Page 7 of The One…That I Crave

Jake:So, your point is?…Send

Rakell:Okay, but if I end up on a fucking screen again…Send

Jake:Promise I’ll take you to a secret place and make sure you forget everything but what my mouth is doing…Send

Rakell:Stop! I have to sit on a plane for ten hours…Send

Jake:Think about me. I’d love to sit next to you on a plane…Send

Rakell:Jake!! See you on the field…Send

Amare had given specific instructions that a driver would be picking her up at London’s Heathrow Airport. She scanned the crowd to see if anybody recognized her with a spark of paranoia that seemed to flare up anytime she was in public, making her register her environment in a strategic way. It was something she hadn't thought to do before, even as an escort, but now, after appearing on one of the world's largest screens, she was acutely aware of being recognized.

It was odd for Amare to request to see her in London since his family lived there, and he didn’t want to take the risk of being seen. Actually, that was just her assumption since it had never come up in their discussions. He said he just wanted to meet her for dinner and talk; that would be the entirety of their time together.

Uncharacteristically, Amare had given her no clue about what to wear. He'd usually have detailed instructions, or he'd have someone waiting to do her makeup and hair. This time, there was nothing like that, so she just put on a simple black dress before she went down to meet the driver. The driver took her to The Club, a private restaurant, and escorted her in, letting the front desk person know that she was there to meet Amare. As an escort, she'd been to several private dining clubs like this. They were scattered throughout the world in all the major cities, such as London, Paris, and New York, providing a semi-safe haven where the ultra-wealthy and famous could dine without worrying about onlookers or cameras. It was the kind of place where celebrities could go—not to be seen, but to just enjoy the dinner without others gawking at them. She thought about how celebrities in Europe could generally mingle in public places without people approaching them to ask for an autograph. It just wasn't something that most Europeans did, while Americans had no problem making a fuss when they saw a celebrity: gathering around, yelling things—mostly compliments—but still invading the normalcy of a stroll, shopping, or dining. Cell phones constantly tracked the reactions of the famous, and videos would inevitably make it to someone's Instagram or TikTok. After the Jumbotron incident, she understood why people would pay outrageous amounts of money for a sliver of privacy.

When she walked into the dining room, she saw Amare sitting at a table next to a massive fireplace made of stone. He stood as she approached the table, stepping toward her, his arms open, his gesture more relaxed than usual. “Rakell, you look fabulous as usual,” he uttered as he hugged her briefly.

Her head jolted back. “Rakell?” she questioned.

A faint smile dusted his lips.

She hesitated. “Elizabeth?...Marietta?” she questioned, as the image of her on the largest screen in the world jumped in her brain.

He tilted his head to the side and grinned.

It was the first time she could honestly say she had seen a truly amused, full-mouthed smile on him, white teeth in contrast with dark skin, while his shining black eyes danced with amusement.

“I’d like to say goodbye to Rakell.” He repeated her name.Damn social media.

He lifted an eyebrow, looking at her. “My thirteen-year-old son, not that I'm proud of this, follows American football. He happens to be a big San Antonio Lone Stars’ fan.”

“I’m sure he’s incredibly impressed by me,” she stated flatly, thinking this thing might not die as quickly as she’d hoped. She’d always displayed a formal façade with him, and now he was acutely aware of her not-so-flattering public scrutiny.

“He may have had a few choice words about the silly blonde who cheered for the opposing quarterback while sitting in the owner’s box of the San Antonio Lone Stars.”

“Great! Great….so even your son thinks I’m an idiot,” she laughed.

A slight chuckle rumbled from his chest as he said, “You are correct. He’s really not—he's not a fan. I can tell you that I was shocked when he showed me the Instagram and TikTok videos. It’s really all over the place. This goes without saying, but I had to work hard to control my reaction when I immediately recognized you.”

“Yes, I know. I was really hoping it would not stream beyond US borders or that no one would really care. But, of course, that's not how social media works.”

“Well, I think the NFL's push to capture some European fans, especially the English, is working. Not with my generation, but my son's generation has definitely been lured in by the sport. So many of his friends are American football fans. They choose their team and watch the games with the same passion as they do European football. As I mentioned, my son’s team is the San Antonio Lone Stars. He has an obsession with American cowboy culture, and he says his dream is to visit Texas. I’m not sure where that came from. He’s even taken to watching old reruns of a series calledDallas. Based on what I have heard from my son and his friends, the Sacramento Condors are going to the Super Bowl led by a Texas quarterback. My son says that is who he will be betting on since at least they have a Texan on their team,” Amare finished, shaking his head with a guffaw, exasperation taking over his expression.

“Yes, the Sacramento Condors are going to the Super Bowl.” A slight smile curved her lips, but inside, she was beaming thinking about Jake getting to play in the biggest game of his career. “They’ll be playing the Kentucky Stallions. Actually, it is quite exciting because it's two pretty new teams that beat out some long-established teams to get there.”

“My son and his friends were yelling about this idiot American girl when he showed me the post. I stared at the video in disbelief as my son said, ‘Right, Father, look at how silly that girl is.’ It actually made my day seeing you jump up and down, cheering for an American quarterback, of all people. Marietta…Rakell. You are an impressive actress. All of the times you have embodied Elizabeth, exuding culture and knowledge of literary works, and now it is revealed that you are a cheerleader for some Texas boy.”

“Yeah, that was purely accidental. If that’s any indication of how things are going to go for me, I’m not sure how I’ll fare in the world without a script.”

“I understand that, but perhaps that is the real you, excited at an American football game, cheering for the boy because you are truly smitten with him…”

“No. That isn’t me, I was just…”

“Wait, hear me out. I think it speaks volumes about your acting ability and how well you managed yourself in really difficult situations, including what I asked of you. I want you to know that I was in a very, very dark place when I contacted the agency. I honestly couldn't face the reality of my life without Elizabeth and my baby girl. It was inconceivable to me that I had left the house that morning after hugging and kissing them both…my family intact…then shortly before 3 p.m. I got a call that they were both gone from the world…” he hesitated.

“I couldn’t be there for my two boys. It was as if I was in a trance, just going through the motions of my daily life, void of any feeling. Sure, I held them when they cried, but I was not capable of connecting to them. I wanted out of my life. For me, life had ended, and I couldn’t see beyond the grief. The psychologist suggested that I call the agency and hire someone who was a similar look-type to my wife and attempt to relive some of our adventures together. I never wanted to cross a linebecause I felt like she was still present in my life, and I didn’t want to cheapen the memory of Elizabeth. When I came to know you, there was a part of me that felt protective of you.”

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