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“Tucker told Cole and me that the two of you talked about it at the party. Tucker. Tucker Winston is playing Thomas.”
The room begins to spin around me, and I close my eyes.
Of course. Because why would the universe cut me any slack? The weight of Garrett’s hand lands on my thigh through the sheet. Opening my eyes, I can see the concern etched into the lines of his forehead.
What’s wrong? he mouths, and I shake my head and hold up a finger.
“He hadn’t told me.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
Is it?
“No,” I say quickly. “No problem.”
Fake it till you make it, Mia.
“Great. I’ll send an email to you shortly. Once you get the signed contract back to me, we’ll start on all the logistics before Ireland.”
Logistics like wardrobe fitting, scene read throughs, blocking. I’ve done it all before. And this is exactly what I wanted. So why aren’t I as happy as I was when I heard that I got the part?
Maybe it has something to do with the man currently looking at you.
No. Garrett and I are temporary spouses and…lovers now, I guess. Temporary.
Now that I have the part, we can get back to being friends. Why does that word leave a sour taste in my mouth when I think of setting up my friend with Evie?
“I’ll be watching for the email,” I tell her. “Thanks for calling, Fiona.”
“Let me know if you have questions. Bye, Mia.”
“Bye.”
After I hang up the phone, I slowly lower it to the nightstand and lean back against the pillow.
“Ames, what is it?”
Faint stubble covers his jawline, and his eyes are more green than blue right now.
“I—I got the part.” My voice sounds flat, emotionless.
“What?” A smile stretches across his lips, his eyes sparking with joy. “Ames, that’s awesome. Congratulations.”
He leans down, brushing a celebratory kiss against my lips, and my fingers tangle in his hair. I’m not ready to let him go.
Who says you have to?
Slowly he pulls back, his all-too-knowing gaze searching mine.
“What’s wrong? You’re not happy?”
“I’m happy,” I say, trying to smile.
“You’re not,” he argues. “Why? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
I shrug as the burn of tears builds behind my eyes. Only these aren’t happy.
“I—” I’m not ready to admit—out loud anyway—what has me second guessing what I want. “Can we not talk about it, please?”
