Now a Major Motion Picture (12 page)

She wanted to be excited about tonight—and she was excited about parts of it. At the party, she’d sit with fans who’d won tickets to the launch through a blog contest, and she was happy about that. The part she wasn’t happy about was the attention. The reporters’ questions, the cameras trained on her. She knew how important it all was—PR had been her life for the past seven years—but she’d never realized how much more terrifying things were on this side of the microphone. She was forever scared of saying something stupid or being misquoted or taken out of context. And she couldn’t look at pictures of herself in newspapers or magazines without feeling mortified.

And without fearing
he
might see them.

And that, she knew, was what her insecurities came down to. She couldn’t let go, couldn’t enjoy her own success, because she felt like she’d told a giant lie that was becoming harder and harder to cover up. Ever since advance copies for this latest book had been sent out and interview requests had started coming in, she’d dreaded the questions she’d be asked. She was a terrible liar, but she couldn’t tell anybody the full truth. The story was fictional, yes, but there
was
a real-life version behind it, and that real-life version was all she could think about when she talked about it. This third book, especially, was hard to talk about. Its theme was betrayal, and even if she didn’t screw up and blab to the press about her inspiration, her inspiration could buy the books and read them himself. And he’d see himself in them, she knew he would.

He might have even seen the books on that newscast.

He might be reading them right now.

Stop it! There’s nothing you can do.

She was in too deep now to turn back. When she’d written the first book, she hadn’t worried about any of this because she hadn’t thought it would be published. Once it had been, book two had happened in such a whirlwind she hadn’t had time to stop and think about the implications. For that matter, she hadn’t realized there’d
be
implications—she’d never dreamed her books would find a cult following. That they’d become best sellers. That they’d get her name in
Time,
USA Today
and
The New York Times
…and now on CNN.

By the time book three rolled around, she’d known. But what could she do about it then? Yell, “Stop the presses?” Yeah. Right. By then the books had gone viral. She was the “It Girl.”

No, she’d had to put her big girl panties on and deal. She’d finished the damn book and made it the best book she knew how to make. She’d reopened her old wounds and let the torture of losing Noah seep through her and onto the page. And now crowds of people were in lines around the country waiting for the results. Soon they’d be lighting up the Internet with their instantaneous verdicts.

Would they like it? Would they hate it?

Would they hate her?

She was almost dizzy with anxiety.

She stood frozen in place in the marble hall, feeling just like she had that day as a kid, staring at the dogs in terror as her mom tried to reassure her, to keep her safe. No one was here to protect her this time. She had to stand on her own two feet.

Realizing she was holding her breath, Amelia exhaled in a gush.

Nina chose that moment to finish one of her endless streams of calls and dash to Amelia’s side, pulling her from her insecure monologue and mercifully giving her something else to focus on.

“Ready? We’ve got to run.”

She tried to gulp, but her throat was too dry. “I guess it’s now or never.”

“Geez, Mel, seriously. Relax! Deep breaths.” Nina paused. “You’re going to a fabulous party with a roomful of people who adore you. Have fun with it. This is going to be a great night, and the book is fantastic.”

Amelia tried to smile. “You’re right. It’s not like anybody’s going to throw anything at me.”

“Wow, now there’s some unbridled enthusiasm.” Nina rolled her eyes and walked to the door. She swung it wide and held it there.

“Let’s go.”

Amelia sucked in a deep breath and followed her out the door of the suite into the great unknown.

* * *

It was more than seven hours later when she dropped, weary but wired, into the car that waited beneath the rear portico of the hotel where the launch party had taken place. She nestled back into the seat, inhaling its leathery scent, and closed her eyes. A jazz song wafted from the car’s speakers, and she focused on the mellow sound of the saxophone. Even though she knew she’d overreacted earlier, her body still felt limp with relief that the stress of the night was behind her.

The driver wound through a maze of side streets, and her mind traveled to the books that by now were flying off store shelves into the hands of readers. The thought was both humbling and terrifying.

She realized all at once how tired she was—how bone-weary exhausted—and she had to be “on” again in a few hours. Nina had scheduled her for two morning talk show appearances to promote the book.

She could barely think about that. Even after the night she’d just had, she felt strangely disengaged from
Mel Henry, author
, as if the pseudonym she’d picked really did turn her into a different person. She couldn’t reconcile the image of Mel Henry, whose words were spawning discussion among fans and critics, with Amelia Wright, the girl sitting in this cab.

She felt very small.

And very alone.

As the car sped toward her too-extravagant hotel on East Fifty-Fifth, Amelia thought about Reese, who’d wanted to come along on this trip, but was stuck in Memphis buried under a pile of work. She was also busy planning a wedding—the big day was less than three months away.

She thought about Katie and Carrie and her other work friends. She missed the comfortable, comforting vibe that surrounded her old office and her everyday life. She knew, even with her stress and nerves and packed publicity schedule, she wouldn’t trade a second of this experience, but still, it was…overwhelming. Especially with nobody to share it with. These days it seemed like she was always surrounded by loads of people, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so lonely.

It was because of Noah, she thought. His presence loomed larger over her life now than it had in all the years since she’d lost him, and yet he had no idea of the influence he still had on her.

I wish I could tell him. I wish he was here.

A burning sensation pricked behind her eyelids, and she blinked hard and then rolled her eyes.
Damn it. Where is this coming from?
She’d fought back these memories for years, and nothing had changed. She’d found a place to channel her pent-up frustration, but that was all. Noah had still cheated on her. She was still alone.

But my life is great.
Her mind growled the thought so fiercely that she wondered for a second if she’d said it out loud. She glanced up at the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but he was looking straight ahead, ignoring her. She bit her lip and made a mental list of the things she had going for her. Reese, her friends, her house, her family, her books.

