16. Alana

SIXTEEN

Alana

I'm done being scared.

I'm done living in a world

where I don't get to be who I am.

I deserve a great love story.

~ Love, Simon

A nd so it begins.

Blasted will be released in theaters worldwide in seven weeks. My life is about to speed up like a German motor car entering the Autobahn. Press junkets. Talk shows. Media interviews. Special industry events. The premier. More photo shoots. Public appearances. I’ll live at my condo in Hollywood several days a week now. I take a deep breath, grab the garment bag from the hook on the back of my door and walk out to meet the driver who will take me to the docks.

Not in a car. No. This is Marbella. This driver will be taking me in a golf cart at the mach speed of ten miles per hour. I could walk faster.

Stevens is waiting on Joel’s boat. This will be our last day together. Joel comes back tomorrow after a delayed flight that kept him two extra days in Minnesota, or Wisconsin, or one of those states with great lakes and a lot of cheese.

“Good morning.” Stevens greets me with a soft smile and an extended hand to grab my garment bag from me.

He leaves his other hand out to help me board and our eyes connect as I step onto the boat.

“Good morning. Thank you for doing this. I know it’s beyond what you agreed to do for me.”

“I’m here. I may as well help out when I can.” We walk together to the helm and take our seats. Stevens raises one eyebrow at me. “Unless you have a bevy of men with pre-signed NDAs littered around the island awaiting your beck and call.”

I laugh out loud. “Actually, you’d be surprised how many NDA-carrying men and women I have connections to on this island.”

“I bet I would. Give me a ballpark.”

Stevens twists the key and we back out into the ocean. The cool morning breeze sends a refreshing shiver through me. I’d far rather spend a day out on the water than sit in a stuffy hotel room answering the same questions hour after hour all day.

“Well …” I consider downplaying the number of people it takes to sustain my day-to-day existence. Oddly, I want him to know. “There’s Aria.”

“The yoga instructor that works for Alicante?”

“You know her?”

“Ben wanted to fix me up with her.”

“Hmmm. I could see that. You’d be the bedrock and she’d be the cloud.”

“So you think I should let him?”

“No. Not really.”

Why not? I don’t know.

I like the idea of Stevens being single, like me. I shake that thought off. He’s my water taxi driver for the week, I don’t get to vote on his relationship status .

He definitely made me feel comfortable and safe during some very hard days this week. And he’s easy on the eyes, as Mother would say. Easy, or hard? It’s almost difficult to look at him, he’s so rugged and yet, tender. He has the kind of face that keeps pulling your eyes toward him. There’s this severity to the lines of his bone structure, but then a contrasting softness to his eyes and lips. I glance away toward the shoreline ahead, where the mainland has not yet come into view.

“Okay, so. There’s Aria,” I say, veering from the subject of Stevens’ dating life. “Three drivers—two locals who work at Alicante, and the son of the owner of the Corner Market. There’s Marta. She prepares some meals for me weekly. I have a cleaning team. They all signed NDAs. A landscaping team of, I think it’s four guys, who takes care of keeping my land cleared for fire compliance. Harry had to sign one to teach me a single weekend of painting class. My hairdresser. You. Joel. I know I’m forgetting a few. Everywhere I go regularly for services, and anyone who steps foot onto my property has to sign one.”

I look over at Stevens. His brows are raised in either shock, awe, or judgment. I can’t tell which yet.

“Wow.” He shakes his head. “That’s … amazing.”

“Amazing good? Or amazing, what a spoiled brat?”

“I’ve never used the word amazing to describe a spoiled brat before,” he smiles that warm, assuring smile in my direction.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

“Yes. There is.”

His eyes scan the horizon. Then he looks over at me. “I mean, wow, it takes a lot to keep your life in motion. And having to have an NDA from all those people … is a lot. But you still came to the party at Summer’s. None of us signed anything. And … I think this was obvious, but I was completely caught off guard by you being there. I didn’t know you were coming. No one told me.”

“I was equally blindsided. But you pulled it off. No one would have guessed you’d already been seeing me all week long. Have you considered acting? ”

He laughs, more than a little bit. “No.”

“No?”

“Definitely not. The spotlight is not my comfort zone.”

“I’m not sure it’s mine either,” I say more to myself than him.

He glances over at me. His lips form a thin line and his brows are drawn together.

“Don’t pity me,” I force a laugh to lighten the mood. “I’m reaping more than I’m sowing over here. I’ve got a good life.”

He nods.

“So, what are you reading these days?” I ask.

“ The Fault in Our Stars .”

He seems to brace himself for my reaction.

“You have the reading habits of a nerdy high school girl. Do you know that?”

“I’m well aware. I also read biographies and memoirs. And at night, before I go to sleep, I’m currently reading The Soul of an Octopus .”

I smile, picturing Stevens in bed, with some seriously sexy black-rimmed professor glasses, a white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, a cup of tea on his bedside table, the lamp shedding the only light in the room. He’s leaned back on his fluffed up pillows, reading about Octopuses. Octopi? Octopuu?

“Do you wear glasses?”

“What?” He glances over, confused.

“Do you wear glasses?”

“For reading?”

I nearly retract my question. It suddenly feels invasive and inappropriate in light of my Stevens-reading-in-bed fantasy.

“I do. I have a pair in my top bedside drawer I only use for reading.” He looks over at me and, if I’m right, a blush creeps up his neck. “Are you a sorceress? How did you know I wear glasses?”

“Just a wild guess.”

“Hmmm.” He hums. “What are you reading?”

“ The Glass Castle .”

“Jeannette Walls?” he asks .

“Yes. What a poignant story.”

