34. Alana

THIRTY-FOUR

Alana

I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy,

asking him to love her.

~ Notting Hill

S tevens picks me up mid-morning and drives me down through established neighborhood streets on the North Shore. Beach bungalows sit next to larger homes, many with white picket fencing. It could be a location shoot for a movie set in a sleepy beach town.

Along the way, Stevens points to his childhood home.

“That’s where I grew up. Also known as the current home to your second biggest fan.”

“My second biggest?”

“My mom. We’ve already established that I’m your biggest fan.”

“Of my movies?”

“Of you.”

I can’t help the ridiculous grin that splits my face.

“Consider yourself warned,” his tone is light, teasing. “You need to steer clear until you’re absolutely sure you want to meet my mother and endure all her exuberant fangirling—of which I can guarantee you there will be plenty.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But I do want to meet your mom one day.”

“I want you to. And my whole family.”

The unspoken fact that I will do anything to keep Stevens a minimum of fifty miles from my family hangs in the air. I wish the situation were different.

Stevens parks near the edge of a cove only the locals on this side of the island know about. The entrance is through a path between two cliffs, so most people drive right by it, unless you know it’s here.

He has no idea, but this cove means everything to me. It’s the one I grew up going to as a kid when we’d come over to Marbella on the weekends. We didn’t come every week. Sometimes I came with a nanny while my parents were filming. But I was here more often than not, and sometimes we’d come for a whole week or longer through the summer.

I often played with a boy named Ren. He was one of my safe people back then. Honestly, Stevens reminds me of him in a weird way—he’s got that same quietly mischievous side. Not that Ren would ever intentionally break the rules. And Stevens obviously wouldn’t either. Ren was a sweet boy. He always teased me in a friendly way. And he made me feel like all was right in the world. No matter what was going on, I looked forward to Saturdays on Marbella.

That’s how I chose my gamer tag, SaturdayIslandGirl. Ren used to call me Saturday girl. Sometimes he’d just shout, “Saturday!” as if it were my actual name. Like, “Saturday, get some water in this bucket!” And I’d skip down to the shoreline and scoop a bucketful of saltwater and bring it back to him where he’d smile at me approvingly.

We walk between the two walls of cliffs and emerge on the beach. The sun is shining overhead with only a few clouds in the sky. There’s a gentle breeze coming in off the ocean. A few families are further down the beach with chairs and umbrellas. Stevens lays out a picnic blanket in a spot set apart from the rest of the people who are here, and then he opens the basket he brought with him.

“I brought sandwiches and two kinds of salads.”

“Impressive.”

“Be very impressed … with the Descanso Deli.”

I laugh. “Okay. Well, it’s still impressive. You planned and arranged all this.”

We dig in, Stevens fills my plate and sits across from me. We talk about his brother’s plans, his upcoming work in Marin, and I tell him about Brigitte’s most recent dating disaster. She doesn’t mind if I share with Stevens, and I’m glad because when I tell him the crazy highlights of her night, he laughs so hard he snorts. I’ve never seen him laugh that hard before.

The picnic seems to be restoring our homeostasis. As always, time together on Marbella makes everything else seem small and insignificant compared to my feelings for him and the deepening connection between us.

After we finish our lunch, I’m sitting between Stevens’ legs, leaning back on him and he’s got his arms propped behind him to hold us up. We’re facing the ocean, watching the waves roll in.

“I used to come here as a boy,” he says.

“To the North Shore?”

“To this cove. And …” he pauses, kissing the top of my head. “There was a curly blond haired girl …”

I pivot so I’m facing him. He looks me directly in the eyes.

“Her name was Gwendolyn.”

It takes me a few beats. My ears feel like they’re ringing with my childhood name and the ramifications of him saying it.

“Ren?” I feel my brow crease as I search his face for similarities between the man in front of me and the boy I knew.

He nods. “I’m Ren.”

“But … you’re Stevens now? ”

“And you’re Alana.”

“I changed my name for the business. I’ll tell you the story later. But why would you change your name?”

“If you knew what Ren was short for, you’d have told me to change it.”

“Oh, now I need to know.”

