Page 120 of Sinful Desires
I let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “So now? I keep some things just for me. Moments, people, memories?…?even pain. Especially pain. I don’t post it, I don’t perform it. I let it be mine. That’s how I cope.”
A beat passed.
I let the corner of my mouth lift, just enough. “Also, therapy. And Ben & Jerry’s. But mostly therapy.”
The crowd clapped and laughed as the theme music played again, filling the studio with its overly cheerful jingle. Lyndsay made her way back down the steps from the audience, heels clicking, smile glued in place. She settled into the chair across from mine, flipping her bright blonde hair as the camera zoomed in on her face.
“Now, if you’ve watchedThe Lyndsay Show, you know we don’t shy away from a little drama?…?or a little chaos.”
The crowd whooped.
“And it just so happens that it’s my turn to ask the juiciest question of the day,” she added, leaning in slightly. “To my favorite guest so far?…?Miss Scarlett Harper.”
The crowd broke into loud applause, some chanting “Lyndsay! Lyndsay!” as the jingle faded into a suspenseful quiz-show sting.
I smiled on cue. Inside, my stomach curled like it already knew this was the part where things stopped being cute.
She reached for the stack of cards on the coffee table, flipping through them with manicured fingers as the crowd giggled in anticipation. She paused on one, her brow lifting just enough to signal trouble.
“You recently went public about your relationship with Nicholas Preston—actor, Oscar nominee, and according to theNew York Times, the next Leonardo DiCaprio.”
She glanced up, her smile teasing. “Would you say Nicholas is?…?the one?”
I want you, Scarlett.Je te veux comme un fou.
The crowd let out a dramatic “ooh,” and the camera zoomed in on my face like I was about to propose or combust.
I reached for my glass of water, taking the kind of sip that screamed I was buying time. My eyes scanned the ceiling, the crowd, the exit sign.
“Well,” I said, with a blink, “as I mentioned earlier, I keep some things just for me now.” I leaned back, giving my best innocent smile.
The crowd clapped for what felt like the hundredth time, and Lyndsay laughed like we were best friends and not two women with publicists holding loaded phones backstage.
She turned to the camera, her voice bright. “I know that’s right! We’ll be right back after the break. And up next, my second guest of the night. Don’t go anywhere!”
She stood and I followed, rising with the same practiced grace I’d been taught since I was sixteen. She pulled me in for a quick hug, all glitter and stage perfume. A beat later, the producer called “cut,”the cameras stopped rolling, and the lights began to dim.
Grin still plastered on, I waved once more, then turned and made a beeline for my dressing room before anyone could stop me.
“You did amazing, babe,” Victoria said, already unzipping the back of my Victoria Beckham dress. “You only looked mildly hostage. Super chic.”
“Love that for me,” I muttered, kicking off my heels.
I slipped into yoga pants and threw on my favorite oversized Linkin Park shirt, the one that hit mid-thigh. “Talk shows are evil. I stand by that.”
“I know,” she said, tossing me my hoodie. “But the good news is, you’re officially free for the weekend. Which means?—”
“Nope,” I said, pulling the hoodie on and dragging the hood over my head.
She groaned. “Scarlett, come on! You’ve been back for almost two months, and we haven’t gone to the club once. Not even a tragic lounge bar with sad lighting.”
“No,” I repeated, flopping onto the couch. “I’m staying in. I’ve got plans. With my bed.”
“Please,” Victoria whined, digging through her bag for god knows what. “Nicholas wants to go too. Apparently, he and Matthew had a whole fight about their cats this morning.”
I blinked at her. “Their cats?”
“Yes. Something about one of them being emotionally manipulative and the other shedding on Matthew’s silk pillows.”
