The Prada Paradox (2 page)

All in all, our romance blossomed within a circus of tabloids, Internet rumors, and obnoxious paparazzi. And then when we broke up a little over two weeks ago…well, that’s when the press really went crazy. There was speculation, gossip, innuendo, and the inevitable interviews with former costars and directors. The works.

All in all, a major headache. Especially for someone like me who has a hate-hate relationship with the tabloids.

I didn’t always feel that way. Once upon a time, I was the tabloids’ favorite It girl—the young hip celebrity who bebopped to all the clubs, had a good time with my friends, and was more than happy to let snippets of my life show up in theEnquirer or onE!

That all changed five years ago when a deranged fan attacked me in my house. He stripped me, touched me, hurt me, and completely humiliated me. He whispered things and called me his “darling Devi.” Then he left without a trace, the police completely unable to find him.

Survive something like that, and it alters the way you look at the world.

Immediately after the attack, everyone expected me to be a basket case. Even me. But then time passed, and my friends and colleagues started suggesting that maybe I was obsessing a bit. That the move and the alarms and the moratorium on publicity were overkill. That I should simply “move on” and be the same happy-go-lucky party girl again.

Like hell.

Still, maybe they were right. I don’t know. But I couldn’t do it. All I knew was that I was scared. And I was a complete emotional wreck. I started popping antianxiety meds. I slept with the light on. And I absolutely, positively went ballistic if anything was published about me that didn’t originate from my own PR team.

And since it’s near impossible to keep the paparazzi from snapping pics if you’re out in public, I pretty much stopped going out. I turned into a recluse, hiding out in my newly purchased Beverly Hills home (complete with state-of-the-art security measures and a realtor who swore on her mother’s grave that my address would never be revealed).

Of course I still went out into the world, but I was careful. I shopped in the Valley instead of on the Westside. I wore baggy clothes, sunglasses, and baseball caps. I did everything I could not to stand out.

The good news: it worked.

The bad news: it worked.

Not only did the paparazzi forget about me, but so did the industry. I didn’t work for three years while I sorted it all out. For a while, I even considered quitting the business. But I don’t know any other life. When you start out at age four as the fresh new face in a Spielberg movie, star in a few blockbusters after that, then bounce to a television show that lasts six years, you realize that fantasy is the only life you know.

The thing is, I may have been in some major blockbusters as a kid, but once I emerged from my three-year cocoon, I was no longer the hot young thing. I’d moved from being an “actress” to being a “celebrity.” And not even an A-list celebrity.

Honestly, the whole situation sucked, especially for a girl like me who just wanted to act again. I’d like to say that this business is all about your acting chops, but the truth is, it isn’t. Yes, I landed some parts in low-budget indie films after my seclusion, but they hardly broke box office records, if you know what I mean. Once you disappear in Hollywood, it can be hard to come back with a bang. That one, I learned the hard way.

But like I said, this is the only world I know…and the truth is, I like it. And, yes, I’m competitive.

I want the blockbusters. I want my old career back.

And that’s why I jumped when Tobias came knocking. This movie,The Givenchy Code, is set up to be the studio’s tentpole blockbuster. It’s a flick that can put me back on the map. And I leaped at the chance to star in it.

I didn’t hesitate even when Tobias made it absolutely clear that I had to shed my disdain for the whole publicity machine. He didn’t go so far as to say that I had to put on a happy face and smile, smile, smile for the paparazzi, but he really didn’t need to. I knew what he wanted from me.Buzz. And boy did he get it, in spades.

And the truth? I didn’t really mind. When he signed me on, it had been over four years since the attack, and I knew that I needed to lighten up. So when Tobias announced that he wanted Blake to play Stryker, I loosened up even more. After all, I’d been dating Blake for months by that time. And how cool that I was set to costar against my boyfriend?