“There are some things in life that are destined to remain a mystery.”

“And your real name is not one of them. But we’ll get back to that. How did you know I was Gwendolyn?”

“I saw the photo.”

“In my hallway! The photo of me and Ren on the beach. My nanny took that.”

“I couldn’t believe it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?”

“Your phone rang and then Kai needed me. And … I didn’t know if you’d think I had stalked you. I mean, what’s the probability?”

“It’s not as improbable as you might think,” I tell him. “I loved this island. It’s where some of my fondest childhood memories happened. So, when I started earning enough to afford multiple homes, I bought one here. Marbella became my refuge all over again. Just like it was when I was a child. You’ve never left. I came back. We have a pretty small population of locals. The probability is in our favor on this one.”

“I love it when you talk all science-y,” he teases, leaning in for a kiss.

I turn so I’m on my knees, facing him, with my legs folded beneath me, and I kiss him back. I’m not one to believe in luck or destiny. But I can’t deny the way we feel meant to be … from all those years ago, to finding one another on the game, to him being my water taxi driver, to now. Stevens is my person. I’m sure of it. And my heart has known it for longer than my head was willing to fully admit.

I cup his jaw with my hand and he cradles my cheek. Our kiss is soft, nearly reverent. Then I collapse back into him and we spend the rest of the afternoon lying on his blanket, running in and out of the water, and collecting shells.

For the past few days I’ve been back in Los Angeles at my Hollywood condo.

Rex and I had a ComicCon appearance this weekend. We also had radio interviews on KROQ and KISS FM radio stations.

Brigitte is here with me and I’ve been unloading on her about my situation. I need to stop.

“I miss him. Is that weird?” I flop my head back onto the sofa in the living room of my condo.

“No.” She mirrors my motion, but adds a little drama to the movement and I love her for it. “I miss him too. And I don’t even know him.” She giggles.

“Stop that.” I loll my head in her direction and send her a playfully scolding glare.

“You know I’m just teasing you,” she says. “But seriously. This is your life. You two are going to have to learn to work around all the things. You know what I mean. You film overseas. There’s pre-release mania like we’re in now. There's the two or three consuming months of filming any project, and then you have downtime that lasts so long you get squirrely. It’s unconventional. He’s going to have to adapt. Better sooner than later. And you’re going to have to adapt to wanting to be with him constantly and having to juggle your insane life into the mix with your infatuation with this hot biologist. Which, may I add, should be a trope in romance. Hot biologist. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Brigitte.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Anyway, that’s me, straight talking to you. It’s a get-over-it situation. And, also a get-creative sitch. That too. ”

“I know. And, thanks. You’re right. I’ll see him when I’m back on Marbella after he gets back from a job up north. It’s just hard right now because being able to see one another face-to-face is so new. I’d be seeing him every day if things weren’t so crazy.”

“Awww. I love that. You really like him, huh?”

“I really, really do.”

“Like … more than like, like?”

“What are we, in seventh grade?”

“Do you love him, Alana?”

“I am definitely hovering somewhere near love. Maybe I’m actually there.”

Am I? Do I love Stevens?

I definitely can’t imagine life without him anymore.

Brigitte squeals. “That makes me so happy. You deserve this. And I’ll do what I can to support you.”

“You always do.”

“I do, don’t I?”

I laugh.

We spend the rest of the afternoon getting mani-pedis and massages at a private salon that is very discreet and serves a lot of Hollywood clientele.

We order Chinese to be delivered to my condo, and then Brigitte takes off to head home to the beach cities where she lives.

Before she goes, she says, “Oh! I ordered another delivery. Thank me later.”

Then she shuts the door behind her and fully ignores me opening it and shouting after her, “What’s the delivery, Bridge? Tell me!” She doesn’t respond to my inquisitive texts either. I guess I’ll just have to wait. About a half hour later, she sends me a text.

Brigitte : Almost forgot. Delivery guy has been given a password so you can buzz him up. It’s SEA OTTER. Got that?

Me : Yes. What’s in the delivery ?

Brigitte : Enjoy! Peace out. This is me saying goodnight, boss.

