Chapter 26

ARIA

The morning after my birthday, I wake up sore, tired, and ridiculously satisfied.

Jett and I went multiple rounds last night, and we just couldn’t get enough of each other. I don’t know if it was the drinks or the birthday or the beautiful necklace, but I truly feel connected to Jett, and something last night really solidified it for me.

After putting some clothes on, I head out to the kitchen and grab my phone from my purse. I notice multiple text messages and phone calls, and immediately, my heart drops.

I pull up my missed calls first; it’s a bunch of calls from unknown numbers and a few voicemails. The voicemails are from reporters asking me to comment on being seen with Jett Abrams last night.

~Good lord, they already have my number?~

The texts are more of the same, including a few from acquaintances asking if I’ve seen Page Six.

Len specifically told me not to look myself up, but I don’t know if I can resist.

I quickly pull up my internet browser before I can talk myself out of it and type in Page Six. After clicking the link, the first article features a large photo of me just twelve hours earlier, leaving Nobu with Jett in tow.

^JETT ABRAMS SEEN LEAVING NOBU WITH PRETTY PERSONAL ASSISTANT, ARIA JAMES, AMID RUMORS THE TWO ARE DATING^

My heart drops into my stomach. They already assume we’re dating? We literally confirmed it last night, but it seems so weird that the media is already talking about it.

Against my better judgment, I click on the article.

~Jett Abrams, billionaire business mogul, was seen cavorting with his latest personal assistant, Aria James, during a romantic dinner party at Nobu.~

~Sources tell Page Six the two were canoodling throughout the evening at the popular downtown restaurant, seemingly confirming rumors of their new relationship.~

~“They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and they both seemed incredibly smitten with one another,” the source said.~

~At the end of the evening, Abrams and James left the party together, getting into the same car that was then seen driving into the parking garage of Abrams’s building.~

~James has been working for Abrams for months, but very little is known about the brunette beauty. Her Instagram shows photos of her spending time with her friends, but there are no photos of her and the Alastair Holdings CEO.~

~Abrams was previously connected to supermodel Lena Dixon, but the two broke off their engagement late last year.~

~Page Six has reached out to the pair’s publicists for comment, but they have not responded.~

I let out a huff of air, set my phone down, and tapped my fingers on the counter.

I always knew this would be a major challenge to being with Jett, which is part of the reason I was so resistant.

But lately, I’ve felt a real connection to him, and I can feel him softening as well. I can’t deny my true feelings for him any longer, but am I ready for all of this?

I suppose it doesn’t matter now. They have my name, they’ve published my social media accounts, and they’ve taken my photo. All I can do now is hope another celebrity announces a pregnancy or files for divorce or something so they can move on.

Suddenly, I feel Jett’s arms wrap around me from behind.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he says as he kisses my neck. “How are you?”

I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck. “Good. How are you?”

Jett’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows in question.

“I…just read a Page Six article…about us,” I confess.

“I thought you weren’t going to look at any of that,” he says, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad or anything, but this is just the beginning, right? I’m just hoping they’ll move on quickly,” I say.

I lean into him, resting my head on his chest as he wraps me in a hug. I say, “I knew we couldn’t go on hiding forever, but…I dunno, I wish it didn’t have to be so public.”

“I know, me too,” he says. “We’ll just lie low this week, and they’ll probably forget all about us.”

“I hope so.”

Unfortunately, they did not forget all about us.

It must’ve been a slow celebrity gossip week, because everywhere I went—from the coffee shop to the dry cleaners to my apartment—men with cameras and women with microphones shouted questions at me.

At first, the questions were innocent enough—people asking me to confirm my relationship with Jett and asking how long we’ve been dating.

By the end of the week, they took a turn.

Several follow-up articles featured Jett shopping at Tiffany and Co. the day before my birthday, suggesting I broke up Jett and Lena’s engagement. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know who I was and what my motives were.

I did my best to brush the sudden spotlight off, to pretend I didn’t even notice, but the knot in my stomach tightened with every encounter. Every morning, I woke up in a swirl of anxiety, worried about what would be written about me next.

Jett constantly reassures me. When we’re back in his penthouse for the night, and I can shed all the layers of pressure and responsibility on my shoulders, I feel at peace.

I feel safe.

But ~feeling~ safe isn’t enough.

I’m walking past a newsstand outside the office when I see it: a front-page photo of a house I haven’t seen in years.

Before moving in with my grandma, my mom and I lived with her boyfriend, Hal.

While Hal didn’t use drugs like Mom did, he was a drunk—and a mean one at that. When he wasn’t verbally abusing Mom, he would scream at me and make all sorts of idle threats about kicking me out of the house or beating me into submission.

Eventually, he began to hit my mother.

I begged her to leave. I asked her time and time again to take me to Grandma’s house in the city. Even at nine years old, I thought if I could just get her to take me to visit my grandma, that she could see how much better life was away from Hal.

