Lovestruck Forever (14 page)

Thomas
paid our bill, and we said goodbye to Maggie before heading out. The
sun from yesterday had managed to hold on, though there were some
suspicious-looking clouds off on the horizon. Of course, the clouds
weren’t foremost on my mind—it was hard to concentrate on
much of anything with so many cameras in our faces.

“Come
on,” a burly bodyguard commanded, blocking out a path for us.
Thomas held my hand firmly in his, pulling me toward the waiting car.
All around us, the paparazzi shouted, their questions jumbling
together in my mind. “Are the wedding rumors true?” a
particularly loud man shouted in my ear. The bodyguard pushed him
back, and I flinched as a camera went off right in my face. Then we
were in the car, the door shutting behind us, and I could take a deep
breath.

“Wow,”
I muttered, closing my eyes. “That’s the worst it’s
been.”

“London
is absolutely terrible for paparazzi,” he mumbled. “Maybe
we should rethink the whole moving back idea.”

“Don’t
be silly,” I told him, rubbing his arm. “The paparazzi
could be bad in L.A. sometimes, and we managed to get through that.”

He
laughed, the sound more grim than I was used to from him. “Yeah,
because we never went out in L.A. We holed up in the beach house most
of the time.”

“It
will be fine,” I assured him.

“I
hate them screaming at you,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“I’m so afraid one of them will—”

“What?”
I asked, sliding closer in the seat. “What’s the worst
that could happen? They shout at me?”

“What
if someone pushes you?” he asked, his voice ragged. “What
if you get knocked down? Do you know how easy it would be to be
kicked if you ended up on the ground in a crowd like that? Or
trampled—” he broke off, breathing heavily.

“Hey.”
I rubbed his arm harder. “You can’t worry about things
like that.”

“It’s
all
I worry about.” He finally turned to me. “Do you have any
idea how I would feel if you were hurt because of me? Because of my
stupid career?”

“It’s
not going to happen.” I gestured to the two burly bodyguards in
the front seat. “This is why Heidi arranged security for while
we’re in London.”

He
shook his head. “I just wish they’d leave us alone.”

“I
do, too. But, hey, look on the bright side—at least this gives
us an excuse to have someone else drive us around town.”

He
didn’t respond, just continued to stare out the window at the
passing cars.

“Thomas—”

“I
keep thinking that one day you’ll have had enough,” he
said, his voice almost too quiet for me to hear.

“Enough
of what?”

“Of
all of this. Of everything that goes along with being with me.”

I
stared at him, shocked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Come
on, Lizzie. I know you hate the whole fame thing. You always have. It
almost broke us up before, remember?”

“Of
course I remember. But that was ages ago—do you really think
I’d let that come between us now?”

“And
then there’s that stupid editor, making you feel like you
didn’t deserve to sell your book because of our relationship.”

“Thomas,
that’s—”

“I’d
give it all up, you know,” he said, still not looking at me.
“If you couldn’t deal with it. I would quit before I lost
you.”

“Stop
it,” I demanded, my voice very loud in the closed in space.
“I’m not leaving over this. Don’t be ridiculous. I
love you. We’re getting married.” When he still didn’t
turn toward me, I grabbed his chin and pulled his face around so we
were face to face. “Where’s all this coming from?”

He
looked into my eyes, his expression weary. “Heidi got a call
yesterday. Apparently a few reporters have heard some rumors about
the wedding.”

Ah.
So that’s what had him so upset. When we first got engaged,
Heidi had urged us to make an announcement, even trying to convince
Thomas that we could sell the story to a magazine and give an
interview. He had adamantly refused, insisting the wedding was for us
and us alone, and he’d be damned if he got publicity out of it.

“Well,
we knew it’d get out eventually, Thomas.”

He
nodded. “I know. I just…they’re going to be
following you around now, Lizzie. Trying to get info on the wedding.
You had such a good time yesterday—”

“That’s
probably how they found out,” I said, the realization hitting
me. “Because Imogen and I were walking around dropping your
name in order to get last-minute appointments. Sorry, Thomas.”

