CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SAVANNAH

––––––––

I finally got a message from my sister.

And wish I hadn't.

Congratulations on the nomination, Blister. You've really hit it big time. You know it would be nice if you helped Mom and Dad out.

Blister.

It's what we used to call each other when we were kids. Instead of sister. Blister One and Blister Two.

I was number one, of course, because I was older. Which we also used to fight about.

I miss how close we were.

Maybe I should just give them all some money... but then it just feels like I'm paying them to be my family and love me.

I pace the house all Saturday morning, cursing and slamming doors and muttering to myself. Eventually I reply.

Maybe it would be nice if you all just loved me instead of asking for money all the time.

I toss the phone on the bed and drop my face into my hands.

I should be happy.

Goddamn them.

Ryder is going to be here in an hour, and I want to enjoy my time with him. Not burden him with my family drama. I wish I could ring Gina and tell her about him, but I can't. I can't just pretend we are friends and that she doesn't work for me.

That something has changed between us.

I don't trust her.

I nearly told Briar when she rang early this morning. I just want to talk to someone. My heart feels so sad that after achieving my dream, I don't have anyone in my life to share all of this with.

Why? Why fucking not?

Should I have stayed working in the diner and played it small so everyone could accept me? Because that's what it's looking like.

Either that or pay up.

Frankly, it disgusts me.

My own mother and father see me as a cash cow. They haven't expressed a single moment of pride or found it inside themselves to stop thinking about themselves and say Savannah, this is absolutely amazing darling. I am so happy for you.

You know, like normal fucking people.

And this is going to sound nuts, but in some ways I can handle my family being useless. It hurts, but they have always been like this.

What I find the most heartbreaking is that I have no one to talk to about Ryder.

Not Gina. Not my sister.

I want to tell them how complicated it is. How Ryder makes me feel alive, scared, and happy. How hard it is to pretend he barely exists when we are in public. How I feel his eyes on me constantly and not just because it's his job.

I want to smile and dance around the house, giggling at how many times he made me orgasm yesterday. The way he picks me up in his strong arms and how his silly winks fill my tummy with butterflies.

How, when Ryder's body is close to mine, guiding me when we're out in public, I want to turn and press myself into him and feel his mouth on mine. To hear his gruff, deep voice say Sweetheart, keep walking. Or I'll scoop you up and drag you home and fuck you.

I'd never say no to him.

God, I like him. I like him A LOT.

More than I should.

More than I can.

Sweetheart you don't belong to me.

"Ughhhh." I let out the loud guttural groan and walk into my bathroom, stripping off my yoga clothes.

I turn on the shower and all seven of the jets begin spraying hot water. I love this bathroom. It was one of the features I loved most about the house. Which seems dumb given it's a ten-bedroom mansion with views of the Hollywood Hills.

But I'm a Cancerian and I love water.

Give me a hot tub, bath, shower, ocean, lake... you get the idea. I am one happy little water sign.

So when Ryder said he'd pour me a bath with rose petals to celebrate my nomination, my heart did a little dance.

How does he just get me?

How does he have the ability to make my sex weep and my heart do cartwheels at the same time?

What does Ryder have planned for today?

If he really is planning to spend the day in my bed, then I have some shaving and primping to do.

Every other time has been sporadic, but today I've had all day to overthink everything. Namely, that he's the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on and how perfect his body is.

How mine isn't.

I actually googled how to look twenty pounds lighter in twelve hours. Then I mentally slapped myself because I'm a size four and that's just disrespecting women around the world.

And insecure as fuck.

But Ryder.

Ryder St. James. The man is a god and I want to be perfect for him. I want him to tell me that I am his sweetheart, and I don't give a fuck what the world thinks.

But the truth is, it's outside of both our controls.

Would I want the world to know I'm sleeping with my bodyguard? No.

Ryder understands this, even though we've never discussed it. So we pretend and he reminds me when I lose myself in him.

It's getting harder though.

I don't want him walking behind me. I want him holding my hand and right beside me. I want him to kiss me in public and to be able to press my hand to his chest and proudly show the world the man I lo...

Like.

A lot.

For however long this bubble of exquisite lustful chemistry lasts between us. God, I hope I don't fall in love with him.

I know I could. It would be so damn easy.

So I have to be careful.

I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a large teal-green bath towel, drying off. When I walk into my bedroom, my phone beeps.

It's my sister again.

I swipe reluctantly, then immediately regret it.

If it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be so successful.

I sit up. Is she fucking kidding me right now? Neither of my parents believed in my dream. I paid for acting classes. I worked in the diner and did double shifts while going to audition after audition, missing dinner and being told we ate it because you didn't come home on time.

I toss my phone on the bed, feeling physically ill.

Fuck my family.

Maybe I'll deposit money into their bank accounts and tell them to stay the hell away from me. This is not the behavior of a loving family.

Actions speak louder than words and all that.

I don't want to be upset when Ryder arrives, and I don't have a clue what I should be wearing—if anything at all—so I tune my family out completely.

Ugh.

Today, it's just about Ryder and no one else.

Let's face it, if anything on earth can take my mind off my entire life, it's sexy Ryder St. James.