Page 28 of Undone By The Mountain Daddies

“I was…” Eli finally says, tensing his jaw. “I wanted to check in on you and make sure you were okay.”

“Fine,” I blurt out. “I’m fine.”

His eyes lower again. “Jesus. I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“It’s fine.”

Eli takes another step back and disappears, leaving me more sexually frustrated than I already was.

I throw the pillow over my face and growl into it.

I leave my cabin hours later and head toward the main one.

I realized I was gonna have to come out of hiding at some point. Plus, all the food is in the main cabin.

The wind has died down, and so has my embarrassment. Like the blizzard, this won’t last forever. I’ll be back in Hollywood before I know it. This will all blow over, same as the snow when it finally decides to melt and give me my car back.

Just give it another day, and I’ll be back on my way to LA.

But as I get closer to the main cabin, I start to feel sick to my stomach. The sooner this blizzard is over, the sooner I’ll be back getting harassed by the press again. Holden this, Holden that. “What do you think of his new fiancée, Sienna?”

My head hurts just thinking about all of the cameras and cheering fans. Underneath the glitz and glamor, I’m a person, same as them, and that makes me no different from anyone else.

But they raise me on a pedestal, and I let them. Because if I tell them how I really feel and show weakness, nobody will like it, and I’ll lose everything.

I wade through the heavy snow in my Diors. I’m plowing it out of my way more than I’m walking through it, but for the first time since being stuck up here, I don’t mind the struggle.

When I look up, there’s not a single person in sight—no cameras, no media waiting for their turn to ask me their stupid questions. All I see are snow-covered mountains.

Now that the weather has settled, I can see far into the distance. Down into the valleys. Everything is white, and the snow is real, not powdery like the fake stuff they use on set.

I tip my face into the freezing air. My pores can finally breathe.

And then I look at my phone, and miraculously, I now have three full bars.

JULES: You need to call me.

My stomach twists. She doesn’t mean that with any ill intent, but I feel sick just thinking about that costume designer meeting. More waves of nausea roll through me as I think about it all. The meetings. The sequel I’m going to have to bring myself to film, including multiple sex scenes with Holden. The press is going to eat that shit up.

I come to a halt in the snow and do what I know I shouldn’t—open social media.

And there I am, in ultra-HD on the red carpet in a red dress, trying my hardest to keep it together as Holden gets on one knee in front of Valentina. The camera is focused on me, not Holden. Typical.

My chest contracts, and more waves of nausea ripple through me. I’m freezing cold, but I’m also burning up. Sweat trickles down my neck.

I scroll.

And there’s more.

“Visible signs of Sienna Lane aging in her new movie Hearts For You.”

“That movie sucked ass.”

“I know, right. That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”

Rule number one when you’re famous is never read anything about yourself online— especially not the comment sections. But I care what people think of me, just like anyone else does.

“I don’t know what happened to her acting.”