“Since when do you care what Mom says?”
She pauses.
“Don’t you want to go sightseeing?” I ask. “Go see the Hollywood sign or the Walk of Fame? Isn’t that why you came in the first place?”
Alice bites her lip. I know I’ve got her.
“Just tell Mom I’m talking and you can’t interrupt me,” I say, trying to inject honey into my voice. “If you feel so bad about lying to her.”
“You can’t do whatever you want, you know.”
“Well…,” I huff, “neither can you.”
Alice rolls her eyes and scoffs. When the Uber comes, I go in one direction, and she goes in another.
Marius was nice the first time I met him, but we were only talking about surface-level topics. If I’m going to write a profile, I need to dig deep, to find out more about this new actor who’s going to blow everyone away. I’m just not sure how to do that, especially with Penny acting like she’ll murder me if I say the wrong thing.
Before I know it, the car stops. The building looks fancy from the outside: big windows revealing suits and long, flowing dresses framed by white marble. I’ve never seen a building like this at home. It reminds me of the store that kicked Vivian out in Pretty Woman. Hopefully they don’t kick me out. I step out of the car with my notebook open.
The guy at the front desk asks for my credentials before escorting me through a pair of white double doors. Inside are a few people I don’t recognize: one taking measurements, one writing things down. Marius turns and I see the warm brown eyes, the easy smile. I’d recognize his curls anywhere. I force myself to smile back at him.
“Thanks, Ethan,” he says, craning his neck to see. “I was worried she wasn’t gonna show up.”
Shit. I’m not that late, am I?
Ethan just shrugs, closing the door behind me. The person with the notes stares at me. I’m not sure if I should smile or not.
“Twenty-four,” the lady taking measurements says. A measuring tape is wrapped around Marius’s arm, various pins sticking out of his suit jacket. “Thirty-three, forty-two.”
The person with the notes writes frantically. I bite my lip, glancing around. Pink plush chairs decorate the room, which is filled with racks of clothes and long mirrors. The windows are tall, like we’re in a castle, and adorned with golden curtains that drape down to the floor.
My eyes find their way back to Marius. He’s still looking at me, the ghost of a smile on his face, like always.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “My Uber took forever to come. It’s beautiful here.”
The woman with the tape measure finally looks at me. I already know who she is, because Past Me took the time to research her. Christina Pak is a super-eccentric designer who’s dressed a lot of people for red carpets and the Met Gala. I don’t understand exactly how it works, but I guess she picks actors like Marius and dresses them to publicize her designs. Or maybe he picked her.
Either way, he definitely looks good. His suit is dark green. Somehow, it makes his cheekbones stand out a little more. When the smile drops, he seems more like a man, even if just a young one. The suit looks like it was made to fit him, not the other way around. I guess that’s what tailoring does.
“This is Josie,” he says, breaking the spell. “She’s a journalist. Super smart. Josie, this is Christina Pak, and her assistant, Meghan.”
It’s harder to breathe, but not because I’m anxious. Christina glances at me with an appraising eye.
“I’m just here to watch,” I say, plopping down on one of the chairs. “And take notes, if that’s okay with you. There’s a separate person who takes pictures for the magazine.”
“Yes, yes.” Christina waves a hand, turning back to her measurements. “Perfectly all right. Meghan, did you get the arms? I want to move on to the pants.”
I go back to my notes, trying to pay attention to the room, to the clothes, to the fabric on the racks waiting to be measured out. I’m not sure what else to talk about—the way Meghan helps him take off the suit jacket?
“We need another piece,” Christina says, gesturing to Meghan. “Just in the other room. It shouldn’t take too long to find.”
The two of them are gone before I can say anything. Now I actually have to talk to him, because I’m the only person around.
Not that I don’t want to. I want to know everything about him—what he thinks about right before he falls asleep, what music makes him cry, if he ever feels out of place. But I wouldn’t want to put any of that in the profile. It’d just be for me.
“So.”
I jolt up, as if he’s heard me thinking. Marius is still smiling, but this time it looks like he’s trying not to spook me.
“Do you remember the last time we talked? Your sister caught up to me on my way out.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We were talking a little bit.”
I remember going to the bathroom right after Marius left our interview early, but I didn’t realize Alice had followed him.
“Oh God.” My breath freezes. “What did she say about me?”
“Nothing bad,” he says, smiling like I’ve made a joke. “She told me about your anxiety.”
My stomach drops. No one in my family talks about my anxiety to other people. It’s just an unspoken promise that no one has broken. Until now. Logically I get that no one should look at me differently once they find out. Being awkward is one thing, but having an anxiety disorder is just—I don’t know. I don’t want him to think there’s something wrong with me. If I had it my way, he
