whatever sense of... I don’t know... peace? I’d given her. At the very least, even if she ended up hating me for it, she really could use this time away from everything and everyone. I told myself that the least I could do was give her that. If I fessed up now, the most likely scenario would be that she’d end up mad and leaving—running back into a world filled with complications that she really needed a break from.
“Okay,” Layla said, our eyes meeting over Ava’s head. For once we both understood and agreed with each other. “Okay, boo.”
9
Ava
I fell asleep somewhere on the short flight between Vegas and Fresno, and I woke up with my cheek pressed against Bennett’s shoulder. It was hard to pull myself away. I couldn’t remember the last time Ken had let me just sleep on his shoulder. Bennett’s warmth and weight were comforting, and I inhaled slowly, breathing in the faint scent of cologne overlaid on the clean smell of the hotel’s soap. It amused me that someone with the kind of money he had would use the hotel’s soap.
My head felt heavy as I lifted it from his shoulder, mumbling, “Hey, Cowboy.”
“Hey, Sunshine,” he murmured in return. “We just landed. You wanna wake up your bodyguard?”
I ran a hand through my hair, thankful I’d at least showered that morning. My clothes were starting to feel grungy, though. “My what?” I asked, looking around the cabin until my gaze fell on Layla’s sleeping form. She was curled up in the back of the couch, her heavy black boots on the floor beside her, pink-socked feet tucked under her legs.
“Ah,” I said, finally sitting up straight. “Good call. She’s kind of a bear first thing.”
“You don’t say,” Bennett answered, clearly amused. I watched as he stood and stretched, my eyes following the long line of his torso before turning away. Sometimes when I looked at him, quick and fleeting flashes of memory bloomed from that night, but every image that came to mind only brought a blush to my cheeks.
“I’ll see to our luggage,” he continued. “Meet you outside if you survive?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, laughing softly. As he turned and went I wondered about how easy it was to feel comfortable around him. Was that what I’d felt last night? Was that why I’d married him? It had been a long time since I’d known a man I just felt comfortable around. There was Layla, sure, but she was really all I had. I hadn’t seen my parents since Ken had convinced me they were trying to ruin my career. I’d said some pretty horrible things to them when I’d moved out. Going back home wasn’t really an option. I wasn’t ready to face them yet. Hopefully in time, I could figure out how to apologize.
I managed to dodge Layla’s flailing arm when I woke her, and a few grumbling minutes later we were descending the staircase to the tarmac at another small airstrip. Bennett was waiting for us by a sleek, black Cadillac.
“Well,” Layla said, taking my arm and adjusting her sunglasses. “At least he’s got style, boo.”
“As if I’d be so tacky as to marry someone without style,” I returned, smiling in spite of myself when I met Bennett’s eyes.
“Uh huh. How’s Elvis, by the way? I hear he does a mean Wedding March.”
I nudged her ribs with my elbow, laughing, and turned toward Bennett as he held the car door open for us. The grin he answered with made my breath catch. I’d been trying, since waking up next to him this morning, to figure this guy—my apparent husband—out. Sometimes he seemed too smooth, like the guys at the clubs who just really wanted to say they’d slept with Gabby Rover. Sometimes, though, like when he smiled like this, he seemed like a real person.
After spending a while in Hollywood, you start to believe that there aren’t any real people left in the world. Everyone is fake. Everyone is acting, all the time. Acting cool, acting smart, acting beautiful, acting sweet. Acting whatever it is
“Okay,” Layla said, our eyes meeting over Ava’s head. For once we both understood and agreed with each other. “Okay, boo.”
9
Ava
I fell asleep somewhere on the short flight between Vegas and Fresno, and I woke up with my cheek pressed against Bennett’s shoulder. It was hard to pull myself away. I couldn’t remember the last time Ken had let me just sleep on his shoulder. Bennett’s warmth and weight were comforting, and I inhaled slowly, breathing in the faint scent of cologne overlaid on the clean smell of the hotel’s soap. It amused me that someone with the kind of money he had would use the hotel’s soap.
My head felt heavy as I lifted it from his shoulder, mumbling, “Hey, Cowboy.”
“Hey, Sunshine,” he murmured in return. “We just landed. You wanna wake up your bodyguard?”
I ran a hand through my hair, thankful I’d at least showered that morning. My clothes were starting to feel grungy, though. “My what?” I asked, looking around the cabin until my gaze fell on Layla’s sleeping form. She was curled up in the back of the couch, her heavy black boots on the floor beside her, pink-socked feet tucked under her legs.
“Ah,” I said, finally sitting up straight. “Good call. She’s kind of a bear first thing.”
“You don’t say,” Bennett answered, clearly amused. I watched as he stood and stretched, my eyes following the long line of his torso before turning away. Sometimes when I looked at him, quick and fleeting flashes of memory bloomed from that night, but every image that came to mind only brought a blush to my cheeks.
“I’ll see to our luggage,” he continued. “Meet you outside if you survive?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, laughing softly. As he turned and went I wondered about how easy it was to feel comfortable around him. Was that what I’d felt last night? Was that why I’d married him? It had been a long time since I’d known a man I just felt comfortable around. There was Layla, sure, but she was really all I had. I hadn’t seen my parents since Ken had convinced me they were trying to ruin my career. I’d said some pretty horrible things to them when I’d moved out. Going back home wasn’t really an option. I wasn’t ready to face them yet. Hopefully in time, I could figure out how to apologize.
I managed to dodge Layla’s flailing arm when I woke her, and a few grumbling minutes later we were descending the staircase to the tarmac at another small airstrip. Bennett was waiting for us by a sleek, black Cadillac.
“Well,” Layla said, taking my arm and adjusting her sunglasses. “At least he’s got style, boo.”
“As if I’d be so tacky as to marry someone without style,” I returned, smiling in spite of myself when I met Bennett’s eyes.
“Uh huh. How’s Elvis, by the way? I hear he does a mean Wedding March.”
I nudged her ribs with my elbow, laughing, and turned toward Bennett as he held the car door open for us. The grin he answered with made my breath catch. I’d been trying, since waking up next to him this morning, to figure this guy—my apparent husband—out. Sometimes he seemed too smooth, like the guys at the clubs who just really wanted to say they’d slept with Gabby Rover. Sometimes, though, like when he smiled like this, he seemed like a real person.
After spending a while in Hollywood, you start to believe that there aren’t any real people left in the world. Everyone is fake. Everyone is acting, all the time. Acting cool, acting smart, acting beautiful, acting sweet. Acting whatever it is
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