“What’s the matter?” she asked.
I showed her my phone. She clicked on the link and began reading what was inside.
“It was revealed today that Grant Seagurio, the star of Somewhere, From the Top, and the horror franchise, Hammer Head, apparently hired the private investigator that discovered the marriage from Eden Larsen’s past. The following emails were released by the private investigator, Hank Talbot, after Mr. Seagurio refused to pay Mr. Talbot’s fees. They detail the actor’s need to find a way to discredit Ms. Larsen because he was upset that she’d received top billing and a larger trailer for their joint project . . .”
The article went on to detail that Talbot had, at first, refused to send over what he’d discovered but that Grant had promised to pay double. Money had talked, the files were shared, and Eden’s past was splashed over the world.
And Talbot hadn’t gotten his money anyway.
“What the fuck?” Eden whispered. “Grant?”
Maggie came over, her cell glued to her ear. “The emails look legitimate,” she said, and then it seemed like someone on the other end of her phone call began speaking because she took off for the hall, voice carrying. “We need absolutely everyone on this . . .”
“Damon?” Eden shook her head and I wrapped my arms around her, in just as much shock. “Grant?” she repeated.
“I know,” I said, holding her tightly. “I—”
Words failed me.
Grant?
“For a bigger trailer? Because my name was going to come first?”
I had nothing. Absolutely nothing. “People are assholes,” I said, knowing it couldn’t begin to encompass everything but also . . . it was the only thing I could think of to say.
Eden froze in my arms for a heartbeat then her head tilted back, and her green eyes met mine. Her mouth curved, her chest began rocking, and laughter emerged from between her lips.
It was so unexpected that I found myself locked into place.
God, she was so beautiful. Absolutely lovely and filled with hope and not sadness or anger like I’d expected.
Like I was.
“I’m okay,” she murmured. “This can’t hurt me anymore.” She cupped my jaw, thumb lightly stroking. “I swear, love. I swear, I’m okay. This isn’t a setback. This is . . . the world seeing how much an asshole Grant truly is.” A beat. “Though maybe I should thank him. Now I don’t have anything to hide, and I can help people.”
My mom walked into the room, her eyes wide as she strode to the TV and turned it on.
There was Grant, standing on a street corner in what looked like New York, men in hoodies and carrying huge cameras swarming him, shouting questions. We watched as he shoved one paparazzo hard, they tussled, and then both went toppling.
“And there goes an assault charge,” Maggie said, having popped her head back in. I stared at her agape, wondering how she could joke, how Eden could at a time like this, but then I realized I would probably never fully understand the workings of the female mind. Clearly, Maggie and Eden were a good fit together and that was all that mattered.
Well, that and also that this turn in Eden’s story hadn’t torn her to shreds.
She didn’t need her armor.
She just needed me . . . to resist confronting Grant in person and showing him how hard I could shove.
I wanted to kill the bastard.
But I’d refrain.
For Eden. Because she’d turned this hell into something positive, and she didn’t need me transforming it into some sort of sideshow by protecting her in all the wrong ways.
I’d take care of her in my own way.
And it would begin with pizza.
Because it was Thursday, and we weren’t going to break with tradition.
Not when we finally had nothing but our future to look forward to.
Tonight, however, instead of ordering for two, I ordered for ten. The news anchor and her crew were just about to shoot the biggest story of their careers thus far.
They deserved to be full of carbs and cheese while they did so.
Twenty
Eden
I hugged Belle tightly. “Thank you. For everything.”
She pulled back slightly. “Are you sure you can’t stay for a while longer?”
“No,” I told her. “You guys need to get back to normal.”
“What about you, Eden? How are you going to get back to normal?”
“This is my new normal,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”
“We’ll be okay.” Damon slipped an arm around my waist, tucked me close, and took the bag from my hand. “You’ve done the hard part,” he murmured. “The rest we’ll figure out together.”
“Yes, we will.”
I sucked in a breath, released it slowly. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Belle opened the front door. “Holler if you need me to come out and tell them what’s what.” Her eyes narrowed. “Parasites,” she muttered. “All of them.”
The paparazzi that had hung around certainly were persistent. And maybe parasitic in some way, because though there was a place for them in my industry, I was hard-pressed to justify their presence in Belle and Diego’s front yard for days on end, trampling their plants, kicking up their gravel.
“You’ll be free of them soon,” I assured her. “And most of them will trail us as soon as we leave, so you and Diego can get back to normal.”
“Oh, that’s not what I meant at all,” she exclaimed. “I—”
I squeezed her hand. “I know.”
Then one more breath, one more glance around a house that was smaller than mine in L.A., one that was worn and lived-in and not luxurious, but one that was more comfortable, more of a real home than any I’d ever resided in.
A sniff. “Come back soon,” she said, and it was more order than request.
“I will,” I reassured her, not minding the order in the least.
I’d spent just one week with these people, and through it, endured one of the most miserable times of my life, and yet . . . this period had also been filled with some of