I turn on the TV, something I rarely do. I scroll channels until I land on an old romcom. I’m sitting on my couch with my legs tucked under me and a cup of hot detox tea in my hand when there’s a ring of the bell to let the delivery in.

“What’s the password?” I ask into the intercom on my wall.

“Sea otter,” a weird voice answers me. It’s a man’s voice, but he sounds high pitched, like he’s forcing himself to sound more feminine.

Whatever. I wait by the door for the knock. I’m dying to see what Brigitte ordered. Usually it’s good if she’s being mysterious—which, she definitely is.

I peek through the keyhole. A man is standing there, wearing all brown. He has a ball cap on and he’s looking down so I can’t see his face. I open the door …

And scream! “Stevens? What are you doing here?”

“Your assistant texted me that you were in need of something.”

I double over at the waist, my hands to my face and squeal like a fangirl.

“Brigitte! I am going to give her such a Christmas bonus this year!”

“So, I take it you’re happy to see me?”

“Get in here. Oh my gosh.” Stevens steps inside my condo and I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “You came to visit me?”

“Yeah. When Brigitte texted, I packed a bag.”

“She texted you?” My arms are still around his neck and I’m grinning so big my whole face feels the glow of my happiness.

“She texted me,” he repeats. “Wait. Give me a minute.”

Stevens walks back out to the hall, grabs a duffel bag and a large brown paper bag and shuts the door behind him. Then he takes his phone out of his pocket and reads Brigitte’s text .

“Stevens, I have a big, massive, monumental favor to ask you. As you know, among other things, my job is keeping Alana Graves happy. They say, ‘happy wife, happy life,’ I can’t find a good rhyme for boss, but happy boss makes my life a whole lot easier. So, here goes. Can you manage a trip over to LA? She misses you. It’s kind of all she’s talking about. Let me know. We’ll pay your fees for the ferry or whatever transportation costs you incur along with any other incidentals. P.S. Don’t feed her too much. She’s got to fit into her outfits for the next few days. But after the trip, get her a pizza. Mwah.”

“She texted all that?”

“That was just the first text,” he says with a chuckle.

I sit on the couch and pat the cushion next to me. Stevens joins me.

“She texted more?”

“When I texted back …” He looks down at his phone. “Whatever Alana needs. I’m here to help. I miss her too.”

He looks back up at me and I lean in and kiss his cheek again.

Then I cup his face in my hands. "You were missing me too?”

“Of course.”

“What did she say when you texted that?”

“More emojis than I even knew existed, and this word: squeeeee. And then ‘You’re the best! You’re the best! Ohmygoodness, you’re the best! And … do you have a brother?’”

I chuckle. “I hope you didn’t tell her about your brother.”

“I didn’t. He’s moving. It wouldn’t be fair if they hit it off, which they just might. They both seem to operate on the same frequency of zero-off-switch.”

I chuckle that Stevens has Brigitte pegged after such a short time interacting with her.

“You’re here!” I stare at Stevens and shake my head in disbelief.

“I am. It’s really good to see you.” Stevens loops his arm across the back of the couch and I lean into him, resting my head on his chest .

My phone rings on the coffee table. I groan. But I lift myself off Stevens and check it. The next few days are heavy and important for PR. I need to stay in the loop for any changes or updates.

“It’s Brigitte.”

Stevens smiles.

Before I even say hello, she says, “I know, I know. I’m awesome. Thank me later.”

I laugh. “You are awesome, Bridge.”

Stevens shouts into the phone, “You’re awesome, Brigitte!”

“Okay, kids. You two have fun!”

She hangs up and I settle back into Stevens’ embrace.

I kiss Stevens’ cheek and then drop my head onto his chest. He holds me to himself, as if he doesn’t want to let me go. The mood shifts between us—comfortable and settled. Like neither of us could really rest until we made our way back to one another. I don't lean on anyone, and yet I’m leaning on him—because I know I can.

“I used to have feelings about you,” he murmurs into the top of my head. “… about Alana Graves, the movie star. But the more time we’ve spent together, the more I know that was infatuation, idolizing someone I thought I could know through the distant lens of a camera.”

“You had feelings?”

