seven years. She was also my best friend and the person I leaned on the most when my marriage started to fall apart a few years ago. She stuck by me through various tantrums, tabloid scandals, allegations of numerous affairs, and—the worst of it all—a difficult pregnancy, which resulted in the loss of my first child. I’m certain she was almost as relieved as I was when my ex finally agreed to a settlement and signed the divorce papers. We’d been living separately for over a year and battling it out pretty much daily since I filed the paperwork.
Today was most definitely a cause for celebration, even if I felt a little bit icky and anxious on the inside. My ex had not made the last few years of our union easy, but there was a point when I’d loved him madly. Or thought I had. I’d believed he’d saved me when I was at my lowest and brought a glimmering, bright light into a life that had quickly gotten very dark. He was very good at fooling me into thinking he was more important and special than he actually was. I missed the man I initially married but hated who he’d become. It was very much like the agent who let me down and blindsided me all those years ago when I was first starting out; I was left feeling like I never knew the person who meant so much to me at the start of our relationship.
“I don’t know why Erik dragged it all out for as long as he did. I think he liked having his name in the headlines every other week.” I took a drink of the expensive red wine in front of me and made a face. “The things we were fighting over at the end were ridiculous.”
Erik had gone out of his way to make the split as painful and laborious as possible, all while engaged to the woman he’d been cheating on me with almost from the start of our marriage. A woman I’d employed. A woman I trusted. A woman I foolishly called a friend until I found out just how unfaithful my husband was. There were days when her betrayal hurt almost as badly as his. If I hadn’t had the woman across from me to hold my hand through the ups and downs, not only in my personal life but also in my career, I didn’t know where I’d be right now. Probably back in New Mexico, waiting tables or working at an accounting firm like my father wanted me to do from the start.
He never listened when I told him I sucked at math.
Lennon snorted and reached out to pick a tomato off her salad. “I don’t know why he’d seek out that kind of press. It’s not like the media is supporting him. He’s been painted as the bad guy ever since photos went viral of him and your stylist on an island vacation while you were in the hospital. The general public hates him these days. Every time a new article comes out, or another piece of the divorce is made public, his popularity takes another hit. There isn’t a PR firm in this town good enough to repair his image.” Her pale eyebrows winged upward. “Meanwhile, you’re nearly back to being America’s Sweetheart. It’s almost like everyone forgot they hated you a few years ago.”
She didn’t mention I’d been in the hospital because of a miscarriage, or that someone on the staff had leaked the very personal and traumatic information to the press before I’d even had time to process the loss. It was a double slap in the face when I found out about my husband’s and my former stylist’s affair.
It was my turn to make a sound of disgust. “I’m too old to be anyone’s sweetheart.”
And now, far too jaded. All of the innocence and wide-eyed amazement at my good fortune and the magic of the entertainment industry, which had been such a big part of my appeal to others when I was starting out, had faded away. Plus, I was over thirty. While that wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination, in my line of work, it was like I aged three or four years for every actual birthday that passed. America’s Sweetheart should be youthful and vibrant. Neither of those things applied to me, even when I was younger. I’d always been far too serious and boring for the label