Making Love (Destiny Book 1) (17 page)

‘The Wileanor engagement conspiracy theories’

Wileanor? Really? What a horrible nickname.

Weird relationship names aside, from there it just got worse.

‘Was Braxton Brainwashed?’

‘The Way to Will Braxton’s Heart is Science’

‘Can Will Braxton be De-programmed?’

‘Experiment, or Brainwashing?’

‘Bag Your Will B with 34 Minutes and 36 Questions’

‘Did Will Braxton get engaged to further his Oscar chances?’

‘Will Braxton’s Love Story; Coincidence or Conspiracy?’

I hardly left the house for the next two days, for fear of running into a reporter or a rabid fan. Will was almost constantly on his phone

“Elle? Lee would like a word,” Will said, coming into the office and brandishing his mobile. “Do you mind?”

I nodded and accepted the phone, “Hello, Lee.” I probably sounded as cool as I felt.

“Elle, won’t you at least consider talking to some people on the red carpet?” he asked what he’d been getting Will to ask for the last two days.

“I’m not a celebrity and I don’t want to give interviews!” I snapped. I loved Lee, really I did, until he tried to pressure me into doing something I really didn’t want to.

“People are going to want to know about your unusual meeting and not answering those questions is only going to hinder his Oscar chances.”

“My hogging his limelight on the carpet isn’t exactly going to help that, is it?”

“I’d much rather you had agreed to do a chat show and get your side of the story out there, but this is the next best thing.”

“I’m sorry, Lee, I just can't.” The very idea terrified me. How was I going to hold my head up high while people literally accused me of brainwashing Will? Or suggested that our engagement was anything to do with helping him win the Oscar? Or outright asked if our whole relationship was fake?

“Okay.” Lee sighed, as if I were some kind of errant child. “You are still coming to the BAFTAs tonight though, right? We’ll keep you away from the press, if that’s what you really want.”

“I’m going,” I answered. “And yes, that is what I want.”

I passed the phone back to Will and returned to my work, determined not to get ready for the awards a minute before I had to. I had also eschewed getting my hair and make-up professionally done, as if the more normal I behaved, the more normal I’d feel. Besides, it’s not like I’m the star in this relationship.

I wore a rather frumpy, black dress (well it is February and, pardon my language, bloody freezing) and I wasn’t a celebrity, so I didn’t need to peddle my flesh as some other women did that night.

Despite my refusing his requests, Lee brought a colleague along to act as my handler and ensure that no one from the press could corner me while Lee and Will were distracted.

As we made our way along the carpet, I heard Will field questions about how we met and he handled it with aplomb, but it made me feel hellishly uncomfortable and I cringed each time he answered, wondering what new conclusions people would jump to.

Will won Best Actor that night, for Ludwig, which also won Best Film. This was another good sign for the Oscars, or so everyone kept telling me.

For some reason, this award meant more to me than the SAG award, maybe because it was our own country voting for Will.

His acceptance speech ran long but the British are too polite to cut him off, like they do with the Oscars, but I heard that it was edited down slightly for the broadcast. On his epically long list of thank yous, he thanked me for supporting him, and I felt people turn to look at me.

I wasn’t supporting him, not like I should, but I pushed those thoughts aside, and smiled and cheered for him.

I got a bit too drunk at the after party, and I may have become a little maudlin. Will didn’t understand my reaction, how could he?

As it turned out, my frumpy dress, an attempt to lay low, only led to speculation that I was pregnant. My drinking later that night led to accusations that I was a child-abusing mother and suggestions that I be arrested until the birth and the ‘baby’ taken from me the moment it was born, for its own good.

Those who believed the Nicki story from the end of last year, suggested that I had trapped Will into proposing to me with the baby and separated him from the love of his life, Nikki. Or said that it was no wonder he cheated on me, since he had such a lush for a fiancé.

Whose life was I living? Because the things I was reading bore very little resemblance to my life. Or the truth, come to think of it.

It seemed that no matter what I did, I couldn’t win. I was destined to be demonised.

I was distracted from my surfing the salacious gossip sites by my mobile ringing, and I answered without checking the display.

“Elle, I think I have a confession to make,” were the first words out of Hannah’s mouth.

