28. Alana

TWENTY-EIGHT

Alana

And there’s only one person

that makes me feel like I can fly … That’s you.

~ Hitch

A hairstylist and makeup artist show up to my condo in the mid-afternoon. I’m dressed and ready by six when Rex arrives in his limo, or at least the one he’s rented for the night. The driver rings my bell and I take the elevator down three flights to the lobby and walk out onto the street. No one makes too much of a fuss about me in this neighborhood, but occasionally paps are around in hopes of catching me taking out the trash or something equally mundane and uninteresting.

Yes. I’ve had my share of tabloid photos dubbed, Yikes! Is Alana Graves Letting Herself Go? Or You Won’t Believe What Alana Graves Looks Like After Her Breakup! Needless to say, I’ve learned to brush my hair, wash my face, and put on at least a few swipes of mascara before descending to the first story of my condo here in Hollywood.

The driver opens my door to the limo and I step in.

“You look beautiful,” Rex says from the seat next to me. He’s scrolling on his phone when he looks up at me, smiles and then returns to whatever he’s doing.

“So do you.”

He flashes me one of those grins he’s famous for. It’s star-quality, that’s for sure. But my fairy brigade doesn’t even make a rustle. Nope. It’s Stevens for me. My mind drifts back to this morning’s boat ride which seems like it was weeks ago in a world far away.

Rex and I make small talk along the drive about our upcoming projects and a few things we’re scheduled to do together before our movie releases.

When we arrive at the premier, Rex steps out of the car ahead of me to screams of his name and shouts from photographers. He pauses to wave at the crowd and then extends me his hand. When I emerge, the screaming amplifies. Shouts of “Alana!” ripple through the crowd. I turn my head to try to connect with as many eyes as I can, and then I focus on stepping forward with Rex. We walk the red carpet together, stopping at the points designated to answer questions from reporters representing all the major media outlets.

Most of the questions center around me and Rex and whether we are back together.

We stop in front of a reporter I recognize.

“Hello, Rex and Alana.” Her microphone extends between us. “Are you two back together officially?”

I look to Rex. Somehow it feels like less of a lie if he answers for me, even though I’m still complicit.

“We’re seeing how things go,” Rex smiles down at me and I smile back up at him.

Cameras flash incessantly.

“Alana, what made you give Rex another chance?”

This one is directed right at me, I can’t deflect. I answer as ambiguously and truthfully as I can. “Rex is a great man. Working together brings a closeness you don’t have when you’re on separate projects.”

We walk through the gauntlet, giving open-ended, vague answers all along the way. The media prefers those kinds of statements anyway. It leaves them more room to speculate and drum up drama. We take our turn in front of the step-and-repeat backdrop, stopping every ten feet or so for a new set of photos to be taken and more questions to be asked as we pose.

Finally, we’re in the theater and we’re ushered to seats off to the left, only eight rows back. I glance around and see my mother and father a few rows ahead in the center section. People greet one another in the typical Hollywood fashion, and then the movie begins, providing over two hours of distraction and relief before we move on to the rooftop party.

The transition from Grauman’s Theater to the Waldorf Astoria involves returning to our limos after the showing. Fans are out in droves, seated across the street on temporary bleachers and standing around the edges of the ropes surrounding the red carpet.

They’re shouting our names, yelling out questions, screaming, “Alana and Rex! We love you!”

We wave and smile all the way to the limo. Once we’re inside, I collapse into the leather seat.

“Are you okay?” Rex asks, sincerely concerned for me.

“I’m seeing someone. It’s new. But he’s someone I’ve known for a while. It makes all of this so different, knowing he’s at home while I’m on your arm.”

“I know.” Rex’s face is somber.

I study him. He does know.

“I’m sorry. I never realized how hard it must have been on you and Ingrid that whole year.”

“It wasn’t all bad. We were able to have a relationship off the radar. That’s kind of rare, as you know. It was good for us at the time.”

“Off the radar,” I repeat.

“Yeah. Keep this guy off the radar too, if you can.”

“That’s the plan.”

