materializes beside him like a conjured demon. Her hand curls possessively around his arm, so proud of herself for having accomplished what she set out to do.
The words “Big Announcement” scroll across the bottom of the screen in block letters, and my heart lurches. I don’t want to know what it is.
My thumb stabs the power button, and I bolt for my bedroom, collapsing onto my mattress. I squeeze my pillow so tightly the seams threaten to come undone.
I should’ve trusted him. Should’ve never let Victoria’s threats wedge between us. I practically gift-wrapped him for her with my fear and retreat.
If this wasn’t real love, it wouldn’t hurt so much. After Andy, I didn’t know I could hurt this much again, but here I am, barely holding on.
I close my eyes, thinking about his laugh, his touch, the way he always looked at me with that smirk.
I’m in love with him. So completely, ridiculously in love that even thinking his name fills me with intense longing, so much so that I curl into a fetal position from the pain of it. I want to see him with every fiber of my being.
Could I fix this? Fly to Los Angeles, tell him everything . . .
No. Victoria would destroy his career out of spite.
But Lucy’s innocent wisdom keeps circling back:If you miss him, just go see him.
Maybe the truth needs to come from me, not Victoria. Maybe it’s time to risk everything. I should never have lied to Lindsey about having a boyfriend. I don’t even care what she thinks of me, or what anyone else thinks of me for that matter. Only the truth can unravel the yarn of deceit I’ve spun since that fateful day at the diner.
A spark of determination lights in my chest, and I sit up, grabbing my laptop to search for the first flight out to Los Angeles.
Chapter 27
After getting off the plane, I waste no time hailing a cab, rattling off the address of the party venue with a shaky breath.
My hand trembles as I slide into the backseat, the leather squeaking beneath my simple cotton dress—a far cry from the designer gowns I’ll undoubtedly face tonight. The dress had seemed adequate hanging in my closet in Maplewood Springs. Now, with L.A.’s glitter and glamour looming ahead, it feels as out of place as I do.
The driver catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “Big night at Avalon, huh?”
“Something like that.” My smile wobbles at the edges, as uncertain as my plan.
I fidget with my purse—the only thing I brought with me. No luggage, no hotel reservation. After what I’m about to do, I’ll likely be on the red-eye back to Arkansas, watching the city lights shrink beneath me.
My phone lights up with a text from Logan. I’d messaged him yesterday that I was coming.
The explosion of celebratory emojis tells me he’s beyond thrilled that I’m coming. He has no idea what I’m planning to do. The only way to undo a lie is to tell the truth. If anyone is going to reveal our fake relationship, it should be me.
Tapping my foot against the floor mat, I scroll through my news feed. Every entertainment outlet buzzes with tonight’s announcement party. Photos of Logan and Victoria from earlier today flash across my screen—him in that leather jacket, her in the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. For all her faults, she sure has a sense of fashion so far beyond mine I might as well be wearing one of Chrissy’s hoodies.
“Avalon Hollywood,” the cabbie announces as we come to a halt.
The venue glows like a beacon, drawing the beautiful people of L.A. to its doors. A red carpet stretches from the curb, throbbing with photographers and shouting reporters. Security guards with earpieces stand sentry at velvet ropes.
Suddenly, I do not want to get out of this cab.
“You sure this is your stop?” The driver’s skepticism makes me question my entire plan. But I know there’s no turning back.
