User39924: ‘How? I can’t get out of bed.’
JSTWNTITOVR: ‘I went to school with you. I thought I was the only one.’”
“There are hundreds of comments like this. I’m not going to lie, there are trolls saying exactly what you’d expect. Don’t read them. My assistant will email you the relevant ones.”
She doesn’t soften her tone.
“This needs to be said. Some of them need hope. You showed what happened. Now show them your healing.”
“I’m not an expert,” I protest.
“No you’re a survivor. Meg is bringing you a new dress.”
I look from Remy to Erik.
“Do we do this? Open our lives to this much scrutiny?”
“We have been in the public eye for years,” Erik tells me. “They will say whatever they want anyway.”
Remy nods, “facts don’t always matter, but this is important.”
“Okay,” I draw the word out.
“She texted me the studio information, they are in the same building, and this will not be live,” Remy says as he places a hand on my back and directs me to the studio where Meg is waiting with a maroon sweater and black skirt.
Chapter one hundred thirty-one
Christianna
I’m curled against Remy’s side on the couch, my feet in Erik’s lap as he absently rubs them.
Bass is wedged between my legs and the back of the couch. Treble is pressed against Erik. The sounds of the musical we’re watching create a warm cocoon around us.
“How are you feeling?” Remy’s voice is a warm vibration beneath my cheek.
“Relieved. Like it or hate it, it’s done.”
Meg is curled in a chair under a blanket, scrolling through her phone. “They’re already putting things together on STD. The way Alexis had you frame it, this is what happened without naming anyone. The press is in a frenzy.”
“I can’t right now. Let’s just watch the movie. Watch them sing ‘Good Morning’ and tip over the couch, then head to bed. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will be soon enough.”
Remy’s arm tightens around me.
Bass snorts and rolls onto his back, all four legs straight up in the air.
Meg closes her phone. “You’re right. Tomorrow is going to be crazy.”
Chapter one hundred thirty-two
Remy
Meg steps into my office and closes the door behind her. She sits across from me without preamble.
“How bad?” I ask. She has the updated presale numbers and final box counts.
“We did lose a few box holders after the announcement,” she says, scrolling through her tablet. “But it doesn’t matter.”
I wait.
