“I’m not getting engaged, and even more, I’m not doing any more fake relationships after this one.” I force my voice to come out firm and without any room for argument, and Jackie’s entirebody goes still. “I hate them, the fake relationships. I hate how they make me feel.”
The nervousness leaves her face, and she waves a hand as if my concerns hold no bounds. “You just have first date jitters.”
“It’s not a first date, Jackie. It’s…it’s the first episode. It’s acting,” I say, shaking my head and trying not to let the frustration I’m feeling leak into my words. “I’m tired of faking it. I’m tired of creating this entire illusion. I get that some of it is necessary, but I’m done with the rest.” Jackie is silent, and I continue to explain, desperate to get her to understand what I’m saying. “No more fake relationships after this. The last few months have shown me I need to restructure my priorities. After this relationship, after this album, I want to slow things down. I want to live my life, find balance.”
“Willa—” Jackie says, a softness on her face that suddenly feels disingenuous. It’s no different from the one I’ve seen a million times over the years, but after three months with people who genuinely care for me, I can see the difference clearly. It makes my stomach cold. “We can revisit this?—”
“No. I’m telling you right now I’m not doing this again, Jackie.”
She stares at me, trying to decide what to say, but before she can, the car stops. When I look out the window, a group of paparazzi is waiting outside a five-star restaurant I’ve been to before. Cheering starts, and through the tinted glass, I see my date approaching, a grin on his face as he waves to the fans waiting.
“Now, I have a date to get to,” I say, then close my eyes and take a deep breath, pushing the irritated Willa aside and putting my shield on just as the door opens, letting in the noise from outside.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Chris says, loud enough for the cameras to hear, and I smile wide, then let him help me out of the car and into the restaurant.
And with that, the show begins.
THIRTY-ONE
WILLA
Dinner is a misery.
Chris orders for himself before ordering forme, and he gets me a salad I absolutely hate. I end up pushing it around the entire meal while he devours a plate of steak and potatoes that look fantastic. I contemplate asking the kitchen to make me what he has, but after just forty minutes with this man, I’m already desperate for this date to end.
He spends the entire time smiling, showing off alarmingly white veneers, and talking about himself. His accomplishments, his projects, his notable movies. With each one, he asks me if I’ve seen it, and if I say no, he gives me a rundown of the entire plot. Unfortunately, I learned early not to lie; if I say I’ve seen it, he asks me for my favorite scene, which, obviously, is difficult. Having been in this industry for most of my life, I’m very used to self-absorbed celebrities who only want to talk about themselves, but this situation definitely takes the cake.
As the night goes on, I find myself desperately hoping this is simply his nerves showing. He was kind and charming at the meeting this morning, so I thought it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. For a bit, I even thought that maybe, when it ended, I’dhave another friend in the industry, as had happened a few times before.
Instead, I find myself wondering just how the hell I’m going to managesix entire monthsof this.
When the server comes to ask us about dessert, Chris answers before I can. “Have to watch your waistline, am I right?” he asks with a grin. When I smile back, I can taste blood from biting my tongue so hard, but I figure that enduring his douchebaggery is better than staying here longer than absolutely necessary.
After I pay the bill (yes,Ipay the bill), Chris leads me into the entryway, where we wait for Gabe to give the all-clear before we leave. I’m almost home free, just needing to take a small walk around the pond in the nearby park, giving paparazzi a chance to take shots of our magical first date before I can go home, curl up in some sweats, and call Leo.
“One thing,” I say quietly, looking around to make sure there are no listening ears around. “Before we head outside.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his attention to his wrist, adjusting his cufflink. I force myself not to make a face at his inability to evenpretendhe cares about what I have to say.
“No kissing tonight.” His head snaps up, finally giving me attention, and his brow furrows.
“Excuse me?”
“No kissing,” I start, then take in a deep breath. “Not for the first date. I’d like to spread it out.” I know rationally I’ll have to kiss him at some point, have to give the cameras and the media what they want, but the idea of doing it so soon after leaving Leo makes my stomach turn. I’m relieved when, after a moment of hesitation, Chris nods.
“Okay, that’s fine,” he says with a smile, and I return it with a genuine one for the first time all night. My phone buzzes with a text from Gabe, and I look up at Chris.
“Thank you for understanding,” I say.
“Of course. Now let’s go stun the cameras, shall we?” he asks, giving me his elbow. I take it and smile again as he leads us out of the restaurant, the camera’s flashing and paparazzi calling our names.
We walk along the pond, lit by the moonlight, and chat some more. He asks me a few questions about myself, and I find myself almost enjoying the evening. I decide he must have just been nervous earlier in the dimly lit romantic restaurant, feeling the all too familiar pressure of the strange situation. As we walk and chat, I realize Jackie did a great job, as always: from the outside looking in, this is a romantic first date.
A far-off thought in my mind recalls an interview where someone asked what my dream date would be, and I said a moonlit walk along the water after a great dinner, and I know that this date is intentional.
The problem is, this isn’t my dream date, not anymore.
These days, my dream date is a day of housework, then being too tired to make dinner, ordering a dozen different chicken nuggets from different fast-food restaurants, eating them in the trunk of my car, and then fucking in the shower.
