Vivien’s head cocks, considering me. “Do you ever miss the city?”
Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s her, but I’m compelled to elaborate even though I probably shouldn’t. Wasn’t I just thinking earlier something about keeping this totally professional? “I do, but . . . as a kid, I worked so hard at school, extracurriculars, summer jobs, whatever it took to get out of this place. And I did. I travelled, spent time in cities where I didn’t speak the language. It was difficult and amazing, but it wasn’t home. Not really. Even though I lived in Boston for seven years, it wasn’t really home.”
“I get it.” She nods. “I loved the time I spent here.”
“I don’t remember seeing you around town.” Teenage me would have definitely remembered. I was obsessed with The Other Side of Ordinary along with most kids my age.
“I was shipped here between filming. When I was younger, my work schedule didn’t allow for much vacation time so it was only a week or two at a time. But I stayed here once for a whole summer, after my mom got divorced. For the second time. She needed space to find a new man. She couldn’t handle my little sister and me simultaneously.” She sighs. “She and Audrey went to Europe on a shopping spree, and I came here.”
“How old was your sister?”
“Eight. We’re about six years apart.”
Oh, right. I think she mentioned that already. I do the quick math in my head. That would make her sister around twenty-three now.
“Beverly really made my time here magical. At the time, it was the only place I felt safe.”
I set my empty plate aside, her words igniting a spark of concern in my chest. “Does that mean the rest of your existence was spent feeling unsafe?”
She chuckles. “The wine is making me melodramatic. Surrender was amazing because everyone treated me like I was normal.” Her head tilts to one side. “They still do, actually. It’s kinda weird.”
“You are normal.”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not. Not since I was seven, that’s when I got cast, and the weirdness began. When I was eight years old, the first season was released, and I haven’t known normalcy since.”
“I’ve never really thought about what that might be like.”
She waves a hand. “It’s fine. Please, don’t pity me. I don’t want to be one of those celebrities who bitches about fame, like, oh no my lobster is too buttery, while wiping my tears away with hundred-dollar bills. There are people with real problems out there.”
“I would never pity you. But you’re allowed to have problems and feelings, even if you are a gazillionaire.”
She chuckles. “Hardly that. But I have enough to survive, and then some, and not everyone can say that.”
I tip my head in assent. “I’m glad you had Surrender and The Palace as a place of refuge, even if it was for a brief time. Beverly was a force to be reckoned with. She would never let anyone bother you.”
She rubs her lips together. “Seems like you won’t let anyone bother me either.”
“What?”
She winces. “Sorry. I overheard you earlier on the phone, talking to . . . Kevin?”
“Yeah.” I rub my chin, immediately running through the conversation in my mind. Did I say anything embarrassing? “I can’t promise to keep out the world, but I will do everything in my power to make sure Surrender continues to be a safe landing place for you.”
She considers me, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “Thank you. It means a lot. You’d be surprised how people behave around me. I haven’t had someone bother to protect me like that since Beverly was alive.”
Wait, what? That can’t be true. “What about your parents?”
She sighs and shakes her head. “My mom didn’t bother to guard me from rabid fans. It didn’t matter if they were weird, or pushy, or creepy.”
I frown. “But you were just a kid.”
She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “She didn’t care. Can’t have anyone telling stories about me being a diva or a brat. If someone wanted a photo, I took a photo. If someone wanted a hug, I gave a hug. If someone wanted to talk, I’d better smile and act like they were the most important person in the room so they could spread tales of how great I am.” She sets her empty wine glass down. “It didn’t matter if I was sick, or exhausted, or if taking selfies with a fan meant the press would be surrounding us with shouts and flashing bulbs ten minutes later, she loved all of that.”
“But they weren’t harassing her, they were harassing you.”
“Even better, I guess. All the glory, none of the discomfort. It’s okay. Really. I have had a lot of therapy to work through it.”
“What about your dad?”
