InHap*pily Ever After (Incidental Happenstance) (16 page)

“Thank
you,” Tia said in response to the compliment and the job well done.

“We’ll
get to the kissing pictures later,” Marlon, a man in obnoxious orange crop
pants and an even more ridiculous flowing paisley shirt, crooned when Dylan
pulled her into his arms as she emerged on the set. Dyl just laughed, and
planted a gentle kiss on the tip of Tia’s nose.

“OK,
now look into each other’s eyes and give me a soft smile,” Marlon, said for
about the hundredth time. “A natural one—you love each other!” Once again, Tia
smiled for the cameras that clicked softly all around her. Never in all her
life had she taken so many pictures at once; six outfits, two makeup
‘fresheners,’ and four scenery changes had her head reeling and her lips
quivering—she didn’t know if it was even possible for her to smile anymore. Her
entire face felt like it had just undergone a Zumba class and a weight training
session…her cheeks and jaw were physically aching. But when Dylan looked at her
the way he only looked at her, she couldn’t help but smile back.

After
the hustle of the photo shoot, the interview was a piece of cake. Bryn Simmons
fawned over Dylan for longer than necessary, but when she started asking
questions, she was all business. Tia had figured that she’d be answering all
the same questions she had on Tony’s show and the morning news program and
radio talk show they’d done the day before, but Bryn surprised her.

“So,
Tia, what’s been the hardest part for you in all this?”

“Wow.
I guess I’d have to say dealing with all the attention. I’m not used to having
people be so interested in the things I do. It’s a really awkward feeling, and
it’s kind of disconcerting, if you want to know the truth.”

“Because
you want people to like you?”

Tia
took a second to think about how to answer the question. Since the airing of
Sunday’s show, their story had indeed gone viral. Social media was
buzzing—Facebook pages had been started in their honor, they’d earned several
hashtags on Twitter…
#Dylentia
and
#Frstcouple
were trending
regularly. As Dylan had predicted, most of the talk was positive—one blogger
had even dubbed her “America’s Princess Ti,” likening her situation to Diana’s
rise from the humble beginnings of a school teacher to that of royalty. In this
case, Dylan was dubbed, “The Prince of Rock.”

But
as Dylan had also once said, there were haters, too. “Free Penelope” campaigns
were springing up as well, and they called Tia a “poser,” a “gold digger,” and
a “wannabe.” Tia was glad that there was precious little time in her schedule
these days to dwell on any of it; because she didn’t really deserve either
status, in her opinion; but as much as she tried to let it roll off her back,
some of it stung. OK, a lot of it stung. Not because they said harsh things,
but because they said them for reasons Tia couldn’t begin to understand. None
of them knew her—none of them knew Dylan or Penelope either—but that didn’t
stop them from boisterously making judgments and calling names. She was
reminded of one of her favorite authors who, after writing an incredibly
successful children’s series, published her first book for adults. The author
had taken a holiday when the book was released, presumably because she was
smart enough to know that the critics would be out in force because the book
wasn’t about her beloved character. She was right, too. Initial reviews were
terrible, and people who hadn’t even read the book were writing scathing posts.
Soon, however, it was at the top of the charts, because she’s a terrific writer
and the real fans soon out spoke the haters.

“I
want to be very careful about how I answer that question, because I’m not sure
I can make it come across the way I mean it to. As a human being, of course I
want people to like me. We’re social creatures, and we certainly don’t aspire
to be
unliked.
  But more than that, I don’t want people to hate me
because of who I fell in love with, or for any other reason outside of my
control. I mean, if I’ve done something to you personally, you can choose not
to like me; but the people making these comments don’t know me, so I have a
hard time with them making judgments, good or bad. I wasn’t in New Zealand—I
had no part in what happened there. I didn’t attack Penelope—to this day I haven’t
said anything negative about her publicly because I don’t really know her, and
I don’t think it’s fair. I certainly don’t like what she did—or allegedly
did—because of the impact it’s had on my life personally; but I don’t know what
was in her head. That’s the double-edged sword of this kind of attention. It
doesn’t liken itself to developing new relationships because there’s always a
pre-formed opinion, so it’s hard for people to get to know the real you.” She
took a deep breath and smiled. “I hope that answered your question; I don’t
really know exactly how to explain it. It’s a strange feeling.” she said.

