Page 34 of Wildest Dreams

“Local VIP! And you think I’m the celebrity around here.”

We waste no time looking over the menu and order wine—merlot for me and Riesling for her—and two filet mignons before I tell her about my day.

“Has Marina gotten any better?” she asks.

“Absolutely not.”

“What’s her deal, anyway? Can’t she have any guy on the planet? She could be a model.”

“She was, actually. Before acting.”

“Of course she was.” She rolls her eyes.

“To your point, I think that’s the problem. She’s not used to rejection. She can get almost any guy and usually does. Don’t get me wrong—we have great chemistry on-screen, but off-screen I know her type. She’s all about how the relationship would further her career, and I cannot stand that artificial b.s. I have no doubt she would tip off photographers and slip pictures to TMZ. Then, once the tabloid stories dry up, she’d drop me like a piece of garbage. So, yeah. Not only did I not pursue her but, when she pursued me, I turned her down. Now she sees me as a challenge. It’s unbelievably frustrating.”

She sits back, purses her brows, and shakes her head. “That’s sad.”

“For her, yes,” I respond.

She goes quiet for a moment. “Pierre, can I ask you a question?” Her entire energy shifts and her serious tone gives me a mini surge of panic.

“Anything.”

“Why do you like me?” she asks, shaking her head slightly.

“What are you talking about?”

“I get that you don’t want Marina specifically, but you could have anyone else. Why me?”

“You’re the opposite of everything Marina and those shallow Hollywood starlets are about. You’re pretty in a way that’s unaware and effortless. You’re stable and grounded. You’re independent. I can be myself with you without fearing that you have ulterior motives or will sell me out at the first chance. Don’t get me wrong. Not everyone in Hollywood is awful, but everyone, no matter how good their heart is, is all about the industry. The industry is a machine. You’re so… normal, and I mean that in the best way possible. I don’t know anyone like you.”

She gives me a melancholic look.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No, not really.”

“What is it? Your whole mood changed.” I lean forward and reach across to hold her hand.

“It’s just…I’ve never met anyone like you either. This whole week, I thought about you and how excited I was for tonight.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I’m not following.”

“It makes me dread you leaving. This whole thing is…” She pauses. “It’s weird. I’m not sure how to define it. I thought I was above getting attached and worrying about definitions, but apparently, I’m not. Ugh. I’m so old-fashioned. I hate this.”

My stomach drops. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry I even brought it up.”

“I’m trying to live by your rules here.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I appreciate it. You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Are you saying you want this to end?”

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