The following evening, I’m back on Marbella. Joel came to pick me up at the dock, and I tried to cloak my disappointment for his sake.

I’m comfortably hanging out in my favorite burgundy velour pair of Lululemon leggings and matching track jacket when Stevens knocks at my door.

I had texted him from the boat, saying, I’m not sad that Joel came to pick me up in Ventura. Nope. Not sad. Didn’t want you to be the one I saw when I walked down the dock after two days in LA. Just in case you were wondering .

My phone rang right after I hit send. Stevens was laughing when I answered, and I instantly felt like someone had given all my little inner fairies a dose of melatonin. Maybe I should be concerned about the impact he has on me and my moods. I don’t have it in me to drum up anything but gratitude. I’m riding the bliss for now, trying to keep reality at bay as long as I can.

We chatted for a few minutes, and he told me he was making me dinner. He didn’t ask, and I loved him taking charge and caring for me more than I could say.

When I hung up, Joel had a curious look on his face. I didn’t tell him what was up, and he didn’t ask. Sometimes an NDA comes in handy. Though, Joel would keep my privacy and confidentiality without the paper standing between us.

Stevens is on my porch holding two reusable grocery bags when I open the door. And he looks good enough to eat. I don’t know how I missed him so much over only two days’ time. I just did.

“Hey,” he says with a note of shyness, or maybe it’s caution.

“Hey. It’s so good to see you.” I take the bags from him without even looking at the contents, set them on my entry table, and turn back to him.

“I’m restraining myself from jumping into your arms right now,” I confess. “I want bonus points for that.”

“You’ll get no such thing,” he says with a far more relaxed smile. “Bonus points come for jumping in my arms, not avoiding me. Get the scoring system straight, Graves.”

I laugh like a giddy girl with a crush—since I am one. And then I take a flying leap into his arms and he, thankfully, catches me. I’m wrapped around him like a spider monkey and he’s grinning up at me like he won the lottery. I lean down and kiss his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, and finally those perfect lips.

He drops me slowly, and I slide down until my feet are on the floor, our kiss continuing until I pull away reluctantly and say, “Come in.”

Stevens smiles and wraps his arm around my waist, leading me alongside him and shutting the door behind us.

“How was LA?” he asks.

I started to text Stevens this morning, but Mother was around my condo and I didn’t want her getting all nosy, so I was only able to type, Hi, can’t wait to see you after I’m back . He responded by sending me a photo of a shadow under the surface of the water. No caption. I snort-laughed and my mother raised an eyebrow in my direction. I quickly swiped the message app and said, “Brigitte,” to my mother, by way of explanation.

“So, what’s on the menu?” I ask Stevens as we stroll toward the kitchen. “I can’t keep eating breakfast burritos and tacos all the time. I do have to keep an eye on things. I’m just saying.”

“How about I keep an eye on things?” He wags his eyebrows playfully.

“Right back at you,” I say. “Now what are we eating, and can I help?”

“No need. I marinated some fish. I'm going to bake the fish in that overpriced oven of yours and I have mashed potatoes I’ll warm, and some asparagus I’m going to sauté with garlic and bacon.”

“My mouth is watering. Where did you learn to cook?”

“Mom. Dad too. But he’s more of the grill master. She’s the one who cooked all our meals except on Sundays.”

“What happened on Sundays?”

“It was guys’ night to provide the meal. Mom and Mitzi would do whatever and we’d fix supper.”

“You do realize that’s beyond sweet, don’t you?”

“I actually do. I may have had some issues with my family growing up, but in hindsight, they’re pretty awesome.”

Stevens washes his hands and gets to work. I take a spot on a stool at the island and watch him move through my kitchen as if he lives here.

“So? LA?” he asks again.

“We were hounded by paparazzi at the premier. Other than that, it was relatively uneventful. The fans are so sweet. The paps are a whole other story.”

“I get it. I relate, actually.”

“To being hounded by paparazzi?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean. I’m famous too.” He looks over at me as if I should know this about him.

“You … are famous?”

“In marine biology circles, I had fame of sorts.” He smiles that impish grin I love. “I wrote an article on the wonders of the sea hare …” he pauses, obviously for effect. I’m grinning so fully my cheeks nearly hurt.