“Oh,
definitely,” Bryn smiled, reaching over to pat Tia’s hand. “That’s probably one
of the most real and honest answers about celebrity I’ve ever heard. It takes a
lot of guts to say it; especially when the jury is still out on your public
persona.”

“I
never wanted a public persona—I just happened to fall for an incredible man who
already had one.”

“And
I think we just got the quote for the cover,” Bryn said softly. “You’re the
real deal, Tia. I have to say I had my doubts, but I really think you guys are
going to make it.”

“Oh,
we’ll make it, all right,” Dylan smiled. “I have no doubts about us.”

            It was,
without a doubt, the most insane week of Tia’s life. Between the interviews,
photo shoots, shopping trips, and phone calls, she didn’t know whether she was
coming or going, and was very glad to have Jessa on her side, especially when
Dylan was off taking care of his own business. By the time the week ended, it
felt like she’d appeared on just about every talk show in the country, and she
wondered if her head would ever stop spinning. She never got tired of talking
about her love for Dylan, but she certainly wasn’t getting any pleasure out of having
to discuss the Penelope situation over and over. Just hearing her name made Tia
cringe, but she was part of the story too, and part of every interview they
granted. Penelope was still sitting in a jail cell in New Zealand so she wasn’t
allowed to make any statements, but someone who called herself a “prison
director” described a scene in which a very emotionally unstable movie star
went ballistic after seeing Dylan and Tia’s first television appearance.

             News stations
were reporting that her lawyers were close to reaching a deal with New Zealand
authorities for Penelope’s extradition—speculation was that they were willing
to settle for an “undisclosed fine,” seeing as all the charges applied to US
citizens, American tabloids, and mail destined for Americans on both ends.
There didn’t seem to be any doubt in the lawyers’ minds, however, that she’d be
facing some prison time if convicted of all charges.  And considering that her
“former assistant and alleged accomplice” was willing to testify in exchange
for a reduced sentence, it didn’t look like Penelope was going to be winning
any Oscars anytime soon.

            By the time
Friday night came, Tia felt like a zombie, and she stumbled into the living
quarters of the New York suite with just a few hours to pack before they left
on a twenty five hour trip to Australia.

            Australia.
God, she thought, falling onto the bed and throwing her forearm over her eyes.
Just an hour, just sixty little minutes to gather her thoughts, and then she
could consider packing for a two-week trip that included meeting Dylan’s entire
family. How would she measure up to their expectations?  How could she make any
impression at all, with how exhausted she was?

            She felt
Dylan’s presence in the room before he touched her—the slightest brush of his
lips against her own. She moaned; part desire, part irritation, and gave
herself over to his kiss.

            “Mmmm,” she
mumbled. “I haven’t left your side for most of the week, but I still miss you.”

            “I know,” he
said sympathetically. “It’s really draining, isn’t it, being the center of so
much attention?” It was more a statement than a question.

            “Yeah, kind of
sucks,” she said.  “But you get used to it, right? Oh God, please tell me it
gets easier.”

            “A little bit,
I guess,” he whispered, sliding his hand beneath her shirt and stroking her
nipples with the rough pads of his fingers. “You’ve been amazing, Tia. Just by
being yourself, you’ve gotten the whole world to fall in love with you.”

            It was true.
In just one short week Tia Hastings, fifth grade teacher, had become a media
darling. Bryn put out some of the pictures and excerpts from the interview on
the magazine’s website in advance of the issue, and it had gotten something
like a gazillion hits.

