Then he was in the bedroom doorway: Stephen St. James. In a tux.

25.

March 2002

L.A.

Cassidy

It must have looked like something, me in Alex’s arms, our eyes bright with emotion.

Stephen’s jaw tensed. Alex curled his arms tighter around me while I dabbed at moisture at the edge of my nose. Alex, always comforting me, even after we’d officially split. “Stephen,” I said. “How’d you get in?”

He shifted a small jewelry box in his hand. “A car was leaving as I drove up, so I slipped in the gate.”

“We were just having a quick conversation, and now I’m going to go.” Alex stuffed his hands in his pockets and started for the door. I glanced uneasily at Alex’s back as he withdrew, and Stephen reached out a long arm to bar him from leaving.

“A conversation about what?”

“About nothing. I don’t know you and I don’t have to answer you.” Alex waited for Stephen to move.

“Sassy means a lot to me. If you’re bothering her, I want to know.”

“Her name is Cassidy.”

They weighed each other with hard eyes. I tugged the bottom of my short robe before taking the box from Stephen’s hand, calling attention to myself to defuse the situation. “This is beautiful. Thank you, Stephen.” It was a coiled silver snake bracelet with emeralds studded through, heavy and clunky. It didn’t match the jewelry Gail had given me, but I made a split-second decision to appease Stephen by wearing his piece over hers. “I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

“You know what?” Alex said. “I meant what I said before. This is over. And I want you to remember that I left you.” He dashed a hand at his face and ran down the stairs.

I pulled the dress off the hanger and stepped into the bathroom to slip it on quickly, ignoring the body tape Antonio had left on the counter. “Never mind him,” I said to Stephen, and tucked my chin down because I knew it was wobbling. “Let him go. Help me with my zipper.” His fingers were silky as they stroked up my spine. Swallowing hard, I added, “Let’s not miss the red carpet.”

I’D BEEN WHISKED away to awards shows in limos before, but this was my first time arriving without the women who made me Sassy Gloss. I slipped into the back seat, careful not to crease the bottom of my dress, and was quietly contemplating how all of this had happened. Alex, my boyfriend, who likely sold my photos to tabloids; Alex, my bedrock, no longer my friend. Stephen, superstar, asking me to the Academy Awards. The next album, the chosen second single, Rose and her bruised spine, chiffon dresses in water, Merry and the house on fire. I wanted to lay my head in my hands but couldn’t risk smudging Antonio’s work.

“What’s on your mind?” Stephen asked, as he handed me a flute from across the expansive aisle.

“Hm?” After a beat, I shook my head gently and accepted the champagne. “Nothing, really. Thinking how weird life is.”

He raised his own glass. “Amen to that. Three years ago, when we were on Sing It, did you ever think that one day we’d be here?”

I knew he meant in a limo, cruising through Hollywood, about to get dropped off at the red carpet of all red carpets, surrounded by adulating fans. But I couldn’t help but look at him, the strong jaw and sharp cheekbones that the passing street lamps outside highlighted, his Adam’s apple sliding fluidly up and down his neck as he swallowed, the way that I had looked at his fingers throughout our time in that yellow room years ago, and how I’d ached to feel those hands on me. “No,” I whispered, the flute still in my hand. “I didn’t.”

“To grand life,” he said, clinking his glass against mine.

“To life being grand.” I tipped a sip down my throat.

Stephen moved across the aisle to sit next to me, so close that he sat on part of my dress. He fingered one of my straps delicately, rubbing it lightly between index finger and thumb. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and his face was so close that his breath warmed my cheek. I gripped the stem of my glass, aware that if I dropped it I would spill champagne everywhere. He took it from my hand and leaned in the opposite direction to tuck the glasses away. It was this short moment, when he shifted away and then back again, when I should have regrouped. When I should have remembered where I was, who I was, and what I was doing.

But the pause was so short, and he was leaning toward me with his tie silkily untucking itself from his suit vest, tickling me along the arm. His left hand came forward, gently touching the side of my face, turning my chin toward him. Our noses brushed, and then his mouth was on mine, warm and full.

His hands, the long fingers I’d imagined on my skin, were all over me now, one brushing hair away from the back of my neck, the other tracing my collarbone with the tips of his slender fingers, down into the low neckline of my dress. I accidentally bit his lip when a thumb flicked across my nipple, and he took it as encouragement to kiss me harder.

My thoughts were thick, gelatinous, wobbly in my mind.

Alex, no longer my friend.

Rose, her bruised spine.

Rose . . .

I broke away from Stephen’s mouth. “Just . . . hold on.” I slid on the slippery seat, trying to put a little space between us.

“What’s wrong?” he said, making up the distance.

“I just need a minute. A lot has happened that I need to process before . . . this . . . can happen.” I rearranged my straps.

The car slowed. A disembodied voice startled me out of the moment. “We’re about to arrive.” Our attention peeled apart from each other. The voice on the intercom continued, “Uh, should I circle around the block?”

Stephen tapped a button on an armrest. “Yes, thanks.” He started straightening his clothes, but his scowl was deepening. I rushed to find words to soothe him; I didn’t want him to walk outside on this big night feeling anything but happy. “You’re ruining my lipstick, I mean.” I delivered it lightheartedly, hoping he’d laugh and the tension would ease.

I dug into my tiny clutch for a compact mirror to show him. “And it’s all over you too.” I thought of all the cameras that would be turned on us, the telltale sign of our kiss magnified in magazines and supermarket tabloids, the evidence of two horny kids who couldn’t wait until after the ceremony to rub their mouths all over each other. And Alex would see, and it would just confirm to him—and to that devil-in-his-ear Joe—that I’d been messing around on him.

He swiped at his mouth. “It’s not that bad.” Into the intercom he said, “We’re ready.” The car slowed again.

“Stephen. These photos will be everywhere. And my face is a mess.”

“Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm.

“I just need a minute.” I fished for a tissue.

“We can’t hold up the line now,” the driver said over the radio.

“Come on,” he said, as someone opened the door to the red carpet. Shouts and screams amplified.

“Wait!” I slipped even farther into the darkness of the interior, hiding from camera view. Stephen was still holding my arm, and even strengthened his grip.

“Let go!” I tried to bring my arm back; suddenly I could see how thin I was in his large hands, all knobs and lines and pale skin, which was blooming white under the pressure of his thumb. “You’re hurting me!”