“Don’t
apologize. I’m not angry about yesterday, I’m worried you
won’t get to do that again. Next time you try to plan a fun
shopping trip, you’ll have that lot breathing down your neck.”

“Did
Heidi confirm the engagement?”

He
shook his head. “I told her to refuse to comment.”

“Then
I don’t see what the big deal is. I’ll go home next week,
as planned, and everyone will forget about it.” When he didn’t
look appeased, I nudged his stomach. “Come on, Thomas. I hardly
think London paparazzi are going to follow me home to Detroit.”

Finally,
he smiled a little. “You’re right. I know I’m
worrying more than I should. It’s just…” He sighed
loudly. “These last few months have been so nice, you know?
Living like a normal couple. Coming home to you every night. Not
dealing with any of that garbage.”

I
shrugged. “And it will be like that again. Sure, we might have
to deal with photographers and fans when we’re in a big city.
But we’ve made it work before, and we’ll make it work
again. And we’ll always have Detroit to go back to when we want
to get away from all the noise.”

“I
don’t deserve you, you know?”

I
nodded solemnly. “I do know.”

He
leaned across the inches between us to cup my face in his hands and
kiss me.

“You
feel better now?” I asked.

He
gave me a wicked little grin. “After kissing you? Yes, loads.”

“Glad
to hear that. Because we’re almost there.”

He
looked out the window, clearly surprised. “We are?”

“Yes.
Apparently being angsty makes time go by much faster.”

“Damn
it, Lizzie.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I spent all
that time whining, and we didn’t even talk about your meeting.
I’m sorry.”

“It’s
fine,” I assured him. “It was better for me to get my
mind off of it than obsess over it the entire time.”

“Are
you very nervous?”

I
shook my head. “Not really, believe it or not. She seemed
really friendly on the phone. What’s the worst that could
happen?” As I spoke, I tried very hard not to think about the
last time I had met with a publishing professional. But then I
realized that the worst had actually already happened. If this agent
wanted to change my book to be a Cinderella-meets-movie-star story,
too, at least I would be prepared.

“That’s
a good attitude,” he told me. “The most important thing
in an agent relationship is honesty. You need someone in your corner
who will tell it like it is, not the way you want it. If you get the
sense she’s kissing your ass or making promises that would be
hard to keep, I’d think long and hard about whether you want to
put your work in her hands.”

I
nodded, grateful for his experience in these kinds of things. “Got
it.”

The
car pulled up in front of the gleaming glass building that housed the
production office. “You’ll call me when it’s over?”
he asked.

“You’ll
be in your meeting,” I reminded him.

“Doesn’t
matter. I’ll leave my phone on.” He grinned. “Mr.
Fancy pants movie producer can deal with it.”

I
laughed. “Okay.”

He
kissed me again, longer this time. “Keep the security with you
today, okay? Promise me.”

I
nodded. “Promise.”

“Good
luck, love.”

And
then he was climbing out of the car, leaving me alone to try not to
worry about a meeting that had the potential to make my entire
career.

***

I
met Ciara Banks at a small café near Thomas’s flat. I
was pleased she had suggested I pick the place. Thomas and I, along
with his friends, spent most of our London Sunday mornings eating
brunch and reading the papers at this very spot. I reflected on how
much it helped that I felt comfortable here as I waited for the agent
to arrive.

“Miss
Medina?” a voice asked from behind me, and I turned to see a
short, roundish woman dressed in a muted beige suit. “I’m
Ciara.”

“Hello.”
I held out my hand, pleased to see my fingers didn’t tremble.
“Please call me Lizzie.”

“Lizzie
it is,” she said, her voice cheerful and heavy with a New York
accent. She slipped into the chair across from me, pushing her
honey-highlighted bob out of her face. “How was your flight
over?”

“It
was fine. A little tough to take the rain when we landed.”

She
grinned openly. “I hear that. We were having a lovely spring in
New York. And by the time I get home, it will probably have
transformed overnight into a terribly oppressive muggy heat.”

I
laughed, feeling comfortable with her immediately. There was no
pretense in her words or expression, nothing that indicated judgment
or superiority. While she looked pretty and put together, she wasn’t
so fancily dressed or over-the-top gorgeous that she intimidated me.
I had been envisioning a scarily thin, tall, fashion model-esque
monster decked out in couture. Ciara looked like the kind of girl I
would enjoy getting a drink with. Or, better yet, enjoy a nice cup of
tea while we chatted about books.

