Page 15 of A Summer of Stars

The night before that rumor released, I had thirty missed calls leaving theRBYparty. My sister, my brother, my father. My mother’s voicemail was the only one I could make out. She was frantically screaming that my grandmother had been rushed into emergency surgery to remove a tumor they hadn’t seen. I flew to Spain that night and arrived at the hospital in a wrinkled suit. By the time her surgery was done, that article released, and my management forced me back onto a flight to the United States. I was stuck in New York for a week.

Her cancer had come back.

I sat in meetings while she started chemo.

I remember feeling guilty for sending the flowers and the spiteful note to Aldridge as a response. I had let anger become a distraction for my sadness, and she was hit by it, full force. I wrote her a letter to apologize, and had my team reach out to all the tabloids to refute the rumors.

In return, I received a piece of paper that said “FU” in cursive. I deserved it, I knew that. I wasn’t exactly expecting a response at all. I had put her reputation on the line.

But the more I saw her, the more she became a nuisance. She was a high-maintenance, spoiled princess who was a quintessential example of what Hollywood looked like. Never a hair out of place. Fake smiles everywhere she went. Constantly surrounded by ten people working for her. Everything my ex aspired to be: unruffled and self-regarding.

Any time we were at the same event, she was always caught off guard to see me. It was as if I shot her, the gun still in my hand. She never failed to recover, though, greeting me with a scowl.

Now, she was pumping her fist after hitting a series of balls. If I hadn’t met her, I’d think she looked like someone I wanted to know.

But I had, and she was about as fun as scraping wallpaper off a wall.

Exhaling, I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and picked up the bouquet hanging from my side. A ball flew over the net as I approached her. Her gaze flickered, finding me. I didn’t miss the look of confusion that crossed her face before she remembered.

Fake date number one.

“Hello, darling,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.

She recoiled, ready to throw an open palm at my chest. I grabbedher elbow, pulling her back in. “About three paparazzi followed me here, so maybe not the best move.”

I could feel her eye roll, but she remained in the pocket of my shadow. She smelled of sunscreen and vanilla and salt water. She smelled like summer.

“You bought these?” she asked, acknowledging the bouquet of peonies between our chests.

“No, I pulled them out of my neighbor’s flower box.” Horrified, she shoved them back into my hands. “That was a joke,” I said, pushing them back and walking off. “Nari bought them.”

“I’ll be sure to leave her a nice note!”

“Please do! I’m sure she’d enjoy dating you more than I do!”

I dropped my bag beside hers at the side of the court.

“It’s not my fault you agreed to this,” she said, still laying the flowers down nicely despite the previous gesture.

“Well, we’re stuck in this together now, so no point in complaining about it.” I pulled out my tennis racket and walked to the other side of the court.

“No comment about this?” she asked, waving her racket.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not upset?” she inquired.

“Do I look upset?”

“Can’t you ever just answer a question?”

“About playing tennis? It doesn’t surprise me, if that’s what you mean. You want to spend our time doing something you’re good at, seeing as we’re being photographed and all.”

“This wasn’t my decision.” I didn’t respond. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”