“I read it on audiobook,” he says, surprising me once again. “Her voice added even more depth and grit to the story. There’s something about hearing a memoir or biography in the person’s own voice.”

I study him, this marine biologist who set aside days of his life to tote me around—granted, he’s being compensated—who emerges from the water like a god after a snorkeling session, who keeps my confidences, and who reads such an interesting array of books. He’s kind, thoughtful, funny. Why is he single?

All too soon, we’re at the dock. Ken’s not working today, so another abnormally large and muscular Viking-esque man who works for our family is at the gate.

Stevens looks down the finger of boat slips at Henry, then back at me. “You know that guy?”

“If I didn’t? Are you ready to defend my honor?”

“I’m ready to haul you back into this boat and hit the gas. I’m a runner, not a fighter.”

I laugh. “I think that’s supposed to be a lover . You’re a lover, not a fighter.”

“Maybe that’s some other guys’ story. Not me. I’m a runner.” He winks. “If you’re ever in danger, I’ll drive the getaway car—or boat.”

We both laugh.

Stevens hands my garment bag over the edge of the boat to me. He’s driving back to Marbella and returning to take me home late tonight. It will be a very long day for me here in LA.

“Thanks again for acting like you didn’t know me the other night at Summer’s barbecue,” I tell him. “She practically begged me to come—for you, as it turns out.”

Am I stalling? Maaaybe. Still. I do appreciate his discretion, among many things I’ve come to appreciate over this short week we’ve known one another.

“Well, I appreciate you coming to a barbecue to meet a fan,” he says with that soft smile where only half his mouth turns up and two deep dimples appear in that left cheek. “Sorry it turned out to be me.”

“I’m relieved it was you. I love meeting fans. But it’s also nice when I don’t have to be on . Summer talked me into it by saying one of my superfans would be there, and she added that I needed to get out more. She’s not wrong. It’s just … complicated. But I trust her to screen whomever will be around when I come over. And, I’m glad you’re a superfan.” I smile coyly at him, knowing full well Stevens does not love that term. “Joel couldn’t care less what I do … So, yeah. Anyway, thank you.”

I’m not just thanking him for keeping my privacy intact, and I get the feeling he understands every aspect of what I’m thanking him for.

“Anytime,” he says. “I’m around if you ever need a sub for Joel.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll be here. I’ll be the guy kicked back on the stern of a boat reading a John Green novel.”

When I arrive at the London West Hollywood, I’m ushered through the hotel's private access entrance and up into one of the rooms on the floor they have designated for press junkets. The members of the press are in the screening room watching the movie before they’ll meet with me and Rex and other cast members. All I have to do all day is sit in the same hotel room while person after person files through asking me many of the same questions the previous interviewer asked. Then Rex and I will be herded into a conference room and the press will have their chance at interviewing the two of us together.

I change into the outfit I brought with me. My hair and makeup are done in a casual style that says, leading actress. And then we’re off. Reporter after reporter, along with a few social media influencers and other members of the media come through my room in a blur.

Most of them ask about my role, my feelings about the film, my plans for what’s next, the traditional questions. Every last one of them asks about me and Rex. I take the fifth, or whatever the term is for, “No comment,” in this business.

My publicist called me yesterday to apprise me of the protocol. Thankfully, she knows me. I had no interest in pulling this charade. She advised me, “Sometimes less is more. The media will fill in the gaps you leave wide open. Say things like, ‘I’m not comfortable talking about that yet,’ or ‘We’re glad to be getting to see one another again after the hiatus of not being on set daily with one another.’ The media will assume a lot. Everyone will be in a frenzy over you two.”

Frenzy doesn’t begin to describe what the media are like by the time Rex and I are together at the end of the day. I’ve only eaten two bites of a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese, a few nibbles of salad, and a protein shake. I think I got to the restroom twice, and my vision may be beginning to blur.

We sit at the front of a large room with both our publicists present. Rex and I are side by side in padded chairs. The press goes nuts. Initially, questions are asked politely. Some are about our on-screen chemistry—those are only intended to prime the pump.

Within five minutes of the start of the press conference, reporters are raising their hands like kids trying to get into Wonka’s factory. The rapid-fire questions reveal their hunger for more of the story that “leaked” when Mother set up our lunch date.

Rex fields one. “I adore Alana. And I admire her. I mean, look at her. She’s talented and beautiful.” He winks at me and I smile back at him, grateful he’s better at this than I am.

A reporter in the back gets his opportunity. “But are you two an item again?”

“We are exploring a reunification,” Rex answers.

I sit mutely beside him, pasting a smile on my face and trying my best to remember that this is what publicity looks like. It’s feeding an insatiable beast in hopes that the beast will benevolently feed you in return.

“Was your lunch at The Henry last week professional or personal?” A woman up front shouts without being called on.

“Our lunch was an opportunity to catch up and reconnect,” Rex says.

Rex for president. Honestly, his capacity for diplomacy is staggering.

“Alana! Alana!” Another reporter calls my name.

Caroline, my publicist, points to him. “Yes?”

“We’ve heard from Rex. What will you tell us? Throw us a bone.”

I glance toward the back of the room. My mother entered the building midday. She’s been around the periphery ever since.

“I’ll say that Rex and I feel strongly for one another. And this season is one where we’re planning to spend a lot of time together.”

I look over at Rex and he smiles warmly at me. I hold his gaze—mostly because it feels much better than looking out into a sea of rabid reporters.

Then I look back at them and say, “And that’s all we want to say about our relationship for now. I’m sure you’ll understand our desire for privacy while we reconnect.”

When I look back at Mother, she’s beaming. I didn’t lie, but I spun the truth in a way that implied things that couldn’t be further from reality.