But she refused, claiming that not all relationships are perfect, and Grandma would just lecture her.

So, I asked her to call my dad and see if he would come get me, but she refused that too.

Finally, one night, Hal found some money in my backpack that Grandma had sent me for my birthday. He dragged me out of my bed by my hair and accused me of stealing it from him.

I’d never been hit before. I’d witnessed it multiple times, but feeling the sting of the slap across my face elicited a different reaction in me altogether.

Instead of running and hiding, I fought—and fought hard. Unfortunately, Hal was stronger, and it wasn’t until Mom jumped on his back that his blows stopped. She yelled at me to run, and that’s exactly what I did.

Hal was arrested and booked, but the police assured us he would make bail quickly. Mom piled everything she could into her tiny Honda Civic, and we drove away from that rundown house of nightmares—a place I promised myself I would never see again.

And there it was. On the cover of In Touch, beneath a headline about my “humble childhood home.”

It had been painted white, and some new trees had been planted in the tiny front yard, but it had the same tired chain-link fence and crooked porch. Even the front door that I threw open and ran out of is unchanged.

It’s ironic to me that we can spend decades attempting to forget as much as possible about a place or time and still remember every agonizing detail.

I remember my blue-and-yellow backpack, my mom’s pink nails, the feel of cold pavement under my bare feet…

Over twenty years later, right here on the streets of New York City, I feel something in me fracture as my painful past surrounds me.

I’m suddenly light-headed and nauseous at the same time. I clutch my chest and gasp for air, looking around for anywhere I can go to get off the sidewalk.

I spot an empty restaurant and duck past the chairs flipped up on the tables. Someone yells, “We’re still closed!”

Thankfully, they let me sit in a booth while I wait for Jett to come get me. But after hearing Jett’s voicemail message five times, I dial the next number I can think of.

Within twenty minutes, Katie is running into the still-closed restaurant. She finds me holding a cup of tea in my trembling hands. Without saying a word, she wraps an arm around me and accompanies me to a waiting Uber.

When we finally reach Jett’s penthouse, I feel my pulse slow, and I crumple into a pile on his bed and sob. Katie takes my shoes off and covers me with a blanket. She sits on the bed and strokes my hair as tear after tear falls from my puffy eyes.

Somehow, I fall asleep.

I don’t know what time it is, but when I wake up, dusk is settling over the city. I sit up and look around, trying to remember what happened and how I got here.

I hear muffled voices emanating from Jett’s living room, so I push myself to stand and quietly walk into the hall. But as I approach, I pause when I hear my name.

“Yeah, Houston Street. Aria was in a restaurant called Palm and Pine,” Katie says.

“I’ll make sure the staff keeps this to themselves,” Jett says, and I feel an agonizing stab of embarrassment in my ribcage. “Did she say anything?”

“No, but I’ve known Aria for eight years, and she’s only spoken to me about that part of her past once. It must’ve been extremely triggering for her,” she says.

Another painful slice.

“Fucking assholes,” he curses. “I swear to God, I will make them pay.”

“I think you really need to focus on her right now,” Katie says. “She needs you.”

“I know, I will. Thank you for being there for her,” he says.

“Of course. I think I’ll take off now. Let me know how she’s doing when she wakes up?”

“I will.”

I slink back to Jett’s room and grab a blanket to curl up in a chair. There, I watch the lights slowly blink on and off in the nearby buildings, silently wondering about each inhabitant.

A few minutes later, Jett comes in with a cup of tea.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You’re awake.”

I simply look at him and nod. He sets the cup down on the table next to the chair and sits on the ottoman in front of me. He gently squeezes my thigh.

“How…are you feeling?”

I blink a few times before responding. “You weren’t there. Why weren’t you there?”

I see Jett’s face fall. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…was in a meeting,” he says. “But I’m here now.”

“I needed you,” I whisper.

“I know, and I’ll never leave your side again,” he says.

A silence hangs between us as I look out the window again. I can’t look at him as I say what I’m going to say.

“I can’t do this, Jett. I’m…not strong enough. I thought I was, but…” My voice cracks as I try to get the words out. “It’s too hard.”

“Aria,” Jett says as he finds my hand and squeezes it. “You are the strongest person I know. Please, don’t let them win.”

“Do you know what it feels like? Do you know how it feels to have your most painful moment splashed across a tabloid for people’s ~enjoyment~?” I say, feeling my anger rise. I look at Jett and see his jaw clench but not in anger, in pain.

“Actually, I do,” he says.

Suddenly, it dawns on me.

Jett’s paranoia and stubbornness are a product of the pressure he’s felt his entire life—from his parents, from the press, from everything that has weighed down on him.

I remember him telling me about how he learned of his broken engagement from the tabloids. For the first time, maybe ever, I can actually relate to him.

Without saying a word, Jett scoops me up and sits down in the chair, holding me in his arms. We watch the sun set over the city.

For the next few weeks, Jett is steadfast in his attempt to protect me. He reschedules anything that requires me to leave the office and asks his publicist for a plan to protect me as much as possible.

