The first week had been hard. Just like in Maine, Levee had gone into a black-out period where she didn’t have her cell phone. It was probably for the best though, because the world was aflutter with all things Levee…and Sam.
I was just aflutter for a smoke. An urge I resisted…barely. Quitting smoking was the hardest thing I’d ever done. And I, even one month later, wasn’t sure I’d really done it. But I kept going. I’d made a promise to every single woman in my life, and come nuclear warfare or the zombie apocalypse, I was keeping up my end of the bargain.
World-ending disaster seemed easier though. God, it’s hard.
But back to my new celebrity status…even if it was a miserable, smoke free one.
With the exception of rePURPOSEd’s online orders, nothing exploded after Levee had released the truth about her sudden departure from music. If anything, the public had rallied around her. There was a massive outpouring of support, and while, yes, a ton of critics were predicting that this was all a big publicity stunt, for the most part, everyone was supportive. Even the fans who hated my guts. But especially the ones who thought I created unicorns.
Reporters weren’t camping out on my doorstep the way Levee had feared, but there was no shortage of people grilling me for information about her. I’d had to change my phone number three times, and more than once, I’d been followed by a photographer while walking Sampson at the park. I just smiled and kept going.
I’d gotten the girl. It was going to take more than a few pictures to bring me down.
I landed my first tabloid cover on week two. It was a completely fabricated story about how I was really Levee’s stalker who she’d fallen in love with after I’d held her captive for a weekend. I was relatively sure they didn’t know about our stalker joke, but Levee and I got a big laugh out of that article. It was a delightful little piece of horseshit that I promptly framed and hung over our bed.
As far as we could tell, Devon never went to the press about anything. All of our true secrets remained our own. There were a million speculations about how Levee and I had met, especially once the reporters had started digging into my past, but not a single person ever came up with the magical formula that ended with us standing on the top of that bridge together. I guessed Devon really did love her—or, at the very least, he loved the ability to earn a paycheck. Despite my urging otherwise, Levee gave him a glowing recommendation. She stated that their issues were personal and not professional. While I was against it at first, I was happy to hear he’d landed a job with a large security firm two thousand miles away in Chicago. I didn’t have to worry about him randomly showing up at our door, stressing Levee out.
Unfortunately, there were plenty of others to more than fill that role.
The third weekend Levee was gone, I finally got to meet her parents. Bianca and Kyle Williams decided to pop up for a surprise visit.
Levee all but burst into tears, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
They were…awful.
Don’t get me wrong. They loved Levee, and I was pretty sure Levee loved them too, but they were unbelievably exhausting to be around. Her mother paced, whined, complained, and nagged the entire time she was there. She lectured Doctor Spellman on the importance of accessorizing even while on the job. And the minute I removed my jacket, her lips curled in disgust. Levee lost her mind when Bianca asked how many of my tattoos I’d gotten while in prison. The woman was miserable, and to hear Levee tell it, she just liked to make sure everyone else felt as bad as she did.
Kyle Williams sat in the corner, quietly texting on his phone, only pausing long enough to jab insults at Bianca, which, in turn, set her off even more. No one could even get a word in edgewise because they argued the entirety of the two-hour visit.
At one point, they were arguing so loudly that there was absolutely nothing left to do but laugh. Levee scowled at me from across the room, where she was attempting to keep the peace.