Besides,Givenchy is Blake’s first movie. He’s been behind the scenes for years, choreographing fight scenes and doing the technical consultant gig for martial arts sequences. But he’s never been on camera until now. And what good is your big Hollywood break without tons of publicity? (Not that my opinion mattered too much in the long run. Elliot Kelly, Blake’s manager, was absolutely adamant that his boy make the cover of every gossip rag in the country. Elliot, in my opinion, is a total ass. But he knows how to handle a career.)

So there we were, basking in the warm and loving glow of the camera flashbulbs and the entertainment reporters’ congratulations on our hot-and-heavy romance. Gossip was swirling, pictures were posted, and I wasn’t even freaking out. I had a great part, a great career, and a great boyfriend. I was back on my feet and back squarely in the public eye.

Finally, I’d put the assault behind me.

Or so I thought.

Things changed when Blake and I broke up. Suddenly the tabloids that had seemed warm and friendly were harsh and invasive. Bits of my life were sneaking into the press that had no business being there. Personal things that I longed to keep private were being discussed in break rooms all across America. Bloggers speculated about my career and my love life. And whenever I was out in public, cameras snapped as the paparazzi tried to get a candid shot of my broken-hearted face.

I desperately wanted to call for a second take, but life doesn’t work that way. Life happens once, and then it’s in the can. So I was stuck. Stuck playing against an ex-lover. Stuck with my life plastered over newsstands across America.

Most of all, I was stuck with the fear that by letting my relationship back into the tabloids, I’d opened a door. I’d attracted attention.

And I’m afraid it’s going to start up all over again.

Chapter3

Devi Taylor.

She surrounded him, filled him. Her energy meshed with his, and they were one.

He didn’t understand how she could not know that. How she could move through the world without him. Or even why she’d want to.

Five years ago, he’d given her the chance. But had she come into his arms as she should have? Had she opened herself? Welcomed him?

She hadn’t. And even now the pain of her rejection cut him like a knife.

She’d been blinded somehow. Damaged. And the knowledge that she didn’t understand their connection had come close to destroying him.

How she could be so distant? So unaware of the truth? Especially since he’d known for years that they had a connection. Known from the first time he’d seen her. A tiny bit of a girl, her dark hair in a pixie cut. Her cheeks rosy. Her wide mouth beckoning to him. She’d been barely five, but he could see deep into those liquid brown eyes.

She’d known.

She’d known what she was doing, and she’d set out to seduce him. She’d tempted him like a minx, like a whore. And he’d fallen for her completely.

He’d been barely fourteen then, and he’d seen her first movie over and over, spending his entire allowance on a ticket to the first showing, then hiding in the bathroom and sneaking into every showing that followed.

He’d gone to the theater armed with a box of Kleenex and wearing loose shorts. He’d sat in the back, keeping his low groans to himself, his mind absorbing the girl on the screen. She was there for him, and only for him.

Each time he went into the theater excited and desperate, and each time he left ashamed.She did that to him. His sweet little whore who tempted and teased and knew that she was driving him crazy.

If he’d been caught, there would have been trouble.They wouldn’t understand. His parents. The theater staff. Even his friends. He’d been going steady with Amy Myers, an empty shell of a girl from his homeroom, and she’d wanted to go see the movie together. He’d tried to explain why they couldn’t go. That the movie was his alone. She’d stood in his bedroom and seen the magazines and photos and articles about Devi.

And then she’d called him a freak.

Two years later they’d found themselves in the same homeroom. Amy had teased him again. Asked if Devi Taylor had grown up and fallen in love with him. She’d told her friends about his bulletin board. About how he’d made a collage of Devi’s face. About how he got off by looking at pictures of a little girl.

Her words had shocked him. He’d let her see the pictures because he’d wanted her to understand why he couldn’t be with her. He was already committed to Devi. He’d let her down easy. He’d beennice.

And there she was, turning it into something sordid. Something dirty.

