“No, it’s not. The light’s green.”
I pressed the gas. “I just said it’s over. What part don’t you understand?”
She didn’t speak. She sat with her arms crossed and looked outside her window.
When we were three blocks away, she sighed. “We both signed the contract and I already confirmed our wedding with Oprah’s network.”
“Well, cancel it. I’m sure Oprah will understand. Maybe you can work out a one on one interview about being heartbroken. You can even make me out to be the bad guy.”
“I promised the Children’s Hospital we would donate the proceeds from our wedding to their cancer department. That’s easily seventeen million. Are you really going to yank that money away from children, Matt? From children?”
“Selena,” I pulled into the garage at Sterling Academy. “Really? Are you seriously sitting here and trying to guilt me with money? Didn’t I make ninety million last year? And one hundred twenty the year before that? I’ll write them a check.”
“You’re going through with this wedding, Matt.”
“No,” I put the car in park. “I’m not.”
“Matt, we started this together and we’re going to end it together.”
“Exactly. This is the end.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and Selena grabbed my arm. She twisted her face into a horrid expression and glared at me.
“I swear Matt. I swear I will have my assistant beat me with a sack of rocks, rough me up, and blame it on you.”
“Okay, you’re officially insane. Are you coming in or not?”
“Don’t test me. I’ll do it and your career will be completely over. I don’t think America is too keen on forgiving woman beaters, especially one that kills an unborn child in the process.”
I laughed. “Are you serious? Look, what we had in the beginning was great. I damn near loved you and really wanted to be with you. But then our careers took off and—”
“And you took advantage of me just like I took advantage of you! You used me, Matt! It wasn’t all me! You wanted to be seen in certain places and doing certain things and I showed up every single time. Every. Single. Time.”
“We don’t even like each other anymore. Why are you making this—”
“You don’t like me anymore,” she cried. “I never stopped having feelings for you. Even when you started being distant and not wanting me around so much, I still…I thought it would eventually go back to how it used to be between us. I knew you were tired of all the press but I thought you and I were still friends.”
“We can still be friends.”
“You know what I mean. You think I like living like this? Staging my life for the cameras? Jumping at every exposure opportunity?”
“Don’t you?”
“Fame is all I have. This is it. This makes me feel like I’m important, like people really care about me. And the one person I considered to be my friend is threatening to take that all away.”
“I’m not taking anything away. You have your parents. They were at our engagement party. They care about you.”
“I hired those people. They were actors. You know my parents and I don’t speak.”
“I’m sorry if I ever hurt you,” I caressed her face. “I never wanted to do that. I didn’t know you still had feelings for me, but I don’t feel that way about you anymore. I don’t want to go through with this charade past today.”
“That’s too bad. I hope you’ll change your mind by the end of this ceremony,” she unclicked her seatbelt and opened the door.
I got out of the car and waited for her. As if they were on cue, the paparazzi rushed towards us. Selena grabbed my hand and we both smiled as if that conversation never happened—it was so natural, so routine.
“What were you doing in St. Bart’s?” she whispered through her teeth.
“A video of you dancing with the graduates has gone viral,” Joan pulled my drapes open. “Breakfast is on its way…Do you want to cancel your appearance? You don’t look too good.”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”
“Well, the car will be here in two hours. Make sure you smile throughout the entire interview, regardless of what they ask. They’ll be trying to sense vulnerability.”
“I’ll remember that,” I dragged myself out of bed and into my bathroom. Joan was right. I didn’t look too good, I looked terrible.
I didn’t get any sleep the night before. Instead, I wasted five hours arguing with Selena over the phone, failing to break away from her like I’d planned. She wasn’t joking about staging domestic abuse.
How did it get to this point?
I stepped into the shower and stood under freezing cold water. It usually made me feel better, but not today.
Today I was going to be on “The View,” thanks to Shelby and a last minute drop out by Ashton Kutcher. Shelby thought it would be a great time to promote my upcoming book, a book I had no hand in writing.
I read twenty pages of the final draft last week and wanted to rip my eyes out. The ghostwriter couldn’t write to save her life. Since I didn’t have the time to write it myself and the publisher was expecting a product, I would have to live with her pitiful version of my life story.
“Mr. Sterling?” Joan handed me a towel. “The stylist is here.”