I threw my hands up. “Finally.”
“Finally what?”
“Finally you admit that Tom Low doesn’t walk on Jell-O and smell like gardenias.”
Her lips pulled to the side. “Gardenias are my favorite.”
“Exactly. Sometimes I wonder if you like him more than you like me.”
Marta gave me a rare smile. “Well, he is prettier than you are.”
That made me laugh, even as I narrowed my eyes on her. “And he knows it, too.”
Her grin waned as we traded stares. “I’m worried about you.”
“Why?” I asked softly, happy we were getting to the heart of the matter without yelling at each other.
“I’m worried about this guy.”
“Jethro.”
“Yes. Jethro. What do you know about him?”
Now I was grinning. “Everything. He used to steal cars.”
“Oh my God.” She covered her face with her hands.
I couldn’t help but enjoy her horror, because—when she actually met him—I was sure she was going to love him.
“Don’t worry, he was never convicted.”
She made a little hysterical sound but said nothing.
“And he gave me this ring.” I held my hand out.
Marta peeked from between her fingers. Then her hands dropped to her lap. Then she turned wide eyes and a gaping mouth on me.
“Holy shit.” She grabbed my hand and yanked it toward her. “Is this real?”
I nodded, knowing she meant the ring, but answering the unasked question. “Yes. This is very real. He’s talking to Annie on Monday. You know, the image guru we used when my phone was hacked. He’s agreed to see me in secret until she can help us develop a plan. We’re getting married.”
Marta’s gaze lifted to mine, a mixture of worry and frustration. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re happy for me.”
“I can’t. I can’t lie to you. I love you and don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Neither does he.”
“But you will be hurt, Sienna. Being with him is going to hurt your image, you have to know that.”
“Which is why we’re not going public yet.”
“It doesn’t matter when you go public, your actions have repercussions. You’re behaving like a child.”
“I know my actions have repercussions. I’m not a child, and you have to stop treating me like I’m a child. I’ve decided even worst-case repercussions are worth a lifetime of happiness and freedom.”
“You’re giving up your career.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I doubt that. I’ll always have a career, but it might not be as an A-list actress.”
She shook her head at me. “How can you give that up? You could do so much good.”
“But at what price personally? If I’m miserable and lose the only person I’ve ever loved, I lose the chance to have happiness, meaningful fulfillment, kids, a new family—an awesome, weird, wonderful family—will I look back on my life and think, I’m so glad I worked as hard as I did and filled my life with money, parties, and empty relationships? No. The answer is no. I might be giving it up, but I’m doing it on my own terms.”
She frowned, pressing her lips together, then nodded tightly. “Fine. I’ll fly back with you to Tennessee. I’ll meet him.”
My smile was immediate and, without thinking, I grabbed my sister and pulled her into a tight hug, yelling, “Gah! You’re going to love him.”
She hesitated, but then her arms wrapped around me, and she returned my embrace. “I hope I do. Because, despite what you think, I do want you to be happy.”
“I know.” I nodded, pulling away so I could see her face, and she could see mine. “I know. But, Marta, he doesn’t just make me happy. He takes care of me, such excellent care of me. And I take care of him.”
Arriving solo to a movie premiere was a lot like going to any average theater and seeing a movie by yourself. You get the looks. Everyone wondering what you’re doing by yourself, asking you if you’re lost, asking you where your date or person was.
People treated a single female alone at the movies like a cancer patient.
Of course, people treated a single man alone at the movies like a pedophile, so—between the two—I’d rather garner sympathy than suspicion.
Luckily, and to my surprise, I wasn’t receiving any pitiable looks or concerned smiles as I walked the red carpet and posed for the cameras. The image I’d accidentally cultivated meant no one seemed to be taking my single status as something to be pitied.
“Sienna!”
“Are you making a feminist statement?”