He groaned. “Can we go back to sneaking around? At least then I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”
“I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you.” I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t want to look like a clown the first time I appeared in a tabloid. Sinclair’s assistant had arranged for someone to come to the house to do my hair and makeup, and I’d even given in when someone else had arrived with three different outfits for me to try on. I’d gone with a white, Stella McCartney pantsuit after the look Matt had on his face when I’d tried it on. He’d insisted I keep it, even if I didn’t wear it tonight.
Although I felt a little less me than usual, I didn’t feel as if I was going to embarrass myself in yoga pants and a ponytail, which was my normal outfit of choice.
“Lucky for you, we just arrived,” Matt said as we turned off the road. “Otherwise, I’d have insisted you make good on your promise, right here, right now.”
“Oh, honey, there’s not room enough in the car for what I plan to do to you.”
He pulled me closer and dropped his mouth to my ear. “Promises, promises, Miss Kelly,” he growled.
Matt’s driver opened our door and Matt got out before me, then turned to help me out of the car.
“Matt!” various people called as soon as they saw who it was. A whoosh of lights greeted me as I stepped out of the car. I’d expected the gentle introduction of just a single photographer, but three paparazzi rushed toward us. As instructed, I took Matt’s hand and looked straight ahead while keeping a slight smile on my face. Apparently, it was an expression meant to indicate contentment without acknowledging or enjoying the attention.
The driver had pulled up as close as he could to the entrance, so there wasn’t much opportunity for the photographers to get pictures. Hopefully, they’d get enough and leave us alone the rest of the night.
“Who’s your new girl, Matt?” one of them yelled. Another asked about Audrey. Sinclair had warned me that they’d try to provoke a reaction so they could get a more salacious shot, but my Sinclair-approved smile stayed safely in place.
Matt gripped my hand as we slowly but steadily made our way uphill to the entrance of Chateau Marmont. Neither of us said a word to each other. It was as if we were holding our breath until we got inside. If this was what it was like every time Matt went out, it was no wonder he liked Worthington so much. It was so peaceful. So quiet.
We slipped through the entrance and Matt’s hand immediately went around my waist. “You did great,” he said, pulling me close.
Being here, in public with him, after having my picture taken felt like I’d reached Everest base camp. It was a huge relief and a big accomplishment, but the mountain itself still towered in front of me. But for now, I was with Matt and we were both happy and that was all that mattered.
Twenty-Four
Lana
Two weeks later, as I reached the sliding doors after baggage claim at LAX, I paused and pulled out my sunglasses, bracing myself for the glare of the LA sun. Hopefully Matt would be waiting for me in the car.
The photographs of us together at dinner had been published online and in the tabloids. There’d been a mixture of coverage, but no one had identified me. It hadn’t been half as bad as I thought it would be.
I picked up my weekend bag and continued to the exit.
As the sliding doors parted, I scanned the waiting faces, looking for Matt’s driver.
“Lana Kelly,” someone shouted and I snapped my head around expecting David, although it wasn’t like him to shout.
I was met with a bright flash and I froze. What was going on? The voice got nearer. “Lana, is it true you starred in a porno?”
My heart began to thunder. Someone was accusing me of being a porn star? I couldn’t tell whether it was a professional photographer or some random member of the public.
A flash of light burst in front of me again and I tried to remember what Sinclair had said—keep walking, hold a semi smile on my face. But I didn’t feel like smiling. I wanted to know what was going on and I didn’t know where I should be going. I turned right out of instinct and tried to keep moving forward.
Where was David?
I wanted to get out of this place. My hands were sweating and my head was spinning. Was this what I had to put up with? Accusations of being a porn star?
“Did you break up Audrey and Matt?” It was the same voice as before but in front of me now. It must be a photog, surely a member of the public wouldn’t just accost me like this. My gaze hit the floor but I kept on walking.
Although Sinclair had warned me that paparazzi would try to provoke a reaction, I just wasn’t prepared for this ambush. Luckily I had my sunglasses on, or he would have seen the shock all over my face.
I had to get out of there. I couldn’t go back inside—security wouldn’t let me.
Before I could form a plan, someone was at my side, taking my arm. “Miss Kelly, this way.”
David. Thank God.
He grabbed my case with his free hand and we picked up the pace.
“You look like you’ve put on some weight since that naked picture was taken,” the stranger in front of us said.
As soon as he’d said naked picture, I knew exactly what he meant. Someone must have seen the photo Bobby had taken with me.
My knees weakened and if David hadn’t been by my side, I was sure I would have collapsed. Tears began to sting my eyes and panic rose in my throat.
How had he gotten hold of that photograph? It was five years ago, and even Bobby hadn’t been so cruel as to put it on social media.
David led me out to the waiting car. I fumbled with the door handle, desperate to get into the car, praying Matt would be there to put his arms around me.
David opened the back door and I scrambled inside only to find myself alone. I locked the doors and slid away from the windows. At least I’d escaped the photographer, but where was Matt?
I took out my phone and began to dial just as David got into his seat.
“You okay, Miss Kelly?” he asked.
I tried to smile and nod but I just wanted to talk to Matt. I called, but it went straight to voicemail. I pulled the screen from my ear to check if I had service. Four bars. I dialed again. Voicemail.
“David, do you know where Matt is?”
“At home, I believe.”
I wanted to ask him why the hell he hadn’t picked me up. Had he known the photographer would be lying in wait at the airport? I tried his number for a third time. Voicemail again.
I changed tactics and Googled myself.
I swiped down through the headlines.
Was Matt Cheating on Audrey?
Matt Easton’s New Girlfriend’s Porno Past!
Matt Easton’s Naked Love!
My stomach churned. I clicked on the first porn-related headline. As the page loaded, the familiar photograph of me, lying on the bed, facing my then boyfriend, came into view.