My heart sank at my sister’s words. The fact she had phoned rather than Skyping was unusual too, which made me think that she didn’t want to see my face.

“Okay.” I tried to keep my voice even and not put her off.

“Dad phoned last night and he asked about you, then I remembered that we’d discussed how you met.”

“What! Why?”

“I can't remember what was said exactly, but it was after you’d met him for coffee and he made it sound like he knew how you met.”

“Oh, Hannah.” Well, that would fit with it being a ‘close’ family member who leaked the truth.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Elle.”

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to throw things and hit stuff and trash the joint.

Instead, all I felt was a massive void in my chest.

My father, one of the two people in the world who should love me unconditionally and protect me had (possibly with malice aforethought) sold me out for $5,000. Lee had discovered that that was how much TMZ had paid their source.

“Elle?”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Han.” I hung up because while I was a little mad at her, I knew this wasn’t her fault, and she would feel awful if she heard me having a breakdown. I didn’t want that on my conscience.

Will wasn’t there, so I curled up in a ball on the couch and cried my eyes out.

I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to Will calling my name.

“Elle? Elle!” he was heading to the office first.

“In here,” I croaked.

He came in, took one look at me and rushed over.

“What’s wrong? Your sister texted to say you needed me. What happened?”

Haltingly, and through fresh tears, I told him about my father. Will tried to reassure me that they were just suspicions but I knew. Deep down, I knew.

Will calmed me down, fed me tea and cake, then sat with me all evening. I realised he must have left a meeting early to get back here so soon, and I felt awful for how distant I’d been with him recently. This really wasn’t his fault. Not even a little bit, like with Hannah.

Evidently Hannah had shared her suspicions about Dad with our mother, as she called me the next day and laid into Dad. When we were children, I thought she was being harsh but now that I’d had a taste of his betrayal, I was inclined to agree with her.

The best thing though, was that she acted like a mother. Okay, maybe most mothers don’t threaten to chop someone’s balls off and make them eat them, but that was just want I needed to hear. I giggled more during her phone call than I had since this news leaked.

Maybe I had lost my Dad forever, but I seemed to be reconnecting a little with my Mum. It was something.

***

We returned to California about a week before the Oscars, since Will had press to do and parties to attend beforehand, as well as studio meetings. The press were camped outside our hotel, still wanting details of our unusual meeting but the hotel had a secure, underground garage, so as long as we went in and out in cars, we were fairly okay.

So far, I hadn’t been anywhere other than parties, which Will had to attend.

The day before the Academy Awards, I was trying to work in our hotel suite when Will approached with his phone pressed to his ear.

“Who’s your agent?” he asked me.

“Uh, Ken, at Folio. Why?”

He held up a finger to signal he’d tell me when he was done.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,” he told whoever he was talking to. “Will do, see you tomorrow.”

He hung up.

“What was that about?”

“That was John Phelps; they’re thinking of asking you to do the official tie-in comics for the next Firebolt and Sentinels movies.”

“What? Why?”

“Well you do illustrate comics, no?”

“Well yes, but how do they know if I’m any good?”

“John checked out some of your work after he met you.”

This was too much to handle.

We had formed a sort of uneasy truce after finding out about my Dad, but I had a feeling that war was about to break out again.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy?” He frowned.

“What’s wrong is that they don’t want me,” I snapped. “They want ‘Will Braxton’s Girlfriend’, oh no, sorry, I’ve been promoted to ‘Will Braxton’s Brainwashing Fiancée’!”

Yeah, I was being spiteful. I didn’t even care that it was one day before the biggest award ceremony of his life.

“I thought we’d been through all this,” he sighed, running a hand through his too-long hair.

We had, so I bit my tongue. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong is that this stinks of nepotism. I’m getting this job not because of what I can do, but because of who I’m with.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” He shook his head. “Would they have heard of you if not for me? Maybe, maybe not but the reality is, they like your work or they wouldn’t be asking for a meeting with you.”

“Even if that’s true, that’s not what most people are going to think. They’re going to think I’m getting special treatment and they already think I brainwashed or blackmailed you into being with me, or this is all one massive conspiracy so you can win an Oscar.”

