“So you made up your mind about this when you spoke to Ruby last night? I wish you would have called.”
I trailed my fingers over his lips. “Yeah. I wanted to tell you in person. And I realized the world doesn’t care about me. It’s you they’re interested in.” I smoothed over his eyebrows.
“And the only person I’m interested in is you,” he said.
I wasn’t sure how I got so lucky.
Twenty-Three
Lana
I dabbed the excess lip gloss from my mouth, then tried to get another look at my ass in Matt’s miniscule bedroom mirror. For someone so good-looking, I would have expected him to have more mirrors in his house.
“Your ass looks fantastic,” Matt said, coming up behind me. “In fact, I’m happy to stay in tonight and focus exclusively on that, if you’d prefer.”
I laughed. “You’re losing your charm, Mr. Easton.” I swatted away the hands grabbing at my bottom. I wouldn’t have been so nervous about going public had Matt and I walked through the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental hotel in New York together, then strode hand in hand through Central Park as soon as I’d told him I was ready. I’d been so certain then. But life wasn’t that simple. Apparently, we had to wait until Audrey had been spotted out with her fiancé, and she confirmed she’d moved on. So we waited a couple of weeks between our meeting and the first shots of us together.
The problem was, the more time I had to think about it, the more I worried.
“Are you ready?” he asked as he tucked his wallet into his jeans.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I hooked the strap of my handbag over my head and let it rest against my hip. We were heading out to dinner at Chateau Marmont because Matt loved it and Sinclair had agreed it was a good place to be seen together for the first time. Apparently, he’d tipped off a friendly photographer.
“Oh, shit, hang on, I have something to give you,” Matt said, then disappeared out of the bedroom door, coming back just a few seconds later and offering me what looked like a bank card.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a credit card.”
“Thanks. I went to school. Why are you giving it to me? Your wallet is in your pocket. Why don’t you put it in there?”
“Because this one is yours. It’s linked to my account, but I want you to have it in case you need anything.”
I took the card. Sure enough, it had my name on it. “Buy what? Groceries?”
“I don’t know. Clothes. Shoes. Makeup. Whatever. I know you have your own money, but I don’t want you to worry about having what you need to avoid tabloid criticism.”
“I can afford to buy things. I don’t expect you to pay for everything just because I’m your girlfriend.”
“I know, and when my assistant asked whether she should arrange a monthly bank transfer as well, I said no.”
I spluttered. He couldn’t be serious. “She asked if you wanted to set up a regular payment? She gets that I’m not a hooker, right?”
He chuckled. “Calm down, crazy head. It’s just how things are done in LA. You know how weird it is here.”
“It’s normal to give your girlfriend a credit card and a monthly salary?”
“No idea about the salary. But I do know how hard this is for you. I want to do what I can to make it easier. It’s really the least I can do—being my girlfriend shouldn’t mean you’re having to spend more money than you normally do. If dressing in Stella McCartney every day will help, then that’s what I want you to do.”
“Well, guess what, Mr. Movie Star, you don’t have to pay me to be your girlfriend.” I handed him his credit card. “You can go down on me regularly—that’s payment enough.”
He laughed. “What, so I’m paying you in sex?”
I waved my hand in the air. “Whatever you want to call it.”
“Look, keep the card. You never know—there might be an emergency. You don’t have to use it.” He handed it back to me. “It would make me feel better if I thought I was doing something to help.”
I couldn’t very well say no to that. I took the card and turned it over and over in my hand. He was being sweet and protective. “Okay. But I’m not going to use it.”
“You’re my favorite person in the world right now,” he said, then leaned over and kissed me on the head. “You’re not anything like these LA girls.”
“I’ll let you know in a couple of hours how I feel about you.” I grinned up at him.
“Ready?” He held out his hand and, instinctively, I took it. “You nervous?” he asked as he led me out to the car.
“A little,” I replied.
In just a few minutes we were passing the Beverly Hills Hotel. It seemed ages ago that we’d last taken this route. So much had changed between us on that trip, and all for the better. We were a couple now. I trusted him and I knew he wanted to make me happy. I hoped I was going to weather the storm that the tabloids would inevitably create. But like Mrs. Wells had said, a storm brought good things as well. Matt was worth it.
“Sinclair took you through everything, right?”
I chuckled. “He did. He was very thorough.” I’d spent the last three days with Sinclair and his assistant, who’d trained me in how to deal with paparazzi and warned me of the worst-case scenario when it came to social media trolling and tabloid lies. I was pretty sure Sinclair had half hoped I’d run screaming back to Maine. On more than one occasion, I’d been tempted. His best advice? Smile.
“I have my game face on. Look.” I pulled my practiced grin to my mouth. Not so wide as to show teeth but wide enough to not look miserable.
He chuckled. “Thank God it’s impossible for you to look anything but beautiful.”
“Sinclair told me I had resting bitch face.”
“That man is full of shit.”
I released a wide, genuine smile. Matt always brought out the best in me. “You don’t believe that, and anyway, I think he’s right. I just have to grin and bear it.”
“I’m not sure my beating heart will be able to withstand the constant smiling.” He clutched at his chest and I play slapped him.
“He also told me I should toss out half my wardrobe. That it was the best the mall had to offer—and I’m pretty sure he meant that as an insult—but it wasn’t good enough for the girlfriend of the Matt Easton.”
Matt shook his head. “Seriously, ignore him. He’s a snob.”
“Banana Republic is my drug of choice,” I said. “I’m not ashamed.”
“Have you considered that perhaps what Sinclair was trying to say was that you just wear fewer clothes? Maybe you should spend most of your time naked.” He nuzzled into my neck and set off sparks across my body.
“You’re ridiculous,” I replied, pushing him away.
He pulled me toward him and went to kiss me, but I put up my hand to stop him. “You can’t ruin my lip gloss just as we’re about to get photographed for the first time.”