Take Two (13 page)

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Authors: Whitney Gracia Williams

BOOK: Take Two
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“A little bit, Ryan. It’s like I’ve dreamed of
getting married and having kids for forever, so to final
ly
have that, it’s just,
I can’t even put it into words.”

“I can imagine. Matt, are you overwhelmed as well? You have two
more
projects
coming out this year
and studios are practically breaking down your door to get you in their films.”

“I am utterly speechless, Ryan.”

Ryan laughed. “I bet! I know you guys can’t sta
y much longer, so
we at
E sincerely
wish you the absolute best for your careers and the new baby.”

“Thank
you so much for having us
!” Selena kissed him on the cheek.


Thanks
man,” I shook his hand.

“Now, live in the studio is G
iu
liana
Rancic
with
c
elebrity news updates!”

The cameras panned over to another set and I tore out my earpiece. Ryan congratulated us both again and I stormed to the elevator, ignoring my security detail.

“Matt! W
ait!” Selena squeezed in before the doors could close.


Please tell me you’re not
really
pregnant!
” I tried not to
scream
.


Of course I
’m not pregnant.
Ratings
, remem
ber?

I glared at her.

Do you have a soul? A consci
ence
? Anything that would make me believe you’
re a human being and not some
crazy
press
-driven
ps
ycho
?”


Matt,
” she grabbed my hand. “Y
ou’ll thank me for this one day.


I’m pretty sure I won’
t,” I jerked my hand away. “
How are we going to have a
fake
baby?


I’m going to have a miscarriage a couple
months
from now.
A
fter you dump me
I’ll be in so much grief that I
go into a deep depression and
lose the thing.
Boo hoo hoo
, poor Selena
.
Lost baby equals
even
more press.


Joan!
” I stepped off the elevator. “Joan! Where are you?”

“Yes
?” she
was
right
beside me.

“Is the
Instyle
lady here?”

“Yes. S
he’s
across the street
already.”

“Great,” I rushed outside with Selena running behind me.

“Matt! Matt! Stop!”

I stopped once I noticed
a
pack
of
paparazzi heading our way.

“I’m
so
sorry
,
Matt.
I
should’ve asked you about the baby thing first.”

“Shhh,” I pulled her close and kissed her, pretending she was Melody Carter.

 

 

“You sure you don’t want me to catch a cab back home?” Selena twisted the strands of her hair.

“Get in the car
Selena.
I would never make a
pregnant
woman catch a cab.

She smiled and scooted
next to me. “Aw! You’re the best! And you know what we can
do while we’re here together?”

“What?”

“We can go over some of these
launch party photos
Stan emailed to
me.
I’m
only putting up the ones of the beautiful people
though
. If I put up ugly people, my f
ans will associate that with my
perfume and my perfume is not for ugly people.”

“No dear, you’re not shallow at al
l,” I sighed
.

She
leaned on me and clicked
through the pictures
on her phone
.
There were so many—directors, actors and actresses, dreamers.
In every photo of the two of us, we looked like such a happy couple.


Wait
. I think that’s Melody Carter,

I leaned in closer
to make sure
.

“Who?”

“She’s
some
film critic at
The New York Appeal
,” I tried to sound nonchalant.
I hadn’t forgotten how sexy she
looked that night,
how I literally h
ad to calm my nerves before
approaching her
.

I’ve got to see her again…

“Oh.
Well, she’s adorable! A
film critic
who can actually dress
? W
ho’d have thought? But she’s
a nobody
so,
moving on!

I
didn’t pay
attention to the rest of the photos. I couldn’t think about anything besides Melody Carter and that was
beginning to
scar
e
me. The last time I thought about a woman that much and
actually
pursued it, she turned into a fame
hungry
monster.

“I’ll see you
Thursday
?”
Selena
slid her shades on.

“What’s Thursday
?”

“Joan, could you please
earn
y
our unnecessary paycheck?” she
blew a kiss at m
e as the driver shut the door.

“What’s she talk
ing about J
oan?”