“Who cares what they think!” he yelled. It was the first time I’d ever heard him shout before. “You know your problem? You’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid!” I stood up, ready for a fight.

“Yes you are. And I get it, you spent your childhood being judged and I understand why you feel this way, but you keep assuring me that you’re okay now, and clearly you aren’t. You’ve been acting oddly ever since the SAG awards.”

Oh shit, he was getting awfully close to some ugly truths.

“I
am
okay now, growing up with judgement gives you a very thick skin but that doesn’t mean that I want to invite people to throw darts at me!”

“Maybe,” he said, “but I think the reality is that in some places, your skin is tissue thin.”

He had shocked me into silence with his insights.

After a beat of silence, he came around the desk, took my hands and pulled me over to the sofa.

“Do you know what fame really is, at its heart?” he asked once we were seated. “It’s having the courage to stick your head above the parapet and say ‘
This is what I can do
’. Hopefully if you’re any good, people will notice and tell other people, that’s what fame is.”

“That’s not what we deal with,” I replied, shaking my head. “We deal with people discussing our relationship, and my bra size, and spreading lies about us.”

“True, but it all stems from that basic premise of people liking what we do. Does it have its downsides? Sure, everything does, but it has benefits too and you need to focus on those. Use this fame for your career, use it to show people how amazing your work is.” He took both my hands in his and looked into my eyes. “I know a lot of people who like your work, I know your sales have increased since more people found you, and I know you can handle this. Don’t let your mother frighten you into hiding your light, darling. You are amazing. Some people won’t see that because some people are unhappy, and they take that out on others. That’s
their
fault, not yours.”

“What if they’re right about me?”

“Darling, they don’t know you, how could they be right? You’re amazing.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, then I know you’d have the courage to stand up and be counted.”

I began to cry. How could he be so nice to me, when I was secretly wishing for him to lose at the Oscars?

“Here,” he pulled me into his arms and soothed me. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” I sobbed.

He was right about everything, and with going on the internet so much, I’d just been feeding into my self-doubts and insecurities, sabotaging myself.

“I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll look into getting some proper help when we get back.”

“All I want is for you to be happy, darling.”

“I know.” God, I really had been a terrible girlfriend recently. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

He lifted my head with a finger under my chin and smiled at me. “Are we friends again?”

I nodded and wiped at my eyes, determined to start proving I was going to be a better girlfriend.

“So, when is this meeting with John?”

“Not sure, they’re going to email you,
if
they like your portfolio.”

“So this job isn’t a sure thing?”

“No,” he smiled, looking amused at my assumptions. “And you never know, you could get lucky and they’ll hate your work.”

I laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

I laughed harder. “I thought that was my line.”

“Well, I’m stealing it”

I gasped. “That’s plagiarism!”

“I spend my life reciting other people’s lines, are you really that surprised?”

“I guess not.” I kissed him. “Hey, do you suppose it’s too late to go to that dress shop?”

“I thought you had a dress?”

“I know, I do. I’m just not sure it’s good enough for you.”

He frowned. “Darling, I’ll love whatever you choose, you know that.”

“So is it okay, can I get another dress?”

“You can get a thousand, if that’s what you want.”

“Thanks, but one should do it.”

“Can I ask what you’re planning?”

“My coming out,” I smiled. Well, I tried to smile, although it may have looked more like a grimace.

Those two little frown lines appeared between his brows. “I hate to break it to you, love, but you’re not gay.”

“No, but I have been hiding in a closet. Tomorrow night I am officially coming out as your fiancée and I will walk the red carpet beside you, and talk to anyone who wants to ask me questions, and tell everyone who will listen how wonderful you are, and how we met, and how I really don’t deserve you. I might be a little late, and I’m sorry, but I swear I’m done hiding.”

He had begun to smile when I started and it had now grown into a huge grin. He cupped my face with his hands.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do. And I know one night won’t actually change anything, but I will get help, like I said. I’ll do whatever it takes to be a part of your life, Will.”

He kissed me, the kind of kiss that leaves me breathless and unable to recall my name for a few seconds. The kind of kiss that gives me very impure thoughts.

“I really hope that shop stays open late,” I said when he finally let me up for air.

“We might not be in New York, but this city doesn’t sleep either, darling. Trust me, they’ll be open.”