In the quiet after bedtime
When the brave face finally falls
I see the scared underneath the strong
Let me help you carry it all
You never have to ask for anything
I'll answer every call
Let me see you
Let me see you
We'll carry it all
12
SERAPHINA
Ididnotrelax. Not even close. I couldn’t write either, my mind crowded with all of this nonsense. After everyone had left, I’d wandered around the house, trying to figure out exactly what was bothering me. The plan was good. In fact, it might even end up being a net positive for me and my career. The whole “no press is bad press” had been floating around my mind all day. As calculating as this sounded, if Hunter were to declare to the world that he was in love with me, my readers would eat it up. He was gorgeous and sexy. Mysterious and obviously brilliant at what he did. They would love it for me. I’d had readers write to me over the years pitching their sons or grandsons as potential boyfriends.
However, I had to ask myself—what were the repercussions that came from a relationship in the public eye? Did it matter at all? It wasn’t like I was a famous movie star. As accomplished as Hunter was, he wasn’t well known. Both of us had jobs that allowed us anonymity. I’d always guarded my private life, mostly to protect Tyler. Little was known about me. With this situation, all that was about to be blown apart.
Hunter had offered to cook us dinner tonight and had shown up with a bag of vegetables and chicken to make a stir-fry. Atthe moment, I was perched on a stool at the island watching him move around my kitchen. Tyler had not yet come home from a late baseball practice, so we were alone. I wanted to share my jumbled thoughts with Hunter, but I didn’t know how to explain them.
That said, Madeleine Price was really good at her job. She’d given us a road map, and all we had to do was follow it.
Still, it felt strange and scary to think about what was about to unfold and at such a juxtaposition to what was happening in my house at the moment. I breathed in the aromas of sesame oil and garlic wafting from the wok. Steam rose from my rice cooker. Hunter added chicken into the oil, and it sizzled and snapped. All perfectly ordinary. Yet we had to play the game.
“A crew came this morning to interview Ivy,” Hunter said. “She texted just now that it’s airing at ten tonight.”
“One of the networks, right?”
“Correct. Madeleine got her on one of the popular long format types of interview.”
“I’m nervous for her,” I said.
“Don’t be. Ivy’s really good at this kind of thing.” He tilted his head. “You’ve been quiet. You okay?”
“Just processing, I guess.”
“You sure you want to do this?” He gestured with the spatula. “Me and you. It’s not going to be easy. Everyone’s going to know our business.”
“I was just thinking about that. I’ve worked hard to keep my life private.”
“For Tyler.”
“Yes, and for me too. These photos circulating feel like such a violation. They captured a moment between us that should have remained private. Instead, anyone who cares to look gets a glimpse into my life.” I smiled, trying to make light of it, eventhough I was deeply unsettled. “Having the camera capture how I feel about you makes me feel really vulnerable.”
“Yeah, I hate it. And I’m sorry.” He moved the chicken around the wok with the spatula, his head bowed. “You didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Neither did you.”
“No, but it’s my mess.”
The rice cooker beeped and flipped to its warm mode.