When I’m getting ready to visit Grandma on Friday, Jett suggests that he hire some security to accompany me. Grandma had called to check on me and mentioned photographers outside her brownstone.

I assume security will just add to the insinuation that I’m living above my status and instead go alone.

Fighting through the crowd and listening to the things they say to me is brutal, but I remind myself how much I care about Jett and that I have to do my best to act unaffected.

Eventually, Jett’s publicist, Andrea, reaches out with a plan.

It’s clear that doing nothing is no longer an option, so she suggests we arrange a low-key date. We should wear casual clothes, go get ice cream or something innocent like that, and show lots of PDA.

By being upfront and down to earth, Andrea feels that the media will get bored and move on. “They can only publish so much happiness before their bosses begin asking for juicier stories,” she says.

The night before our date, we’re lying in Jett’s bed, my head on his chest as he trails his fingers up and down my back.

“You okay?” he asks.

I sigh. “Yes, I’m just tired. I knew this would be hard, but I didn’t realize how hard.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, Aria—I hope you know that,” he says.

I smile. “I know you would. It’s just—the idea of posing for them, essentially inviting them along, is terrifying to me, but if Andrea thinks it will work, maybe we should give it a shot,” I say.

“If that’s what you want, it’s what I want,” Jett says. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will pass.”

“I hope you’re right.”

***

On Saturday, I check my reflection in the mirror.

The late-spring weather in New York City has warmed significantly, so I’m wearing a black, sleeveless shirt tucked into ripped jeans. I slip on a pair of black-and-white Converse shoes too, remembering how important it is to appear casual and carefree.

I style my hair into a low ponytail, letting my curls flow down my back, and I only use a little blush and mascara for make-up.

Jett comes up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. He’s in dark jeans and a zip-up hoodie. His eyes settle on me in the mirror.

“You just about ready?” he asks. “You look gorgeous.”

“Ha, thanks. Do you think this is dressed down enough?” I scan my outfit for the hundredth time.

He spins me around and smiles at me while he cradles my face.

“I think you’re perfect,” he says.

I smile. “For once, it’s not you I’m trying to impress,” I say. Jett smiles wider. “I guess we should get going.”

In the elevator, Jett squeezes my hand.

“Just smile. Do what feels natural. We’ve got this,” he says.

Before I can respond, the doors open. The photographers are waiting right outside the doors of the foyer.

Jett mentioned that Andrea would actually call them and let them know about our little photo op—another way of allowing them to participate, which ultimately bores them.

Paparazzi want to capture something they’re not meant to; inviting them on a staged date is like throwing a lion a steak instead of allowing it to hunt.

I tell myself to look at Jett like he’s just given me the necklace, or we’ve just had a romantic dinner date on his balcony, but I actually find it quite easy to look smitten, because I am. These feelings were never far from the surface.

Jett tightens his grip on my hand as he pushes open the doors and leads me through the loud crowd. The clicks of cameras and the shouting of questions come from all around us.

Instead of dipping my head down and shielding my eyes, I hold my chin up and am thankful Jett told me to wear sunglasses.

“Jett! Where are you guys off to?!”

“How long have you been dating?”

“Has Aria moved in with you?”

Jett chuckles at the absurdity of some of the questions and looks back at me. I smile.

As we make our way down the sidewalk with the huge group following us like a cloud, I hear the clicks become less frenzied.

We make our way into a little candy shop with an ice cream counter about a block away and order ice cream. The owner is a little old man who comments on the photographers we brought with us and says hopefully they’ll bring in more business for him.

“We’ll be sure to mention you by name if anyone asks,” I say, and the old man gives me a big smile.

With our ice cream cones, we walk side by side as the paparazzi slow down and give us more space. Just when I think they’re going to get bored and leave, Jett stops me and hands me his cone.

He steps in front of me and kneels down to tie my shoe. Suddenly, the paparazzi swarm us again, clicking away at the uneventful moment. I smile down at Jett despite my confusion.

Finally, Jett stands up again and takes his ice cream cone from me, then rests an arm around my shoulder as we finish our walk back to his building.

~^~JETT ABRAMS AND ARIA JAMES GIVE LOVED-UP DISPLAY ON ICE CREAM DATE^

~Jett Abrams and his latest love interest, Aria James, were seen strolling hand in hand on their way to a local sweet shop for a mid-afternoon date on Saturday.~

~The two seemed entirely comfortable with one another, as Abrams even stopped to tie James’s Converse shoe.~

~“They seemed really happy; a sweet couple,” the owner of the candy store said. “They come in here quite often.”~

~The hot new couple appeared casual and dressed down. Abrams wore jeans and a North Face zip-up, and James wore a simple black top with ripped jeans. Her black-and-white Converse shoes completed her look.~

~Abrams and James have been working together for some time but recently began dating. This is Abrams’s first relationship since his engagement to supermodel Lena Dixon.~