The excited faces in the crowd she’d just left.

The movie deal.

How can I not be happy? I have more than anybody should.

But melancholy had draped itself like a comfortable, old blanket across her shoulders, and all she could think about was what she didn’t have. What Noah had taken from her.

She let her mind travel to him. Where was he now? Was he happy? Married?

She pictured children, tow-headed toddlers with eyes that mirrored his, and her heart wrenched in her chest.
Those would have been my children.
She suddenly was mournful for the loss of a family she’d never had and hadn’t known she wanted.

She’d been building a career. She imagined Noah had been building a life.

He’d always wanted a big family. She pictured an open, airy house—all glass and metal and minimalism—designed by him, of course. She wondered if he’d followed through with his plan to become an architect.

She hoped so.

She wished she didn’t care so much.

With a soft jolt, the cab came to a stop at the curb in front of her hotel. She fumbled for her bag and paid and tipped the driver before stepping out into the balmy June night. A light breeze blew a candy bar wrapper along the sidewalk—it bounced over her foot as she waited for a couple to walk past the hotel’s entrance. She studied the woman’s shoes as they passed, gold with a spiky heel so high Amelia wondered how she kept her balance. The click-click of heels on the pavement blended with the sound of other footsteps, of motors gunning and horns honking far and near, and of bass pumping from passing cars. The sounds of the city were a fitting backdrop to the cacophony of her thoughts.

She stood there for a few seconds, breathing it all in, and then crossed the sidewalk to climb the red carpeted steps to the hotel’s revolving door. She ambled past the bellman and across the ornate, marble-inlaid insignia that adorned the floor of the gilded lobby. Still lost inside her own head, she exited the elevator and slid her card into the slot at the door of her suite. She recognized by this point how she’d numbed herself to the pain of losing Noah. What she didn’t understand was how or why she’d extended that numbness to other relationships in her life. It was as if she’d made a subconscious decision that if Noah wasn’t going to be by her side, no one would.

She didn’t feel like she pushed men away on purpose. She just hadn’t met a man since Noah she’d connected with.

She wanted to. Right now, at this moment, she wanted to! Her eyes skimmed the beautiful room, lighting on the two glasses by the crystal ice pail, the two plush terry robes hanging in the closet, the two foil-wrapped chocolates placed neatly on the pillows of the large, luxurious, empty bed.

Amelia fought back tears again. What she wouldn’t give to have Noah…
somebody
, she quickly corrected herself…to share it all with.

She had everything.

But she didn’t have the one thing she wanted most.

Wild Ride

Sunrise came way too early, but Amelia was forced up before the sun even made its appearance. Her 4:30 wake-up call blared half an hour before the car arrived to take her to the studio where she was set to do her first interview.

Her stomach muscles clenched, and she tried to focus on something other than the cameras she was about to face. She hadn’t gone online this morning. She didn’t think her nerves could take it, even though she knew the die-hard fans would already be weighing in on the book on the review sites and blogs.

She resisted the urge to pull her iPhone from her bag. If the book was—or wasn’t—trending on Twitter, she’d rather not know. She’d leave those worries to Nina and the rest of the publicity team. She was having a hard enough time stopping herself from hyperventilating.

As her car glided through the underground entrance of the network studio’s high-rise home, she rubbed her bleary eyes. She was aching for a Venti Caffe Latte, but she was jittery enough without adding a caffeine jolt to the mix.

Breathe, Mel. It’s not like you haven’t done this before.
She’d made the whole talk show circuit when the second book had launched, and she’d handled it fine. Still, as she got out of the car her hands were shaking so hard that when she looked down at them, they felt separate from her, like they weren’t even part of her body. She giggled, breaking the tension somewhat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the driver shoot her an odd look. She brought one still-shaky hand to her lips and suppressed another giggle.

Once inside, she found Nina—considerably less giddy, all business this morning—waiting to guide her through her agenda. Meanwhile, a network page guided them through a maze of hallways. It seemed like no time before the bright lights of the studio were on her, along with more sets of eyes than she dared to think about.

Once the interview started, she managed to hide her quaking fear. She seemed to possess a special talent for it, probably because of the years she’d spent prepping others for the spotlight. Inside, though, she was a wreck, especially when the questions turned to her writing process.

“The characters in your series really resonate with readers. Are any of them based on people you know?”

Lie. Lie. Change the subject.

“Well, no. They’re fictional, of course. Although at this point, they feel like real people to me. Does that count?”

Amelia’s laugh was smooth, but her heart was thumping so hard she thought it might knock her out of her chair.
You’ve got to do better than that, Mel.
It wasn’t as if she’d never been asked that question. It was the question she was asked more than any other. It was the most generic question asked of any author, ever.

But it was the first time she’d had to answer it on national television.

The moment she stepped off the soundstage, she squeezed her eyes shut.
If Noah saw that, he just saw straight through me.

“Oh, God.”

“What?”

She jumped at the sound of Nina’s voice. Had she said that out loud? Luckily, Nina didn’t seem too concerned about it. She grabbed one of Amelia’s cold hands and pressed her warm fingers into it.

“You were awesome, Mel. Just awesome. Great job.”

Amelia smiled and started to say “thanks,” but before the word was out of her mouth, Nina was dragging her away by the hand she still grasped, whisking her out of the studio to go through the whole routine again.

* * *

Later that day, Amelia sank into the down-filled pillows on her suite’s sleek chenille loveseat with relief. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in a slow, circular motion. She’d flown into New York two days ago from the West Coast, where she’d been touring in advance of the book’s release. Two more days here, and then she’d finally get to go home and decompress before heading out on the book tour.