And
that’s pretty much exactly what we did. We each ordered
sandwiches and iced teas before moving onto a discussion about
favorite books and authors. She was obviously very well read.
If
nothing else
, I
thought to myself at one point,
I’ll
at least leave this meeting with a whole list of new authors to check
out.

“That’s
kind of where I see your book fitting,” she said, after
finishing a lengthy analysis of Harriet Evans and Jojo Moyes, two
authors I was rather fond of.

“Really?”
I asked, pleased and slightly embarrassed—I considered that
kind of comparison the highest of praise.

“Absolutely,”
she said seriously. She paused, grinning. “I really liked it,
by the way. I think I forgot to say that. I get so excited talking
about books, I forget I’m supposed to be wooing you.”

I
laughed, remembering what Thomas had said about agents and ass
kissing. I didn’t think I had to worry about that with Ciara.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I’m very glad you
liked it.”

“As
happy as I would be chatting about books for the rest of the
afternoon, I suppose we should address some particulars. Now, I heard
through the grapevine that you were offered publication with Bill
Johnson and you turned him down. I have to say, I was surprised to
hear you didn’t have representation, getting an offer like
that.”

I
felt the heat come to my face, but I clenched my fists in my lap,
determined not to let her know how touchy of a subject she had
brought up. If this woman was going to represent me, she needed to
know about my experience.

“I
sent my manuscript to Ellen Jacobs, Mr. Johnson’s junior
editor,” I explained. “I had a friend that put me in
touch with her. Initially, she was just going to do a critique for me
to help me out in my querying.” I swallowed hard. “She
gave the manuscript to Bill, and they approached me about working
together.”

Ciara
was watching me shrewdly from across the table. “But it didn’t
work out?”

I
sighed, feeling myself deflate slightly. “They were only
interested because I’m dating a celebrity. They wanted to
change the entire book to make it mirror my real life—you know,
the whole normal girl is swept off her feet by the dashing movie star
thing.” The old mortification of that meeting was washing over
me. I had been so excited, telling everyone who would listen that I
had a publishing house interested in my book. To realize that it all
had nothing to do with me had been such a blow.

“I’m
sorry,” Ciara said frankly. “I can imagine that would be
pretty disappointing.”

I
shrugged, not in the mood to elaborate exactly how disappointing it
was. “I wasn’t willing to change the book to capitalize
on my relationship. I’m not interested in using Thomas to get
ahead.”

She
was quiet for a moment, occasionally nodding thoughtfully. “Look,
can I be blunt?” she finally asked.

“Please.”
I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted to hear what she had to say if
she needed to preface it that way, but I already trusted her enough
to know that she wasn’t going to say anything I couldn’t
handle.

“Your
relationship with Thomas can certainly open doors for you that
otherwise might be closed. For instance, as terrible as that
experience with Bill Johnson must have been, I never would have heard
about your book otherwise. But I did hear about it, and I’m
glad I did, because I really think we can make something out of it.”

“Do
you?”

She
nodded, her eyes serious. “Look, I would never ask you to cash
in on a personal relationship. I wouldn’t shop your book to
anyone that wanted to take advantage of you like that. But we do live
in the real world. And the simple fact of the matter is that your
relationship means you have a name. Your picture has been in the
paper; you’ve been to parties with the most powerful people in
entertainment.” Her eyes flicked down to my bare ring finger.
“In fact, I was just reading about you this morning.”

I
blushed but neither confirmed nor denied her implied assumption on
our engagement.

“Just
the fact that you have some name recognition is going to make you a
more viable commodity than if you were just an average girl from
Michigan no one had ever heard of. I can’t change that for
you—I can’t make your name recognition disappear. And I
wouldn’t want to if I could.” She leaned across the
table. “This is a tough business, Lizzie. Very tough. If you
decide to accept my representation, there’s no guarantee I’ll
be able to sell your book. Though,” she winked, “of
course I’m going to try my best.”