Step Wilde: A Stepbrother Romance (30 page)

Sometimes when I was having a particularly bad bout of self-loathing, I’d go to her Instagram where she was posting demure belly shots with my hands wrapped around her and look at the adoring, sycophantic, gleeful, fawning comments from her pre-teen fans about how “perfect” Hailey’s life was.

Everyone thought the photos were candid and spur-of-the-moment. Nobody realized that they were the product of elaborate photoshoots where it was everything I could do to not drown myself in whiskey beforehand.

I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in over six months. Considering I was basically Hailey’s prisoner, I felt like that earned me some kind of medal for heroism.

I threw the underwear into my suitcase and realized I would need to find my garment bag. I had no idea where it was.

“I sent everyone downstairs,” Hailey said to me, walking over and running her hands down my back. “I thought before we left for the airport we could…” She reached up to my ear and nibbled on my lobe. I felt chills erupt that were far from sexual. I put my hands up.

“I have too much to do. No,” I replied.

Some nights she could get me to have sex. Most nights I pretended to be working on post-production shit for the movie. That was always a lie. Fox wasn’t letting me within one hundred yards of an editing room even though I was a producer. Part of me wondered if he was trying to protect my feelings.

The other part of me knew it was mostly because he didn’t trust me at all.

Both of those theories, if true, were good instincts on Fox’s part. I didn’t think I could handle seeing Liv’s face every day, even if it was only onscreen.

Hailey let out a hiss at my rejection and jumped back from me. “Are you going to want to fuck me
ever again
?” she screamed.

I turned around to take the temperature of her eyes. If they were dead, it meant this was all a show designed to gain my sympathy and attention. If they were flaming, it meant that she was actually angry.

Living with her was exhausting.

I looked hard at the blue orbs sitting in her skull. They were the former. This was a performance.

“Hailey, calm the fuck down,” I said, exasperated. “I’m not playing this game with you. Not today. It’s going to be a long, long fucking weekend if this is how we’re kicking it off.” I left her in the bedroom.

She could act for the walls for all I fucking cared.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

OLIVIA

“I can’t believe there isn’t a press tour!” My mother exclaimed grandly.

We were sitting in my hotel room, a glass-walled suite overlooking Times Square. It was so late that there were very few people walking around, and the bright lights of the billboards and neon signs were casting shadows against the walls and illuminating our faces in strange, multi-colored patterns.

“Budget constraints,” I replied, chewing on a grape from the fruit bowl. “And the studio feels like all the drama, uh…
surrounding
the film is a viral campaign on its own.”

This was entirely true. The hashtag for
Love and Mafia
had been in the top ten trending topics of various social media sites for a record number of months in a row; all of that buzz generated by little more than a few, thirty-second teaser trailers released online with no fanfare.

The studio used strategic shots of my face and Wilder’s intercut rapidly. It basically looked like an advertisement for our
own
love story in the press. With the exception of a few close-up shots of the pistol that my character wore strapped to her thigh, you’d never know there was any action in it.

The studio was using this as a test campaign for future films. I tried not to think about the
Truman Show
-esque comparisons and outcomes from such a strategy; manufacturing drama in the real lives of co-stars simply to promote a movie by spending almost zero money.

My mother leaned forward and took my hands into hers, a look of dramatic concern over her face. “I never truly realized
how much
the press makes up in these wild stories. I’m so glad I could learn from your experience.”

I pulled away with a grimace. “Gee, thanks, Mom. Glad my own invasion of privacy has been worth it for you.”

My mom had “surprised” me by being in the lobby ready to greet me at midnight; I was beyond exhausted but she had insisted on coming up to my room. I stood up and walked over to the garment bag hanging on the back of the closet door. It had been there when I’d checked into the room only a half an hour ago; Lydia had done her job.

I unzipped the bag and pulled out the red, floor-length silk dress that Lydia had designed for me. Behind it was a vintage white-and-grey fur coat. Old Hollywood glamour had been the aim of our many design sessions. Lydia had nailed it.

