I drive to the front of the hotel and park the car in the back of the parking lot, where the parking agents can’t see us or bother us about not having reservations.
“You open it.” I shove the envelope at Alice.
She opens it and unfolds the letter inside. First, she reads it to herself. Part of me wants to rip it from her hands and read it myself. The other part wants to go home and draw a warm bath and hide underneath all the bubbles.
“It’s short,” she says, after what feels like an hour. “Dear Veronica. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this in person or by phone. My team forced me to move to the house in Beverly Hills with the rest of the band late last night. Claims it will keep me on track. I owe you dinner. Please forgive me. I’ll make this up to you. I promise. Love, Sully.”
Alice folds the letter and shoves it back into the envelope. “Well, then…”
I shift into drive and put as much distance between us and the hotel as possible. I press my foot on the pedal and drive, no destination in mind. Alice shrieks and shouts, “Watch out!”
My vision sharpens just in time to realize I’m in the wrong lane—and a truck is barreling straight toward us. I swerve hard, jerking the wheel and veering into a grocery store parking lot. Tires squeal as I throw the car into park. We’re both breathing heavily, my chest heaving, and my hair is damp with sweat.
“Can I drive?” Alice asks, clicking her seat belt off.
“Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
Alice walks around the car, and I hop over the center console into the passenger’s seat.
That night, I throw myself into work. My show doesn’t suffer, but I’m not as happy or as bubbly as I usually am. For the first time, I decline a meet and greet, which is okay since there aren’t too many kids tonight.
Arthur carries me into the break room, and when he sets me on the bench, he asks, “Why the long face?”
I run my hand over my tail, admiring the pattern of purple and pink to avoid his searching gaze. “Just having an off day.”
“It’s because of that rock star, isn’t it?”
“You can say that.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I flop my fins on the floor. “Not really.”
He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Okay. I’ll leave so you can change.”
I watch him retreat.
Against my better judgment, I check Insta and go to Sully’s page. He’s tagged in three new pictures with Gigi. I flip through them. They were posted two hours ago at some fancy restaurant in Beverly Hills. In the first picture, Gigi’s smile sparkles and Sully looks at the camera stone-faced like always. But his hand rests on her hip. In the second, Gigi offers a spoonful of cheesecake to Sully, and he leans forward, mouth wide open to accept it.
The final blow that forces me to drop my phone and screw my eyes closed is Sully and Gigi standing outside the restaurant by a wall with string lights, as her arms snake around Sully’s neck, and her left leg is popped up behind her as she kisses him. He has his hands on her waist and his eyes closed as if he’s enjoying their intimate kiss. The comments are blowing up. Already gushing about how they’re meant to be.
I lean forward. My hands slide over my tail as my head rests where my knees are to keep from heaving. Was Teddy right? That fucking bastard.
Alice walks in and falls to my side, rubbing my back in gentle circles. “What’s wrong?”
“Check phone,” I mumble, whisking away hot tears with my wrist.
She opens my phone and sees the pictures. “That prick,” she hisses.
There are no words. I’m empty. Completely hollow inside. Right now, I need my best friend to keep me from crumbling into a million pieces on the floor.
“You want to get out of here?” she asks.
“Mmm.” I nod, wiping my hands on my tail. “Crap. I still haven’t changed.”
“Let me help you, and then we’ll do whatever you want.”
“Emily won’t be mad? I thought you two had plans.”
