Page 131 of Reel Love

My voice feels quiet and meek when I look up into his eyes. “I wish I could give you all of that and more.”

“Give me what, exactly?” His tone is soft, compassionate.

“A beautiful version of normal.”

He chuckles, as if the fact that my life doesn’t allow for the kind of romance he deserves isn’t the worst news ever. Maybe it’s not, to him.

He runs his hand along my jaw, tilting my head so my eyes can’t avoid his. In the silence between us, he studies my face and stares softly into my eyes, Then he leans in and places a gentle, comforting kiss to my forehead. When he pulls away, he says, “Alana, sweetheart. It's okay.”

“It's not okay. This is so abnormal. How can it be okay?” I sound like a pouty prima donna.

He holds my chin between his pointer finger and his thumb. “I'm here. I came here of my own free will. Brigitte didn’t drug me or bribe me. She called, and I wanted to come. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else with anyone else. This isn't perfect, but it's us. You and me. I knew you were a star when I pursued you. Navigating the public and the paparazzi and your mother’s expectations for you is part of your life. And if I want to be a part of yourlife, I need to adapt. And because it’s you, that’s not even a hardship.”

He runs his hand down my cheek and holds my gaze. “I want to. I want to do whatever it takes for us to have a chance at this.”

“Why?”

“Because I'd rather have pieces of you than nothing at all.”

He smiles broadly, as if remembering the pieces of me that are his is more than enough for him. “Because now that you're mine, I'm not giving you up. I already had a life without you. And, if I have anything to say about it, I'll never have life without you again. Ever.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Alana

People became more interested

in my love life than in me,

and that has a certain effect.

You start to feel very empty

and worth nothing, you start to become a piece

in a board game you never wanted to play.

~ Anna Friel

Stevens stayed in my guest room last night, though he barely slept there. We were up far past any hour that either Brigitte or my mom would approve of. When I came out of the bathroom from getting ready for the night, Stevens was in his pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, curled up with his book, wearing those glasses that drive me to a level of madness I can’t explain.

I had on loungewear. We sat on the couch together, reading our books, or trying to, but then he’d tap my toes with his. I’d let my foot rest against his leg. Eventually, we gave up trying to pretend we were going to read and pay attention to our books, and we set them aside.

I had tipped my head toward him and said, “Better than the fantasy.” He answered me by asking, “What was that?” I could tell he knew exactly what I had said, so I told him, “You heard me.” Then that adorable, late-night half-smile crept across his face and he said, “I did. I just want to hear it again.” So I tickled him, and he tackled me. And that’s how we ended up kissing on my couch.

But then we talked and talked. I made us tea. And we talked some more. About acting, about his job and his passion project, about our dreams for our futures. I can never thank Brigitte enough for this gift of undivided time with Stevens here, in LA.

We have to sneak Stevens out the back entrance of the condo this morning. Brigitte thought she saw some paps lingering out front through the cameras we have trained on the entrance. She can access the feed through her phone, and she texted me this morning. The thought that someone might catch a photo of Stevens leaving with me makes my skin crawl. They’d make this into something tawdry, defaming the sweetness and purity of what we’ve found in one another.

Miguel is waiting in the black Town Car when we come out the back door into the alley. Tank exits the front passenger door. “Miss Alana. Mister Stevens.”

Four words? Okay, then.

Stevens extends his hand to Tank. “Nice to finally officially meet you, Ken.”

Tank gives Stevens a firm handshake, if the look on Stevens’ face is any indication. The men eye one another in some weird show of testosterone I’d never expect from Stevens. Whatever is happening, it ends with Tank nodding once, as if they’ve come to an understanding.

Stevens and I get into the back seat. When I grab his hand, he winces.

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