Page 65 of Fierce Love
“The master suite is on the main floor. You can have that. I’ll sleep upstairs on whatever end Kinsley doesn’t want.”
“We just need to be careful around Kin,” I say. “While other people in Bellerive might assume certain things, I can’t have Kinsley thinking we’ll be staying in Bellerive. I don’t want her to believe that whatever is going on between us changes whether we return to New York.”
“God forbid,” Nate says, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Whatever you want, Hols. I just want you safe.”
Then he leaves me standing on the porch alone as he strides back into the house.
ChapterThirty-One
Hollyn
The thing about knowing there’s a guillotine poised above your neck is that everything in life becomes just a little bit harder. Going to work, going to sleep, delivering a line of dialogue—even deciding what to eat for breakfast—the mental load is increased just enough to make some of those pieces feel impossible.
We’ve filmed two episodes while I’ve been waiting for the sharp slice across the back of my neck. I’m actually surprised it hasn’t come yet—from my parents, from the network because I’m not a good cohost, or from Celia Tucker.
The only bright spot has been Nate, but even his presence in the house and in my life hasn’t been enough to counter all those other variables hanging over me.
With a break in production today while Nate and the other producers meet with the network to discuss the episodes that have been completed and the upcoming ones that have beenstoryboarded, I’ve decided I have to get at least one shadow off my neck.
I can’t quit my job, and there isn’t much I can do about my parents that I haven’t already done with the restraining order. It’s just that the third one makes me feel like there’s already blood trickling down my throat.
Somewhere behind me is a security detail that Nate is paying for, and I try not to think about that as I drive toward the Tucker mansion. This conversation could go in a thousand directions, but the one thing I’m sure of is that Celia probably already knows everythingI’mabout to tell her. Truthfully, I’m surprised she didn’t come knocking first.
But that’s probably always been her strength. She’s never the desperate one.
I ring the doorbell when I arrive, and a butler answers. It seems so old-fashioned, but that’s a Celia trait. If people would expect someone with money to have it, she has it. Her children—with the exception of Ava—appear to have grown up to be completely different.
“Can I help you?” he asks, and he even has a British-sounding accent. I’m tempted to ask him if he’s seen Bruce Wayne, and if I wasn’t so nervous, I might just do that.
“I’m here to see Celia Tucker.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“Probably.”
“And you are?”
“Hollyn Davis.”
“A Davis?”
“Yes.”
He closes the door in my face, and I stand waiting on the front step for longer than I suspect Celia keeps people with more power or influence. Now that I’m older, I can clock the gamesshe plays, the way she exerts her power and privilege in ways that are unexpected or almost invisible.
The door swings open again, and the butler steps out, closing the door behind him. “She’ll see you on the back patio. Follow me.”
I don’t even get to go into the house. She knows every way to make someone feel small, because I know it’s a straight shot right through the center of the house to get to the back patio. Walking all the way around the house to get to her makes a statement.
When we finally get around, the hot sun has caused me to sweat, and I’m no longer looking my best nor feeling as mentally strong.
Celia is in a lounger in the shade, reading on her tablet. When the butler approaches with me following behind, she doesn’t even glance up.
“May I present Hollyn Davis?” He steps back and practically runs in the back door into the air-conditioning.
“What are you doing here?” Celia asks, flicking her finger on the tablet without looking up.
“You don’t know?”
