Page 9 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
Sienna’s words were bold, but her eyes glistened with tears. For a fraction of a second, I felt bad. While I’d never been in love with Sienna, we’d had our moments and good times together. She, more than anyone, had helped me acclimateto the Hollywood scene. But after what she’d said about Ivy and me, I didn’t think we could even be friends now.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” Ivy tugged on my hand, still oblivious to the mess I’d just created, and I wasn’t eager to explain. Especially now, with every eye—and several phones—turned toward us.
Ivy tolerated the attention I attracted, but she didn’t love it. Looking around, I had the sinking realization that she was about to get far more of it than she’d ever bargained for. For that, I felt awful.
I pulled Ivy to an empty spot near the window, the plane’s lights blinking steadily in the dark. Drawing her close, I took a breath, steadying myself before confessing what I’d done—and begging her to go along with it.
With Sienna headed to Aspen Lake, I had no choice but to keep up the charade. If she found out I’d lied, it would turn into a PR disaster, and with a new film being released in a few months, neither the studio nor my team would appreciate the headlines.
I tried to ease my conscience by reminding myself I hadn’t exactly lied. Ivy and I were together, and I was staying at her parents’ place. We just weren’ttogether, together. Unfortunately, that logic did little to assuage my guilt. Especially because . . . I wanted the charade to be real.
But perhaps this wasn’t a total disaster. Maybe, just maybe, this was the perfect way for Ivy to see what I had always known—that we worked as more than just friends. That we could be and should be something real. Maybe thiswould give her the chance to swallow her pride and admit men and women can’t be friends, especially us.
What if a fake romance was the ticket to a real one?
What was I even thinking? But as I gazed into Ivy’s sapphire-blue eyes, searching for clarity, all I saw was my future staring back at me. The realization sent a rush of courage through me—enough to propose something totally outlandish.
“Ivy, I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend,” I whispered low into her ear, praying no one around us heard me.
A giggle erupted in Ivy’s chest and burst forth into a fit of laughter. “Oh, ha ha. It’s Christmas, not April Fools’ Day.”
She wiggled out of my arms, still chuckling, utterly oblivious to the fact that I was dead serious. But then her laughter waned, her gaze sweeping the terminal. The lingering amusement in her eyes dimmed as she took in the sea of onlookers—phones raised, whispers rippling through the crowd. And then there was Sienna, stabbing at her phone with manicured precision, her glare burning a hole through us from across the gate.
Realization struck Ivy. “Oh. My. Gosh. What did you tell Sienna?” She murmured through her gritted teeth.
This was it. The moment Ivy either forgave me or throttled me in front of the airport crowd. Recklessly but instinctually, I pulled her into a lover’s embrace and kissed her cheek, which was hot with anger.
I worried that I may have overplayed my hand and was hit with the sickening thought that I might lose her. Maybe the fake route wasn’t the way to go. But I’d already charted thecourse, and I was desperate to prove to Ivy that we belonged together. So, I did what I was born to do. I turned on the Texan charm.
“Darlin’.” I knew she loved my accent, and I was shamelessly using it to my advantage.
Ivy stood frozen against me, waiting for the bombshell I was about to drop on her.
As quietly as I could, I tried to explain the situation.
“Unbeknownst to me, Sienna found out I was vacationing in Aspen Lake, so she booked a trip there, too. She thought we could spend it together, and you know how I get around her.”
Ivy let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.
“Exactly. So, I panicked and told her we were a couple, so she didn’t get any ideas about us getting back together.”
She didn’t react. Just stared. Processing.
Then, she blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Why?” The single syllable carried more weight than an interrogation.
“Like I said, I panicked.”
“You don’t panic. You’re the guy who leaves thirty minutes late, never rushes, never scrambles because somehow—miraculously—you always arrive on time.”
She was right. Normally, it was good to be me. But she had no idea what was at stake. What this trip meant. It deserved some panic.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Ivy shifted in my arms but didn’t pull away. “And out of all the choices you had, that’s what you went with?”
“You have to admit, it’s a pretty solid deterrent.”
