I began to cry. “Isabelle…”
“I know.” He kissed my forehead. “I know.”
But he could not, because he was not a parent. Because he wasa celebrity, and in some strange way he’d asked for this. Or at the very least, he was prepared for it. It was not out of the realm of normalcy for him. This intrusion, this parasitic creature that fed off of him and every little thing he did and broadcasted it for the masses. This fandom that leeched.
I wanted to hit him. For being so fucking stupid. For exposing us like that. But what good would it have done? It’s not as if he were solely to blame.
“Who took them?”
“I don’t know. Someone with a really good lens… Do you remember seeing anyone, any boats, following us?”
I thought about it. The catamaran. It had been there at Shoal Bay. It could have been that one. It could have been anyone.
“Does it matter? My life is completely ruined now. My parents are going to disown me. Daniel is going to take Isabelle away. Lulit is going to offer to buy out my share of the gallery. It’s over. My life is over.”
“It’s not over, Solène. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“But you are really,reallygood at eating pussy, so maybe it was worth it.”
He laughed, kissing my wet cheeks. “I love you. I’m so sorry this happened. I love you.”
“Yeah… That’s what all the boys say.”
“No, they don’t,” he whispered. “No, they don’t.”
aspen
By the time I touched down in L.A., it was, as Hayes had confirmed, everywhere. I was greeted by nineteen new voicemails, thirty-three texts, and forty-two emails when I powered on my iPhone. And without looking at any of them, I powered it down.
Daniel was not scheduled to bring Isabelle back until tomorrow. So I went home, turned off the landline, crawled into my bed, and cried.
And cried.
It wasn’t until eleven the next morning that I turned onmy iPhone again and found no fewer than a dozen messages from Hayes awaiting me. I called him immediately in London.
“What the hell, Solène? Where are you? Where the fuck have you been?” He was panicked, incensed. I could not recall ever hearing him so angry.
“I’m here. At home. I had the phone off. What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t think to check in after you landed? You couldn’t send a message or anything?”
I was quiet. My head pounding, my face swollen, my mind scrambled. Had I done something wrong?
“You cannot… Fuck…” His voice was quaking. “You cannot just fall off the face of the fucking earth like that. You can’t. I don’t know if something’s happened to you. I don’t know if you’ve done something. I don’t know if there are fans outside of your house. I don’t know anything. You can’t just fucking disappear.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t feel like dealing.”
“Well, youhaveto deal…with me,” he said, and I realized he was crying. “Look, we’re in this together, and as it is, I feel responsible. And if I can’t reach you, I don’t know if you’ve gone and done something completely stupid or if you’re hurt… You’re six thousand fucking miles away. You got on that plane emotional and then you just… disappeared. You can’t do that to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He was quiet for a moment, his breath heavy in the receiver. “Call Lulit,” he said finally. “She’s on her way over there. Call her and tell her you’re okay.”
“You called Lulit?”
“Just call her,” he said. “And call me back.”
“Okay … I’m sorry.”
