I blink slowly. “Oh.”
“’Oh’ is right. You also probably didn’t think of what will happen when, not if, someone posts that we’ve been spotted on a plane headed to New York. By the time we land at the airport, there will be paparazzi everywhere wanting a first look at the newly married couple. Airport security will barely be able to control them, and they’ll need to call in reinforcements.”
I gape, saying nothing.
“So,” he continues, “I got my manager to get us a car. It’s the least the asshole could do. He also called security to ensure that we’d be safely taken off the plane by police escort and brought to our ride without any problems.”
Swallowing, I look down. How many videos have I seen of those scenarios that I always brushed off like they were fiction. Completely made up. Unimportant, which to me, they always had been. It isn’t like anyone wants an exclusive with a broke ass girl from the middle of nowhere. “I didn’t think of any of that.”
“Why would you?” he asks softly, voice caressing me with comfort. “If anyone should apologize for causing such a stir, it’s me. You entered my life and have to deal with everything that comes with it. That means no more privacy. No more plane rides where all you have to deal with is a little turbulence and the horrible snacks. It’ll take time getting used to this lifestyle now that you’re in it for a while.”
“And do we have that?”
“Do we have what?”
I meet his eyes. “Time?”
He understands the question I’m not asking, his answer causing me to suck in a deep breath. “If you’ll allow me, Mrs. Matthews, I’ll give you as much time as you want.”
There are no expectations attached.
No assumptions.
I simply nod, a silent agreement between us left unspoken.
Swiping my tongue along my bottom lip, I bring up his visitor. “Zayne stopped by earlier looking for you. I’m not sure if he said anything to you about it.”
By the surprise raising his brows, I’d say not. “When was that?”
I shrug. “This afternoon sometime.”
His nose twitches, and I realize it’s similar to what mine does when I’m lying. Except the discomfort on his face tells me something else is going on in his mind.
When he decides to speak, I’m wary of the question. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Nibbling my lip, I give a hesitant nod. It’s the least I can offer him.
“How did you feel about him?”
I should have expected that to come up eventually, but it still makes me squirm when he directs those blue eyes on me. “Zayne was sweet to me. Talked to me about anything. Didn’t act like he had a bunch of money even though it was obvious that he did. The world knew him, everyone we saw loved him, and it was…strange.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He’s right, so I stop stalling. “If I’d have given it a chance, I could have seen us becoming friends. I enjoyed the talks we had. Anything else would have never worked for a lot of different reasons.”
Garrick seems stricken by that. “Why not? You’re beautiful, Ry. A—”
“Catch,” I finish for him, remembering his little speech. Fighting the heat rising up my neck over how that conversation ended, I rub my palms down my thighs. “I know. But back then I was a much different person, and so was he. Today he seemed a lot more levelheaded compared to when I knew him. He told me he wasn’t using.”
The man in the room cocks his head.
I frown. “Was he lying?”
“He and I don’t necessarily talk about that sort of thing. I’ve noticed a difference in him too but didn’t want to assume.”
Makes sense. “Nothing happened between us if you’re worried about that. Then or now. And nothing will. I’m not like that.”
“I never said you were.”
I tap under my eye. “It’s in your eyes.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” he says.
“I think we already did.” I sigh, knowing it’s true even if we both hate it. “But he seemed okay. Not angry. He must take after you.”
“Lord help us all if I’m his influence.”
I crack a grin. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Garrick. You’re a good man. He even said so himself.”
“Did he now?”
A nod.
He hums, looking contemplative as he thinks about it. Yet all he says is, “Interesting.”
19
Garrick
The second Violet Wonders topped the charts we all knew everything would change. People liked us and wanted more—more music, more interviews, more appearances. It was suddenly about having the right manager and look, professional branding, and everything in between. We had to dress and act a certain way, say specific things, and censor our opinions.
We were silenced.
Rushed.
Crowded.
I hated it.
I hated the feeling of being controlled and trapped, two things I walked right into until I used drugs to escape it. It was like I walked out of the cage marked “fame” and right into the one labeled “addiction”. Always gated, closed in, with people watching like a damn circus.
Mum helped ground me when it got to be too much, when I started living out the life everyone seemed to think I was supposed to since gaining stardom. The parties, the women, the alcohol, it was all provided with a wink of an eye.
The moment Mum realized I was drowning in it, she reached into the pit I’d dug for myself and pulled me out.
And it started with a movie.
A classic.
My family’s favorite, one we still watch to this day.
“Watch a movie with me,” I say, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. They’re an old pair I always put on when I’ve got a good workflow going. It’s tradition, something
