Page 79 of The Reunion

It’s been five hours now, our longest day of shooting yet—more filming, some family scenes and a couple of takes to capture Pierre’s one and only cameo in the episode—but I feel like I’ve floated through the entire thing. On the outside, I’ve been Honor St. Croix to perfection.

On the inside, I’m a conflicted mess.

I can’t stop thinking about Ransom. His eyes on mine, the heat of his hands on my bare skin, how very little we were wearing under the thick white bedding—

How much easier all of this would be if I weren’t 100 percent, absolutely, undeniably attracted to him—how I still feel a desire to be near him, despite how tangled things have gotten this week. If I didn’t feel so strongly, I could just brush it off and move on.

I’ve never been able to move on from Ransom, though.

I thought I had, but now I see those deep-rooted feelings never truly died—they were just parched, neglected. Just because you bury something, it doesn’t make it any less real.

Jimmy keeps glancing at me in his rearview mirror, probably because I’ve been quieter than usual ever since I slipped into the back seat. My sunglasses are on, and I’ve stared out the window for most of the drive. It’s been an exercise of discipline to keep my phone tucked in my bag all this time—I almost always use the commute to catch up on email, texts, and calls—but I’m still working my way up to feeling ready for the talk I know Ransom and I need to have. If he’s texted, I’m not sure I want to know.

If he hasn’t, I’m not sure I want to know that, either.

I can’t stand it anymore, though. I pull my phone out of my bagand give the stack of missed notifications the once-over. I’ve missed stuff from all of my usuals—Bre, Mars, Attica, and my mom—and yes, tucked in between, is one from Ransom that immediately sends my pulse into overdrive.

so you don’t have to go digging, is all it says, along with a preview to an article on WestCoastDaily.com, the same one Bre sent in one of her messages with a note sayingDid you see this??!?!!????

I click into the article immediately, scan the headline:EXCLUSIVE: RANSOM JOEL PARTS WAYS WITH TEAM DUE TO UNRESOLVED DIFFERENCES.

Wait. What?

I take it in as fast as I can, reading and rereading the quotes Ransom gave, lingering over lines likereached an impasse with my teamandI’ve spent far too long allowing my career—and my life—to shift off course from the vision I have for itandI’m eager to surround myself with the sort of smart, supportive minds that are capable of seeing the whole picture of my careerandnot just the shine of a flashy bottom line.My heart swells at the sight of the writer’s praise for Ransom, the bravery it took to finally do this—and now, of all times, when the offers are pouring in.

Something nags at my memory, something from one of the articles yesterday. Because I am apparently a glutton for pain, I scroll through my phone’s open internet windows and find the one I’m looking for: anotherWest Coast Dailyarticle, the one about all the offers flooding Ransom’s team in the wake of the news about us. When I first read it, I was too caught up in the possibility that Ransom himself had leaked the news—that he was using me as a publicity stunt for his own gain—but now the entire thing hits me from a different angle.

Rumor has it, though, that Joel isn’t entirely content: he’s looking to diversify his already robust résumé and break out in a more serious way.

I know, now, that it was his father and publicist who blasted our private lives to the far corners of the world—the photo of us, and, presumably, everything else—which means they haven’t been oblivious to how unsatisfied Ransom’s been. They knew, and they just didn’t care.

His father promised him he wouldn’t share that photo of us.

And Ransom believed him.

My eyes flutter shut.

Ransom might have known the photo existed before it leaked, but he was every bit as blindsided by it as I was. He fought for our privacy even before I asked him to, I realize, imploring his team to keep quiet—and I lashed out at him.

We’ve both made mistakes.

Mistakeis not the word for what his father’s done, though. What Jonathan Joel did was for his own best interests, something selfish and calculated without an ounce of regret.

And this is when I know: I feel this pain like it’s my own because, like it or not, Ransom’s heart has been tied up with mine for the better part of two decades now. I couldn’t stop caring if I tried. That’s what makes everything about us feel so right—and at the same time, so risky.

Somewhere along the line I forgot we were both human. Everyone expected perfection from me for so long I think I started expecting it from myself, too—and from him. In hindsight, it’s clear he’s only ever had the best of intentions.

I did, too.

I feel a sharp ache at how thoroughly I pulled back from him for all those years, a deep longing for everything we lost and might never get back again. At how reluctant I’ve been to get close toanyoneafter how things ended with Ransom.

I loved Ransom so much I was willing to sacrifice the most important friendship in my life if it meant he’d be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. He sacrificed the same, not realizing all I wanted washim.

How different would things have been if, instead of taking a step back, we’d taken a leap of faith?

Maybe, then and now—just like me—Ransom’s only ever been afraid of losing the incredibly rare, special thing we have.

I already lost him once. I’m not ready to lose him again.

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