“Do you want to know what Dana’s book is really about?” Sinclair asked. “It’s about jealousy. Dana King is bitter and chronically envious of Ivy James. Ivy’s career surpassed hers. Ivy’s playing arenas and Dana’s lucky to book a county fair.”
My stomach turned. Seeing my words in print and stripped of context and laid out like evidence was worse than I’d imagined. I kept reading.
But perhaps most revealing were Sinclair’s comments about Sloan’s past — comments that shed new light on the haunting lyrics of his recent hit, “Or Something Like That Anyway.”
“The two women he loved most both left him,” Sinclair said. “His mother, then Dana. He’s still recovering from that kind of wound.”
Sloan has never publicly discussed his mother’s departure, though the song’s lyrics, “My mother taught me how / To leave before I’m left,” hint at childhood abandonment.
No.
No, no, no.
When reached for comment, King’s publicist issued a brief statement: “Dana’s heart goes out to Hunter. She’s always known he carried deep wounds from his childhood, and she tried her best to help him heal. She wishes him and Ms. Sinclair well.”
She was playing the victim. Of course she was. And I had handed her the ammunition.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Mom?”
Tyler’s voice came from far away. I looked up. His expression was uncertain and a little scared.
“Where did you find this?” My voice didn’t sound like mine.
“It’s everywhere. Annie saw it first. Then Grace. It’s trending.”
Trending. Oh God.
“Are you okay?”
I forced myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I was not going to fall apart in front of my son. I was not.
“I’m fine.” The inside of my mouth felt like it was coated with ash. “Honey, I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Go downstairs and hang out with the other kids.” I handed his phone back, my hand remarkably steady. “And text the ladies that I need them to come to my suite. Tell them it’s an SOS.”
“Are you sure? You don’t want Hunter.”
“I need to talk to my friends. Please.” I heard the crack in my voice and hated it.
Tyler hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Go,” I said. Softer this time. “I promise I’m okay.”
He went. The door clicked shut behind him. And I fell apart.
I made it to the couch in the living room before my legs gave out. I sat on the edge in my beautiful dress, and sobbed. Ugly, gasping sobs that would ruin everything the makeup artist had done, but I couldn’t stop.
I would lose Hunter. He would see this as the betrayal it was, sharing something so personal that I had no right to do. It was so personal. So revealing. Why had I let my temper get the better of me?
The wound his mother had left had been so painful that he’d worked it out in a song because that’s who he was. He offered the world his stories through metaphor and through music. And I’d gone and made it a pull quote.
Meredith had promised to leave it out. She had looked me in the eye and agreed that it was off the record. And I’d believed her. What an idiot I was to think there was any honor left in today’s world. The desire for attention was so powerful that people chose to betray someone they’d made a promise to for their own gains.
A knock on the door startled me. I went on shaking legs to open it. My girls were all there. Esme strode in first, blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, wearing a blush pink gown with delicate beading at the neckline. Delphine was right behind her, striking in a black column dress with an architectural neckline, her dark hair slicked back and severe, which at the momentmatched her expression. Lila followed in flowing champagne silk, her auburn waves loose over her shoulders. Gillian came last, wearing a navy velvet sheath that made her look like a 1940s film star, her face pale beneath expertly applied makeup.
