Page 4 of Devotion
I stared at him. My brother, the golden boy, the chosen son, and I felt every locked door, every dark room, every time I’d reached for something only to watch him take it away. But Seraphina was supposed to be different. She was supposed to be mine. The first person I’d let past the wall, and she’d ended up in his bed because that’s what happened with Dominic.
Everything gravitated toward him. People, opportunities, love. He had a pull I’d never understood, a gravity I couldn’t compete with, and the worst part wasn’t that he used it. The worst part was that he didn’t even have to try.
“It doesn’t matter who started it. What matters is you didn’t stop. And that tells me everything. Get well soon, Dominic. I won’t be taking over your responsibilities.”
I turned for the door. Behind me, Dominic called my name. I didn’t stop. I walked out of that room and down the corridor.
The parking garage was cool and dim after the corridor’s brightness. I got in the car. Trisha was in the passenger seat, shoes off now, cross-legged, eating almonds from a small bag.
She studied my face for two seconds. “So. An eleven?”
“Twelve-minute-long conversation.”
“New record.” She offered me the almonds. I declined. She shrugged and ate another one. “You want to talk about it?”
“I want a drink.”
“Not happening. Tabloids have three different stories running about the Vale succession, two of which include unflattering photos of you from last year’s premiere where you look like you’re contemplating arson. Adding ‘drunk at a Miami bar’ to the rotation isn’t going to help.”
I shrugged. “I don’t care about the tabloids.”
“I know you don’t. That’s literally why I exist.” She brushed almond dust off her blazer. “Speaking of things you don’t care about but should, your phone’s been buzzing for the last twenty minutes. Your co-star Adrianna wants to know if you’re coming to the wrap party.”
I pulled out my phone. Four missed calls and three texts from Adrianna. The first asking about the party. The second suggesting we “grab dinner, just us.” The third a photo of her in what appeared to be a cocktail dress with a neckline that had abandoned all pretense of modesty.
I typed one word. No. Sent it to all three.
“You know she’s not going to stop,” Trisha said, not looking up from her tablet.
“She will when the press tour ends and she realizes I’m not a project.”
“Or she’ll show up at your house in a trench coat. Fifty-fifty odds. I’ve seen her Instagram. The woman does not process rejection in a healthy way.”
Despite everything, I shook my head, breath catching on something I refused to call a laugh. Trisha had that effect on me, the ability to crack the surface when the pressure underneath was building toward something dangerous. She was the release valve I didn’t deserve and couldn’t function without.
“I want to ask you something,” she said. Her voice changed, the comedy dropping out of it. “And I want a real answer.”
I waited.
“The production company for Ethereal Vanguard called again. They need your commitment by next Friday. It’s the role you’ve wanted for eight months, Christopher.” She paused. “Are you really going to walk away from it?”
Ethereal Vanguard. The period drama set in post-war Vienna. A character study of a man rebuilding himself after losing everything. I’d read the script four times. Annotated it. Built the character in my head the way I did when a role mattered, when it wasn’t just a paycheck but a chance to become someone worth being for a few months.
The director was brilliant. The cast was extraordinary, and it was supposed to be filmed in Prague, which was about as far from Miami, the Vale name, and that hospital room as geography allowed.
I didn’t answer her. I kept my eyes on the window.
Next Friday. There wasn’t much time left to decide.
Prague or Miami. Freedom or family. The role of a lifetime or the role I never auditioned for.
CHAPTER 2
Miley
“Getting rid of a man is officially harder than marrying one.”
My sister’s voice came through the phone, dry and exhausted. I had her on speaker while I kneaded dough at my new restaurant, Sazón’s prep station. My hands were buried in flour up to my wrists. Boyz II Men played low on the dining room speakers because Rosa once said nineties R&B makes the food taste better, and I wasn’t about to argue with a woman who’d been cooking longer than I’d been breathing.
