I looked over at my nightstand and saw a bottle of Tylenol pills, a glass of orange juice, and a handwritten note: “Selena, I’m flying to New York today to interview potential publicists for you. All your clothes are in the living room and your mother wants the bakery signs done by Wednesday. I’ll be back tomorrow night—Cheer up, Joan. PS: I think you have a secret admirer...”
I didn’t know what “secret admirer” Joan was talking about, but I was wishing I’d stolen her away from Matt years ago. Even though she and I didn’t always see eye to eye, she really was the perfect assistant. She could pretty much read my mind and I hardly had to ask her to do anything because she’d already done it.
I washed down the pills with the juice and wearily climbed out of bed. I walked over to my balcony and stepped onto the landing.
The skies above were an ugly gray and the rain was falling relentlessly. I looked down at the parking lot and saw a woman stumbling out of a taxi cab, carrying her heels in one hand and her purse in the other.
I shuddered as a not-too-distant-memory crossed my mind: The last time I’d gotten ridiculously drunk was at one of Phillip’s cast parties. He didn’t let me hang off his arm like he normally did when we were out of town or at the beach, and he only spoke to me a few times during the night.
He’d told me beforehand that he didn’t want us to show any displays of affection because he wanted to share his time equally amongst the cast and producers; like the fool that I was, I went along with it.
I didn’t ask why his “soon-to be-ex-wife” was there, why he was allowing her to hang on his arm, or why he only came around me when she wasn’t around. I’d been conditioned to believe that it was all a facade and that his daughters scoured the internet daily and needed to see their parents looking happy together at public events.
The last time he came around me that night, I was vomiting over the toilet. I’d had one too many drinks and asked if he could drive me home and take care of me. He patted my back, waited for me to finish hurling, and escorted me outside.
He held my hand down the brownstone’s steps and whistled for a cab. Not his personal driver that had picked me up hours earlier. A cab.
He didn’t get in the cab with me. He didn’t give the driver any money. He simply said, “Take her home please,” and shut the door.
I painted the driver’s cab with more vomit and eventually stumbled into my condo—grateful that for once, the paparazzi were nowhere to be found. I fell asleep on my bathroom floor and expected to wake up to dozens of missed calls and texts from Phillip. I expected him to be sitting in my living room with a big bowl of soup and a brilliant bouquet of flowers, but there was nothing.
I checked my phone and saw only one message from him: “If you’re feeling any better, come over tonight.”
I pulled the balcony’s doors closed and sighed. I needed something happy to think about.
I dragged myself into the living room and gasped, pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
There were bouquets of flowers everywhere—white and red roses, yellow daffodils, pink tulips, purple irises, and several ones I didn’t even recognize. They completely covered the floor—encasing the racks of designer clothes Joan had sent for. The most stunning bouquet, a six foot bunch of bright yellow roses that stood near the door, had an ivory envelope dangling from its stems.
I pulled it down and read the note: “Dear Selena, I hope you’re feeling a lot better today…I’m still looking forward to taking you out some time. I promise I’m not “just another guy” waiting in line to hurt you and I hope I get a chance to prove that. Your not-so-secret admirer, Ethan. PS—You should never have to buy your own flowers.”
Oh my god…
I didn’t remember telling him what type of flowers I liked, but I must have because all my favorites were surrounding me and there wasn’t a sonata lily in sight. I definitely didn’t mean to open up about my past relationships, but I guessed the liquor had brought that out of me too.
I wanted to call him immediately, to thank him for the flowers and say, “Let’s go out tonight!” but I held back. Sure, he was insanely hot, the starring guy in all my recent dreams, and all his nice gestures made me melt. But I wasn’t sure what his real motives were. I was still trying to figure out if he was some undercover reporter who wanted to get close to me for a big story.
I decided I would call him tomorrow. I was too drained to do much of anything and my muscles were beginning to ache.
All I wanted to do was buy a bunch of bottled water from the hotel’s gift shop, have some soup delivered, and pass out in bed for the rest of the day.
I threw on a robe and grabbed my room key. I pulled the door open and saw Ethan standing right in front of me.
I blinked at him.
“I’m sorry, Selena…I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he bent down and grabbed a white paper bag off the floor. “I was just dropping this off before I did some errands. There’s six water bottles at room temperature, a fruit plate, and three different soups inside…I wasn’t sure what type you liked.”
This is just a dream…You are still passed out in your bed…You will vomit any second now and wake up…This is just a dream…
I pinched myself. Then I reached over and pinched him. Hard.
“Oww!” he backed away. “Did I offend you or something?”
So this IS real…