“So Garrett doesn’t care that you’re just gallivanting around the city at midnight?” I asked her as I ran my hands over the silk.

“Of course not! You know my insomnia and how bad it is. He almost expects it of me to not come home until three in the morning. He’s usually at his motorcycle shop tinkering until all hours of the night anyway.” My mom leaned back on the sofa and gasped. “Is that your dress?”

I turned around and saw the look of surprise. “Yeah, Lydia designed it and sewed it by hand. She thrifted the coat.” My mother covered her mouth with her hands. I suddenly realized there were tears in her eyes. “What, Mom?” I hung the dress in the closet and walked over, girding myself for the histrionics; usually she cried to get my attention.

But when I got closer I realized she was
actually
crying. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her do that. I sat down next to her and brushed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder like she’d done for me when I was a child. She leaned into me and sobbed.

“Mom. What’s wrong?”

My mom took a few minutes to gather herself. I sat there stroking her hair, staring over her body at the scene below in Times Square.

A man was walking his dog. He passed a woman bundled up in a huge, puffy, worn black coat who was blasting unheard music out of a boom box resting on her shoulder. The man smiled and nodded at her, and she did a dance that looked like pure rhythm and joy. They passed each other and carried on with their separate tasks. I heard my mom inhale shakily and sit upright, dabbing her eyes with the five-star hotel tissue.

“I’m sorry, Livvy,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’m just so, so proud of you. You really can’t know. I’ve kept this to myself; every time you mentioned the movie I felt like you weren’t really interested in talking about it. So I tried not to bring it up because you sounded like you were in pain.”

I blinked at her and gaped. I’d had no idea my mom’s lack of interest in the film had been out of protection for me. I had written it off as more of her trademark flakiness and self-centered tendencies. But I was touched by this news.

“I had no idea, Mom. I thought you just were off doing your own thing. As…as usual.” The words hung in the air between us.

My mom’s face softened and she reached out to stroke my hair this time. I closed my eyes and relaxed as she did it.

“Livvy, I know I’ve been a terrible mother. And I’m not saying that for you to disagree just to make me feel better. I
know
that I have been. And I’m so very sorry for that. I’m trying to be better, and I know it will never make up for the past.”

It was my turn to cry. I couldn’t believe I had any tears left after being with Lydia earlier that day. She had driven me to the airport, insisting that I put a cold face mask over my eyes during the flight to counteract the salty, bloodshot puffiness for the red carpet the next day. I’d followed her instructions, mostly because it meant I could pretend to be asleep and avoid the stares of the wealthy old woman seated next to me in first class.

I sat there with my mother, tears streaming down my face.

And then I confessed to everything.

To having sex with Wilder in college. To him betraying me. To Hailey blackmailing Wilder into being fake-engaged. To me kissing Wilder in the gym, to my being cast, to our weekend in Italy together, to Wilder ghosting on me with no warning. I told the whole story, feeling like poison was pouring out of my body as I did so.

I felt thirty pounds lighter when I finished my tale.

And I’d finally stopped crying.

My mom looked at me and put her hands on my cheek, turning my face to hers. “Livvy. Are you happy?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not,” I replied in a clear voice.

She nodded. “Do you love him?”

I paused. But there was no sense in lying now. “Yes. I do.”

My mom pulled me into an embrace and whispered in my ear. “It gets better. I promise it does.” Then she pulled away, holding me by the shoulders. “You don’t have to walk with him down the aisle at the courthouse if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do
anything
you don’t want to do.” She bit her lip and looked off into the distance for a moment as if she were trying to decide on something. “You don’t even have to come to the wedding. I’ll understand.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No, no. It will be fine. Tomorrow-“ I looked at the clock on my phone. It was almost two in the morning. “I mean
today
; I have to see him anyway. At the premiere. So it’s fine, honestly. It will be a dry run.”

My mother nodded. “Okay. But if at any moment you feel uncomfortable, you let me know, alright? You’re in control of this.”

