Page 3 of Holy Sinner

“It looks perfect, thank you.”

“Appreciate you doing this for me.”

I know they mean it. I don’t even have to look at them to know it and when I smile at them again it’s easier to do.

“Did you see the news this morning?” Rafe asks. He’s driving us today. Grant hates it when he drives because he has to sit up front with him. Well, he doesn’t have to, but he does it to make sure when the photographers find us they get a clear shot at him and not me.

I pull out my phone, already tensing for what I might find. “I didn’t.”

There’s been someone taking photos of us. Of me. Most of them are from the movie lot, which has Rafe and Grant thinking it’s someone on the set, but there are others. Ones from years ago that are starting to pop up with the rest.

Ones from when I was at Harvard and fresh-faced, or when I first moved to Connecticut. I didn’t think anyone noticed me then, but it seems I was wrong. People did and now they’re selling those moments to the paparazzi, photo by photo. I never thought anyone would buy a photo of me but it’s an easy sell right now. My hands shake slightly while I search my name to see what the latest headline is for the romance writer dating two of Hollywood’s hottest men.

I hold my breath while I scan the sites and see the normal photos I’m used to. Ones that were splashed across the internet the second I was seen with both Grant and Rafe. There was no way we weren’t going to end up photographed. Not when Grant and Rafe have never been photographed together and then I’m seen holding hands with the both of them?

That was a viral moment.

We’ve been together for two months now and the media’s fixation with the three of us has only intensified. Whoever is feeding them the new photos has stoked the public’s insatiable appetite. Before the By The Way movie, I was quiet. I kept to myself and I wasn’t one for photos other than with fans at signings and my interviews were few and far between.

I liked being off people’s radar. It was safer. That’s all gone now. It’s an even trade for Rafe and Grant. Still, I’m hit with the same anxiety and stomach cramping fear that settles over me like a weighted blanket and makes it hard to breathe.

How does she do it?

That’s the news headline that catches my eye and I freeze when I see the photo posted on a glorified gossip blog site more than anything else. I would have been more wary of catching spyware from visiting the site, but they have posted something that makes me grip my phone so hard its case digs painfully into my hand.

“How did they get this?”

“On the lot, like the rest,” Rafe mutters while he merges off the highway and turns down the backroads taking us to the lot. We were supposed to be moved out of the isolation of the temporary lot last week but we haven’t yet. Not with the director and production company voting to stay put to “better control access” to the lot on account of the photos that have been circulating. At least that’s how they’re pitching it.

I think they’re keeping us put because they like the buzz the photos have been drumming up for the movie. Whoever has been slipping the highest buyer photos isn’t using anything more high-tech than their phones, judging from the weird zoom they use that makes the photos grainy at best most of the time. Those photos are predictable. Me sitting outside during a rare bout of sunshine with Grant or smiling up at Rafe during lunch. Sometimes it’s the three of us with me between them. Those get the most traffic on social media, for obvious reasons, but this isn’t one of those.

Grant and Rafe aren’t in this photo with me.

I’m alone and it’s an old photo.

“This isn’t,” I swallow hard and stare at myself. I’m in high school and it’s prom night. It’s probably the only photo from that night I took, because I didn’t make it to prom. I’m standing in front of Mark’s car. The photo is slightly blurry and the flash is too bright, so bright that I’m holding up my hand to shield my eyes from it, but it’s me.

“I mean, this isn’t from the lot.”

Grant looks back at me, sees my face and immediately swipes my phone from me. “Who took this?”

“I-I,” I pause and swallow hard. “No one,” I whisper.

“Someone did and you’re spooked,” Grant counters and turns in his seat to pin me with a narrow-eyed stare.

“I'm not spooked,” I lie.

“Now's not the time to lie, shy girl,” Rafe grumbles, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

I shake my head. “I’m not lying. The person that took that photo is no one. I-I’m just surprised to see it. It’s from so long ago.”

“When is it from?” Grant’s scrolling through my phone now. I don’t make a move to grab it from him. There’s nothing on there he doesn’t know about me. The only real secret I have at all can’t be found on my phone.

“High school. It’s from my prom,” I tell him. The car slows and I see the familiar gates of the production lot ahead. There’s a few trucks rolling onto it ahead of us but we’re going slower than usual.

Rafe nearly stops the car and grabs the phone from Grant. “I want to see the prom photos.”

“There’s not photos,” I say weakly when he shoves Grant back and starts to scroll through the phone. “It’s just the one.”

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