Thursday is your e
nga
gement party
. You told me not to mention it until the day before.”

“Exactly. What else do I have to do today?”

“Just dinner with
the sweepstakes finalists
at seven. D
o I need to cancel?”

“No, not at all. I’ve got plenty of time,” I lay back in my seat. “Driver, could we swing by
The New York Appeal
?”

“Yes sir
. Thirty minutes.”

“She’s
not there,”
J
oan flipped a page in her book.

“What’s that Joan?”

“Miss Carter.
She’s
on vacation
in St. Barts.”

“How do you—”

“I went to college with her assistant. That’s as much as I could get out
of
her though.”

“How much do I pay you?”

“Not enough,” she grinned.

 

Chapter 11

Melody

 

“I’m never going to finish my thesis,” Jennifer
closed the door to our
balcony. “This place is awesome!”

We were staying
in a private
villa
that overlooked the ocean.
Our place had two separate bathroom
suites
and a private pool with two tiers.
There was
a large lounge area on our rooftop and
we had
unlimited access to a five star spa.
Since we were on the
se
cluded part of the island, we had our own personal staff to attend to our every need.

“What happens if you don’t finish it?” I slipped into my bikini.

“I’ll never get my degree
a
nd I’ll
try to
be a food critic I guess,
” she
shrugged
.

“You want to go for a swim
?”

“Yea
h
,
but I
need
to read at least t
wenty
chapters of
research
while we

re here so…I’m going to read
three right now.


Okay
cool.
I’ll
come back for you in what, two hours?”

“Sounds great!” she pulled a book out of her bag and flopped onto the bed.

I grabbed
my
purse
and
blanket
and headed down to the shore.

I was proud of myself for making use of t
he vacation. Even though
I cried during our first
tour of the island
,
I
was hap
py to be close to my true love:
the ocean.

The ocean always made me feel at peace, like all of my problems were insignificant. Every time I felt its waves crashing over me, I felt as if my worries were going along with them.

I still hadn’t
opened
the
envelope
from Sean, and I really wanted to toss it into the oc
ean fully sealed. Yet, I
suddenly became
curious. I lay back on my blanket and tore the flap.

 

Dear Melody,

Please believe me when I say that I am sorry, truly and ashamedly sorry. I never had any intention of hurting you or leaving you at the altar.

You were
always
the woman I wanted to marry, the woman I wanted to grow old with. I know there’s no point in rehashing old memories or former intents, so I’ll just be honest.

When you moved into my condo two months ago, I was extremely excited—about our upcoming wedding, our upcoming honeymoon, and of course our upcoming life together
. I’d wanted to make you mine for the pa
st two years and I was glad
we
were both in positions that
finally made that possible.

I thought you and I were on the same page about our future, that we shared the same ideals, but one night you mentioned children. And then you mentioned something about turnin
g your office into a nursery
. You mentioned abandoning th
e city life in a couple of years
, exchanging it for a life of peace and
serenity
in
the suburbs
.

I must admit now that I never wanted, nor do I want now, any of those things. I pretended that I did in conversations with you, but in my mind I was confused and agitated.

I
know
now
that I
should have talked with you about t
hese issue
s, but I didn’t want to start a fight
, hurt your feelings
,
or have you leave me…

One evening
in March
,
I was
at work
helping a woman f
ind an appropriate charm for a bracelet her
boyfriend
gave her
. For whatever reason, she opened up to me—telling me how she’d spent the past five years in a relationship that only made him happy. They were perfect together
at one point
, but their goals and ideas about
the future were too diffe
rent. She
knew
that she would
have to end it soon
because the only charm she could
think to add
was a trash bin, a sign of wasted time.

She cried and I offered to take her out for a drink. (I even called and invited you to join us, but
you were still working on the
“L-Haute” project)
She and I
spoke for about two hours and I paid for her cab ride home.

She came back
to Belazi the
next day and we went out again…and again…
On some days, I did
n’t go
to work at all. I went straight to her
place
and we continued talking for two months, realizing that we were both in similar situations.

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