            “I don’t care
about the whole world, baby…as long as you love me, it’s all that matters.”

            “Let me show
you how much,” he said, nibbling his way down her neck deliciously.

            She purred,
then grunted. “Look at the clock, Dyl, we’ve only got a few hours to pack,
shower, and head for the airport.”

            “I can be
quick,” he smiled against her collarbone.
            “I don’t want you to be quick,” she whispered. “I haven’t been able
to stop thinking about ‘deliciously slow,’ and there’s not nearly enough time.”
But when he slid his hand up her thigh, she surrendered. “Oh, I can’t say no to
you; not when you’re doing that.”

            She wrapped
her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, wiggling beneath him until
their bodies molded together seamlessly. He pressed his mouth to hers, and her
exhaustion lifted as her pulse quickened and her hands moved down to rest at
his waist. “Have I told you today how amazing you are?” he breathed into her
ear.

            “Not in the
past ten minutes,” she smiled against his neck. No matter how exasperated she’d
gotten at the crazy pace of the week and the breakneck schedule, Dylan was her
constant cheerleader and support system. He knew how emotionally draining it
was for her to have to rehash the Penelope situation over and over, and made it
his personal mission to tell her how incredible she was and how much he loved
her every chance he got. It had definitely kept her more upbeat, and she felt
good knowing he was proud of her. 

            “Positively
amazing,” he said, running his hands down the sides of her body. “Beautiful
too.”

            “I love you so
much, baby. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

            “And I can’t
do this without you,” he smiled, slipping her shirt over her head and pressing
his body to hers.

            Realization
finally dawned on her, and it wasn’t the kind of dawn that lit up the sky with
pinks and oranges and promises of a beautiful day. Hers was the one that crept
up slowly behind gray, dark clouds; casting only enough light to cloak the
world in perpetual shadow. She was stuck—trapped was a better word, actually—and
life as she knew it was over.  When she finally cried herself out and the guard
had tired of taunting her and left, she felt like she’d been sucker-punched in
the gut, taken a right hook to the face, and been dealt a roundhouse kick in
the head.

            Reality hit
like a ton of bricks.

            “Get me the
hell out of here, Ben,” she hissed at the computer screen where her lawyer was
taking notes from his spacious office with the incredible view, picking
something out of his teeth as if she couldn’t see him. “This is bullshit and
you know it. They can’t keep me here. I’m an American citizen.”

            “It’s not that
easy, Penelope. You’ve gotten yourself into a lot of trouble, and it’s going to
take some time to get it all unraveled. There are a colorful variety of charges
stacking up on two continents, and our legal systems don’t work exactly the
same way. I’ve retained an attorney there in New Zealand to handle the
paperwork and such on your end, and I’m meeting with the federal prosecutor the
day after tomorrow to get an idea of what charges you’ll have to face over
here. But you need to remember that it’s almost Christmas. A lot of people are
on holidays this time of year and it might take a little longer to get the ball
rolling.”

            Penelope
leaned back in the chair and ground the heels of her hands into her closed
eyes. Less than a week ago she believed that she’d be in Australia for
Christmas; meeting Dylan’s family and moving their relationship to a whole new
glorious level. Never in a million years would she have guessed that she would
be spending it in a goddamn jail cell instead. “Are you telling me that I might
have to spend Christmas here? What about bail?”

            Ben dropped
his eyes. “I’m telling that you
are
going to be spending it there, I’m
afraid, and probably New Year’s, too. There are a lot of facets to this
situation, and they aren’t going to be resolved in a couple days. You’re the
poster child of a flight risk, Penelope, and you don’t have anywhere to go if
they let you out. The studio won’t take you, and you don’t have anyone there
who can even post it for you. The bright side is that the New Zealand
authorities want you gone; especially since all of your crimes involved
Americans; so I think we can get you back here fairly soon. Understand, though,
that your troubles are far from over once you get back to the States.”