her. As if it’s not hard enough for the LGBTQ community already… My fans rallied with me, and the comments went from trying to nicely educate this woman to threats and digging up personal information about her and her family, which got publicly posted. While my own comments were a little over the edge, I didn’t cross any line, yet I was seen as the ringleader for the rapid responses that followed.
I’ve always had a good reputation in both publishing and producing, and the fact that I’m not a drama-llama has worked in my favor. It didn’t help that only two days after said Twitter shitstorm, I went on a date with the son of a movie producer who got a little handsy, repeatedly tried to slide his fingers under my dress while at the table of a crowded restaurant, and then called me a prude when I told him to knock it off. I threw my drink in his face and walked out, and yes—that part got caught on camera by the paparazzi, but not him touching me without consent. It was a big his-word-against-mine mess, and with the threat to get lawyers involved, he issued a public apology but then days later Tweeted a list of all my ex-boyfriends, saying I was obviously the issue and there must be “something wrong with me.” It’s so fun to have all your failed relationships scrutinized publicly on social media, and as much as I hated it, as much as I tried not to let it get to me…it did.
Because there I was again, lonely and doubting myself. Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Maybe I really am too weird, too dark, too lost in my own head for someone to handle.
“You’ve been going nonstop,” Karina goes on. “Normally, I’ll keep pushing you because I know you can handle it. But maybe it’s time to take a break. Get out of the spotlight for a while and catch your breath. You haven’t gotten very far with the next book in this series, have you?”
I shake my head. “Not really,” I say, trying not to cringe. I have half of the first chapter written and keep fizzling out the second I sit down to write. I’ve been super busy the last month too, with book signings, interviews, and collaborating with the show runners for next season. “I haven’t had much time.”
“Exactly, and I just had a conference call with your agent and editor this morning. If you can get the first draft done a month ahead of schedule, we’ll be able to line up a three-week-long tour in Europe. For you and Charles. He’s in if you’re in, and we can schedule it perfectly with his break between filming.”
My face lights up. Charles Baldwin is the mega movie star who plays Marcus, the vampire lead in my book-turned-TV series. He’s one of Hollywood’s biggest heartthrobs, has a reputation of being a suave playboy, just crossed thirty-million Instagram followers, and was named the Sexiest Man Alive last year.
He’s also my on-again, off-again boyfriend, but the whole thing was set up by Karina, who’s his publicist too. Our relationship sparked interest in the two of us—and Nightfall—perfectly timed when the show was announced to the world. We “break up” often, needing to uphold Charles’s playboy reputation and keep his female fans pining over him. Being seen with him made me recognizable, something I wasn’t quite used to before. As an author, my name was my claim to fame, not my face. But now I’m photographed, pictures slapped all over TMZ and social media, tagged as “Charles’s ex” like the only way to identify me is by who I used to “belong to.”
It’s strange, faking a relationship with someone. And by faking, I mean literally faking every single romantic part of said relationship. Because Charles is gay, and it breaks my heart that he’s been advised to keep his sexuality hushed out of fear it will hurt his career. I’ve encouraged him to come out, but he’s not ready, and I respect that. He’s one of my very best friends now, and our tight-knit bond of platonic friendship is what sells our fake relationship so well.
Touring Europe with Charles will be so fucking fun. I can probably convince Farisha to sneak away for a week too. She’s a sucker for anything European.
“Can we make it so we have at least two days at Disneyland Paris?” I ask, hiking my brows up.
Karina rolls her