I’m going to miss that outfit.
But I won’t miss Max and his leery comments.
Holly squirms, clearly uncomfortable under Max’s scrutiny.
‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen, Max.’ I muscle in next to her, flanking her back protectively.
‘Would you like to go to the States, Holly?’ Max is like a dog with a fucking bone.
Holly bristles beside me. ‘Oh, I am going to the States.’ Her huge clear eyes gaze up at mine so trustingly, I want to pick her up, put her in my pocket and protect her forever. However crude Max is, the media can be so much harsher, as she, unfortunately, already knows. Is it unfair of me to drag her even further into the spotlight with me? Maybe, but my need for her overrules logic.
Max takes a step back. His eyes widen as they dart between the two of us.
‘I thought she was just a bit of skirt helping you out on set.’ The man is liable to receive his own lawsuit soon. How is it possible to get away with being such a sexist asshole at work in this day and age?
Holly winces visibly, and my fist tingles with the urge to shut Max up one way or another. He takes a step back, seeming to realise he’s overstepped the mark.
I tower over him. ‘Holly’s so much more than that, Max, and you know it. You’ll treat my girlfriend with the respect she deserves, or it’ll be the last thing you do.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, you know. I didn’t realise…’ He raises his right hand in a peace sign as a frown flickers across his forehead. He turns his attention to Holly. ‘Good luck, kid. You’re going to need it in Hollywood.’
What if she can’t take the pressure? The cameras being shoved in her face every time she leaves my house. The paps who circle like sharks sniffing out the tiniest drop of blood. The incessant media speculation every time either of us is captured with a hint of a frown.
No. Holly isn’t Sally-Ann. If she says she can handle it, then she can handle it.
We head towards the Christmas tree in search of a drink. God knows we could both do with it.
Seventy members of the cast and crew congregate in the dome-shaped atrium next to the tree. A buzz of excitement stemming from the upcoming holiday fizzes through the air like the last day of school before spring break.
‘Take no notice of him,’ Macy says, brushing past us with an armful of crimson and cashmere. ‘He’s fifty-five years old and the most meaningful relationship he’s ever had is with his right hand.’
‘I heard that!’ Max yells, glancing up from his phone.
We all laugh, and the tension evaporates, but it doesn’t alleviate the niggle of doubt that has snaked into my stomach.
Two hours later, we have most of Holly’s belongings packed up and her paintings bubble wrapped and ready for a courier to collect and take to my Beverly Hills house. Her makeshift studio looks bare with the canvases all packed away.
Technically, I still have to check out of The Ocean Palace, but given I only spent about three nights there in total, most of my stuff ended up here, anyway.
‘I can’t believe I’m moving to the States.’ Holly sucks in a huge breath before blowing it out slowly. ‘You know, I always wanted to travel. To experience new places.’
‘If you want to, you can travel with me whenever I go on location, too. It could be anywhere, though. Sometimes they’re not the nicest of places.’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’d pretty much go anywhere with you.’ Holly glances round her holiday home wistfully. ‘You know we barely made use of this place?’
I take in the kitchen counter, the sofa, the rug in front of the fire and a million memories roll through my brain. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that now…’
She slaps my arm playfully. ‘I meant the outdoor hot tub and the sauna.’ Her head tilts towards the huge sliding doors that open onto the terrace.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that in Beverly Hills, I have an outdoor hot tub and an infinity pool that makes this one look like a child’s inflatable paddling pool, but I don’t want to sound like a dick. ‘Well, we’re not late yet.’ I yank my t-shirt over my head and stride across the floor.
Holly pauses, glancing at the kitchen, then back towards the terrace.
‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ I open the door and step out into the crisp, cold night. The stars gleam in the sky and my breath fogs in front of my face. It feels almost cold enough to snow.
Holly sashays towards the kitchen as I turn to pull back the hood on the tub and set it in motion.
The ocean roars to my right, but it’s nothing compared to the roaring in my heart when my woman (yes mine - I don’t care who’s seen her topless) returns, utterly naked, clutching a bottle of Sancerre in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other.
