Page 1 of Against All Odds

one

Violet

“So how was your trip?” Eleanor, my personal assistant, asks.

“It was ... fine. Good, even,” I manage, struggling to get that last part out.

Three weeks ago my husband came home and told me to pack my bags, that we were going away. He needed a break from the rigors of Hollywood and filming. Since his last movie had just wrapped, I was all too happy to spend three weeks away from it all.

The last four years have been a whirlwind for us. We went from Dylan being an out-of-work actor to him getting huge roles. But the money, fame, and constant hounding from the paparazzi were not something I was prepared for.

I hoped—for him—his break would come, but this has been out of my wildest dreams.

“That’s good,” she says as she grabs her tablet. “Do you want anything else from the store?”

“I would just prefer to go to the store, Eleanor. You don’t need to run errands like that.”

This is the part of it that I hate. The feeling of being trapped. When my husband and I were in the islands, it was like theworld didn’t exist. For the last three weeks, we could go out, have dinner, and not be bothered. It was truly amazing in that regard.

What wasn’t amazing was that Dylan ignored me half the time. He was always on his phone, always talking to his agent or publicist. I get it—he’s important—but I miss having a husband.

I miss ... him, or at least the man he used to be.

“I know youcan, Mrs. Leone, but this is my job. I’ll get the stuff for dinner. I know Mr. Leone requested chicken from that spot near where you used to live. I’ll make that drive and then get whatever else you need.”

I internally roll my eyes. Of course he wants her to drive an hour to get chicken. “You don’t have to go near the pier—he can deal with whatever chicken you find from here,” I say, sitting on the bed with a smile. “Truly, he’ll never realize.”

I wish people got to know the Dylan I knew. The one who would laugh as we made late-night fast-food runs. The guy who never cared about the name on a label and just bought what was on sale. The idea of a personal assistant was comical to him. Now he has a whole staff and has decided that I, at least, need Eleanor.

“It’s not a problem. His assistant is busy, and we’re a team.”

Right. We’re a team.

Too bad it doesn’t feel like I’m part of that team.

I’m on the outside. The wife who isn’t in the industry. The wife who doesn’t want to put on a full face of makeup to run to the store. Who doesn’t stand the right way so that they get the good angles. The wife who gets shredded online by people she’s never met and is told she’s not good enough for him.

I hoped when we were on our trip, I’d find that man I married seven years ago, the one who didn’t care about any of that, who just loved me.

And he was in there at times.

Even the one night we had sex, it was perfunctory and distant. There was no connection between us, and as soon as we were done, he was back on his phone and ignoring me. I rolled over and cried silently until I fell asleep.

I sigh heavily and smile at Eleanor, knowing this isn’t a battle I’ll win. “Okay, he should be home in a few hours, so just let me know when you’re heading out.”

“Do you need me to unpack for you?”

“Thank you, Eleanor. Truly I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that.” I’m perfectly capable of unpacking and doing things around the house, regardless of how much money we have.

“I don’t mind.”

I smile warmly at her. “I know, but if you have to go get him his special chicken, it’s going to take you at least an hour. You can go, and I’ll do whatever I need to here.”

She nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Drive safe.”

Eleanor leaves and I head upstairs. I unpack and put a load of laundry in—which I know will cause a stir, because the housekeeper keeps telling me I don’t need to do it. Then I make the bed because, I swear, it feels better at night when you get in a made-up bed.

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