“... and it spread through the scientific community—well at least the marine bio branch. I couldn’t even walk into work without women staring and men’s jaws dropping open as I passed. I was like the Hemsworth of biological oceanography. The Henry Cavill of sea sluggary.”

“Sea sluggary?” I snort.

Stevens levels me with a glare. His mouth is upturned in a smirk and there’s this twinkle of mischief in his eye that makes me want to lock him in here so he’ll never leave.

“People asked me to lunch.” He pauses again. “Lunch, Alana.” He shakes his head as if lunch were the equivalent of one hundred cameras clicking incessantly in a chorus of privacy invasion.

“It was … well, overwhelming … being in the spotlight like that. I don’t have to tell you.” He winks and his grin widens slowly. I sigh—audibly. He’s so incredibly attractive.

Then he shrugs as he finishes off his story. “It was rough. But I handled it. As one does.”

I’m cracking up and he’s standing there, chest puffed up proudly because he knows he’s got me and he’s the one who can make me laugh like this.

“I never realized we had so much in common,” I say through my laughter.

“Yeah. Celeb status. It’s a cross I bear silently.”

I laugh some more.

Being with him is like taking a hot air balloon ride. Everything that usually surrounds me in a looming presence fades into perspective as I drift aimlessly over it all, carried by the wind of whatever it is he makes me feel. I’m light, airy, carefree.

And then, as if she has some crystal ball that tells her when I’m having too good of a time, my mother calls.

I look over at Stevens. His sleeves are rolled up and he’s chopping the ends off asparagus like he’s in some Williams Sonoma ad featuring hot guys who cook. I’ll take ten of those knives and twenty cutting boards, thank you. I’m so sold.

“It’s my mother.”

“Take it. I’m not finished. We’ve got about twenty minutes til we eat.”

I accept the call. “Hi.”

“Alana. Hi.”

“We just saw one another less than five hours ago.”

“I’m aware, darling. I forgot to remind you of the fundraiser. Next week. I’ll put it on Brigitte’s calendar, but I want you to be aware. It’s the evening of the day you’re here for the photo shoot with Rex.” I hear the smile in her voice.

“Still not happening, Mother.”

“I know. I know. You are holding fast—for now. Anyway, this will be another opportunity for you to be seen with Rex in public.”

“Yippie,” I deadpan.

“Alana.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m assuming you’ll arrange all the details with Brigitte.”

“Yes. I will. And have you seen the papers or checked the feeds?”

“No, I have purposely avoided all that. I just got in a few hours ago and I’m about to eat.”

“Well, it’s all good. So good. The two of you look the part. And the press is having a field day with all the buzz about your reunification. Some of the pictures of the two of you should be printed and framed. Maybe one day.”

“Not one day. We’re friends.”

I look over at Stevens. His brow furrows.

I mouth, Rex , to him. And then I roll my eyes so he’s certain about where I stand.

“I’m going to eat. Thanks for the update. I’ll see you then.”

“We could actually have a conversation, Alana.”

“I know. And we did have conversations—all morning. I need a little breather tonight. It’s been a long few days.”

Stevens turns the burner off, rounds the counter and walks right up to me. I’m so nervous he’s going to say something loud enough that my mother will overhear and want to know who he is and what’s going on. If he did speak, my mother would have to deal with it. But I want to keep him to myself a little longer—a lot longer, actually.

But he doesn’t say a thing. He simply steps behind me and wraps his arms around me from behind. And he holds me. I lean back into him, letting him take the weight of everything, knowing he’ll gladly absorb it.

“I’ll talk with you tomorrow,” I tell my mother.

“Okay, darling. We can talk later.”

We say our goodbyes and hang up.

I look over my shoulder at Stevens.

He doesn’t say anything. Just places a soft kiss on my forehead, and then he walks around the other side of my island and back to the cooktop, where he turns up the burner and finishes cooking the asparagus.

I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep him tucked away from the public eye. If forever were an option, I’d take it. But something tells me our clock is running out when it comes to shielding him from the world.