I smiled at the memory of Fox telling me almost exactly the same thing in Italy. It was nice to have people on my team.

“Thank you, Mom.” I felt my eyes fill up again.

She reached out and squeezed my wrist. “Oh, Livvy. You don’t owe me any thank you.”

My mom helped me into the shower and sat on the tub, talking to me happily about her wedding dress that her own friend had designed out of fabric Garrett and my mom had dyed together. I washed my hair and let the hot water pound my back.

I was grateful for her talking; she had no expectations for me to respond. It was just what I needed. She moved onto describing Garrett’s warehouse loft in an artist community with such passion and joy I started to think that this relationship was actually going to last. I’d never seen my mother like this.

She handed me a towel as I stepped out of the shower; between the crying and the cleansing water, I felt reborn. I sat down at her feet and she combed my wet hair slowly. I tried not to think of Wilder doing something similar. It was too painful.

But there was also joy in that memory.

Even if things had ended horribly, nobody could take away the time and experiences we’d had together.

My mom took a breath at the end of yet another story about Garrett doting on her; apparently he left a single-stem rose on her pillow every single morning. Each fresh bud came from the plants he grew in buckets on his rusted fire escape.

I took her pause as an opportunity to talk. “Mom,” I said.

“Yes, Livvy?” she asked, moving the comb up into my scalp.

“Are you happy?”

My mom pulled my head back so I could see her face upside down. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Do you love him?”

She beamed. “Yes. I do.”

It didn’t take much to convince my mom to spend the night. We shared the king bed and I fell asleep with her tickling my back, the distant sound of sirens and car honks fading into the distance as I fell into the deepest sleep of my life.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

WILDER

As miserable as the flight over had been - Hailey’s assistant Cat Guy having to run around the jet herding the felines, Hailey holding court with several of her supermodel friends - my luck turned once we made it to the Times Square hotel.

“I think I’m just motion sick from the plane,” Hailey whined from the nest Cat Guy had made for her in the king-sized bed.

She had a metal trash can next to her on the floor into which she’d been gagging and heaving. Her friends were perched around her with concerned looks on their faces. To me, Hailey looked like a barely-ailing sixteenth-century queen.

“Go to Amy and Josh’s without me, Wilde,” she insisted.

I put on a display of annoyance at the change of plans. “Seriously? They were looking forward to seeing you!”

Hailey sighed dramatically and leaned over the bed into the can, making gagging sounds. Her friends grimaced and looked the other way. Secretly I was thrilled; I knew Josh and Amy certainly wouldn’t miss her. When Hailey finished, she grabbed a tissue and dabbed dramatically at her mouth. Her lipstick wasn’t even smudged.

“If you insist, babe,” I said, walking over and kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll send your love.”

“Wait, you’re leaving
now
? We aren’t supposed to be there for another hour and a half!”

I shrugged. “I’m walking. I need the exercise after that flight. I’ll be fine.”

I was nearly to the escape hatch when I tripped over Cat Guy, who was flat on his stomach and peering under the sofa. “Ouch!” he yelled.

“Dude, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there!”

Cat Guy sat up. He looked far more annoyed than I’d ever seen him. I had begun to think that he actually didn’t mind being abused by Hailey at every opportunity; the look on his face now, however, told me otherwise.

He sighed. “One of the goddamn cats won’t come out from under this sofa. I think it’s stuck.”

I raised my eyebrows in shock and tried to keep myself from laughing. I looked back into the master bedroom but saw that Hailey was focused on telling some extravagant story. She wasn’t looking over here. I walked over and shut the door.

“I’ll help you get it out,” I said.

Cat Guy looked shocked. “Really? Are you sure? Oh,
thank you
,” he gushed with relief. “Normally it’s just me wrangling these beasts.”

I laughed. “Okay, count of three and we will tilt the couch back. One, two, three!” The couch was an enormous, modern leather sectional. We managed to tilt it at a forty-five-degree angle and the grey cat, whose name I still didn’t know, shot out into one of the extra bedrooms.