“As evidenced by my stellar ability to act normal when we first met at the water taxi.”

I chuckle.

“But now?” He tips my chin up so he can gaze in my eyes. “Now I have feelings for you —for Alana, my girlfriend, the one I know without a camera telling me what to think. Just you, unfiltered, unadulterated, you.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Whatever you want to call yourself.”

He backs off so easily, probably assuming I’m not ready for a label. Always considering me.

“Girlfriend works. I actually love that. I want to call myself your girlfriend. I’d pretty much get those words tattooed somewhere.”

“Because that wouldn’t bring the news outlets running from every corner of LA and beyond. And where, exactly, would this tattoo go? And what would it say?”

My body hums with the electricity between us. He always surprises me when his intelligence and thoughtfulness give way to this incredibly flirty side of him.

“Would it be here?” He taps my bicep softly and then gives it a gentle squeeze. I feel my eyelids flutter. “Or here?” He lifts my leg and runs his fingers along the top of my foot, and I shiver. I actually shiver. “Or here?” He flips my arm over gently so my hand is facing upward, and then he drags his pointer slowly along my wrist.

“Mm hmm.”

“Mm hmm? All the places?” He chuckles.

“All the places. I’ll just get multiple tattoos that say, Stevens’ girlfriend . Or maybe just Ren .”

“You can call me that. My mom still does half the time. I figure she earned the right.”

“Your mom sounds awesome. I barely remember her.”

“I want you to meet her, officially. We’ll just have to borrow some sports padding from the high school for when she tackles you.”

I giggle. “I’m tough. I think I can handle it.”

“I think you can handle anything.” His eyes are so sincere that I almost actually believe him.

“You’ve been so amazing about all of this,” I tell him. “… hiding our relationship … coming here. I hate that it has to be this way.”

I sigh, frustrated with myself for shifting the mood in the room, for wasting precious time together bringing up the challenges my fame imposes on our relationship, for the fact that we have so many hurdles when we should be able to enjoy these early months of dating .

“I’ve been thinking so much about you—us,” I tell Stevens. “And you should have everything. Of all the people in the world, you deserve all the normal things a man gets when he dates someone he really likes. You should have a girlfriend who can go to the movies with you, or ride on your boat without people swarming her for autographs at the dock, someone sweet, and kind, and beautiful. You should have someone who doesn’t mess things up by being complicated.”

I don’t even look in his eyes because I’m tearing up a little now that the words are out of my head and lingering in the space between us.

Stevens brushes my hair back, and I ache from the contact. There’s a visceral tug to give in, to take what I want without thinking of him and how my life messes his up.

My voice feels quiet and meek when I look up into his eyes. “I wish I could give you all of that and more.”

“Give me what, exactly?” His tone is soft, compassionate.

“A beautiful version of normal.”

He chuckles, as if the fact that my life doesn’t allow for the kind of romance he deserves isn’t the worst news ever. Maybe it’s not, to him.

He runs his hand along my jaw, tilting my head so my eyes can’t avoid his. In the silence between us, he studies my face and stares softly into my eyes, Then he leans in and places a gentle, comforting kiss to my forehead. When he pulls away, he says, “Alana, sweetheart. It's okay.”

“It's not okay. This is so abnormal. How can it be okay?” I sound like a pouty prima donna.

He holds my chin between his pointer finger and his thumb. “I'm here. I came here of my own free will. Brigitte didn’t drug me or bribe me. She called, and I wanted to come. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else with anyone else. This isn't perfect, but it's us. You and me. I knew you were a star when I pursued you. Navigating the public and the paparazzi and your mother’s expectations for you is part of your life. And if I want to be a part of your life, I need to adapt. And because it’s you, that’s not even a hardship.”

He runs his hand down my cheek and holds my gaze. “I want to. I want to do whatever it takes for us to have a chance at this.”

“Why?”

“Because I'd rather have pieces of you than nothing at all.”

He smiles broadly, as if remembering the pieces of me that are his is more than enough for him. “Because now that you're mine, I'm not giving you up. I already had a life without you. And, if I have anything to say about it, I'll never have life without you again. Ever.”