Hewasn’t the dirty one. Amy, however…

Well, obviously, Amy was obsessed with him. How else would she know about his sessions in the theaters? About what he did at home under the covers with Devi’s picture pressed to his chest?

She’d been spying on him. The bitch. The little cunt.

She’d been spying, and she had to pay.

In the end, it had been remarkably easy. Their town was small, and parents didn’t worry about their kids. Girls walked home alone all the time. And the park adjacent to the town square had lots of bushes abutting the walking paths.

Of course, once her body had been found, it had become the scandal of the century. A straight-A high school student knifed in the park. Dead. And absolutely no evidence pointing to a killer.

The police had interviewed him, but that hadn’t been any big deal. They’d interviewed all the kids. And the cops never once mentioned Devi, so presumably the other students hadn’t told them about how Amy had razzed him. In that, he took special satisfaction. It had taken all of his self-control, but he’d waited a full six months before killing her.

He’d stayed home. Played computer games. Watched movies with actresses less stellar than his Devi. And when they did meet, he was nothing but polite. Hardly a man with a motive. And during that time, he’d never once mentioned Devi. Never once let any other student see him with her picture or a magazine with her on the cover. Did nothing that would remind anyone of Amy’s hurtful words.

The waiting hadn’t been easy, but he’d considered it a test of his endurance. The wait to eliminate Amy had been nothing compared to his wait for Devi. But wait he had, and patiently. Because he’d known that, ultimately, she would be his.

And then, he’d seen his opportunity. Realized that the time was right for them to consummate their love. He’d gone to her, expecting to be welcomed. Hell, he’d gone out of his way to find her, jumping through all sorts of ridiculous hoops designed to keep pathetic fans away. But not him. Never him.He wasn’t pathetic. He was hers.

And when she saw him, he’d been certain that they would be joined forever.

She’d been late that evening, and he’d spent the time getting to know her even better. Opening drawers. Touching her clothes. Inhaling her scent. He’d strewn rose petals on the bed and lit candles.

He’d expected her to love him. To want him. To cleave to him with joy in her heart.

It hadn’t happened that way.

She’d been distant. Cold. And though her distance had enraged him, he’d also been calm enough to realize that he’d waited too long. She’d been damaged. He’d done everything he could to remind her of their bond, their connection, theirlove, but she refused to open up to him.

In the end, he’d fled, then hid, fueled by a fear of the system that wouldn’t understand his passion should they find him. But he never gave up on possessing Devi. And, yes, she would need to be punished, too. She’d turned away from him, after all. Brought other men into her bed and gave herself to them despite the bond between them.

Her behavior, of course, was unacceptable. Which left only the question of what to do…and when.

He’d had no answer, but he’d waited and watched, secure in the knowledge that what was meant to be would come to pass. His destiny was with Devi, no matter how twisted the path to get there.

The answer had come from the most unexpected of sources. And yet it was absolutely perfect. As if fate had been building to nothing more than this single moment. The moment that he possessed Devi, body and soul.

With a thin smile, he looked at his computer, nestled in the heart of the room. The bright screen seemed to wink at him, as if they shared a secret. For years, he’d used it to peruse the Internet to find pictures and articles about Devi. Occasionally, he’d log on to a computer game or slip into a chat room. But for the most part, his computer served only one purpose. Just like the room itself—hell, just like him—the sole raison d’ętre was Devi.

He got up and walked slowly to the nearest wall, running his hand reverentially over the collage mounted there. A tribute to her beauty. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her wondrously thick hair. His fingertips danced over her features, his cock hardening even as he touched her in his mind.

Soon, my darling. Soon.

He’d been renting the place for years, ever since he’d moved from Oklahoma so that he could be closer to her. He’d learned about the place from the e-mail loop for a Devi Taylor fan club. The building’s owner was a fan, too, and had been advertising for a tenant. The apartment was perfect, with just enough space. A place where he could be with Devi. Where he could count the minutes until they could be together.