“Will do,” he says, but there’s a strained tension between the two of them that I don’t understand. They never really meet each other’s eyes. “I better head home now. Goodnight, Mila.”
“Goodnight,” I mumble, perplexed. So now he’s all gracious and sweet?
Blake jumps back in his truck, waves, then drives off. His taillights shine bright in the distance until all at once they disappear, and he’s gone.
7
My phone rings and I answer the call, half-asleep, to the sound of Ruben’s enraged voice yelling down the line at me.
“Your father told me what happened last night. Totally, utterly one hundred percent unacceptable!”
“Good morning to you too, Ruben,” I mumble, sitting up in bed and checking the time on my phone. Eight a.m. Sunlight is filtering into my room, but my eyes are too sensitive, so I clamp them shut and rub at my eyelids. “Isn’t it only, like, six in LA? Why are you up so early?”
“Mila, darling, there’s no rest for the wicked in this industry,” he says dryly. “Your father was attending a very important dinner last night and you think that’s a good time to have your little hometown buddy call him? Where preciselywereyou? It didn’t sound like you were at the ranch as per my instructions.”
“He isn’t mybuddy,” I protest. My throat feels scratchy from dehydration, and I pull back my sheets and stick a bare leg over the side of my bed so that the AC hits my skin in just the right spot.
“Then what happened? Are you befriending the Tennessee locals by offering personal phone calls with Everett Harding?”
How could I have forgotten how much of a pain in the ass Ruben is? He’s kinda like an uncle to me, but one that I loathe for always being on my back abouteverything. “Of course not! I was at a—” Abruptly, I stop myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be confessing to Ruben that I’ve broken his rules so soon.
“You were at awhat,Mila?” he prompts.
“Okay, I went out with an old school friend to a tailgate party,” I say in defeat, but I have to rescue this so that Sheri doesn’t get in trouble too. “Sheri didn’t know, but don’t worry, she’s set me straight now. No leaving the ranch. Got it.”
“Mila,” Ruben practically growls. “Not even twenty-four hours and you’ve created a shitshow. Must be a new record. You just couldn’t stop yourself from mentioning your father, could you?”
“I didn’t! Someone else did! ”
He sighs. “Can I suggest that you bond with those relatives of yours, help muck out a horse stall or two, maybe read a couple romance novels? No leaving the ranch. No. More. Parties. Understood, Mila?”
I slowly peel open my eyes, adjusting to the light, and wake up enough to get defensive. “Ruben, that’s impossible. How do you expect me to maintain a low profile in Dad’shometownwhere everyone knows exactly who we are? You should have packed me off to a different continent if you really want me to remain undetected.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he huffs. “Like I could trust you out in the world.” Then his tone shifts. “To be honest, I don’t carewhereyou are. But I’m taking over your social media accounts as of now.”
I squeeze my phone harder. “What?”
“I’ve changed all your passwords,” he announces. “You only have to put out one tweet –onephoto on Instagram – that even remotely hints at the fact that you’re back at the old stomping grounds, and the paparazzi will start sniffing around.”
“Ruben, has anyone ever told you that you’re the most annoying person in the world?” I ask sweetly, wishing I could climb through the phone and strangle him.
“Yes, darling, plenty of times. But I’m the absolute best at what I do.” I hear him blow me a kiss down the line. “Now behave, Mila sweetie, and keep yourself busy at that ranch. Don’t have me call you a second time.”
The call goes dead, and I throw my phone to the floor and slump back against my pillows, groaning into my sheets. I wish I could be a normal sixteen-year-old who doesn’t have her father’s manager controlling her every move, but as Mom always reminds me, I’mnotnormal. It’s not easy on her, either. She’s the wife of a goddamn movie star. The rumors that circle are insane, and the pressure to play the role of the perfect, gorgeous, supportive wife gets to her too. No wonder she focuses on her own life within the industry with so much passion. It lets her be her own person.
Hell, I wish I had my own identity.
With a tired yawn, I stretch out my arms and then slip out of bed. It’s an odd thing, waking up in a brand-new room. Back home, my bullet journal sits on my mirrored glass end table; my favorite body lotion and perfumes are aligned in perfect order along my dresser; my jewelry is arranged in dainty little boxes along the shelves on my walls. Here, everything is all over the place, spread out over the floor. I make a start on unpacking, but I feel even more exhausted by the time I sift through everything. I’ve piled my clothes into groups across the floor, lined up all of my self-care products, and set my teddy bear on my pillow. Then I give up on putting everything away and head downstairs instead.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts from the kitchen, so I follow the scent. The house is so silent that I’m surprised when I find Popeye in the kitchen. He’s fiddling with the hinges on a window, a wrench in hand, while gazing outside across the ranch he is so proud of. I look out at the fields with him. I think it was actually my great grandfather who built the Harding Estate up from nothing after the Second World War, then Popeye and my grandmother inherited it and raised their own family here. Dad would have been in line to take over if life had played out like generations before him might have expected, but his ambition threw a wrench in the works. That’s why Sheri has been helping Popeye out with the ranch all these years, because I imagine one day it will belong to only her. The ranch used to be so much bigger when I was a kid – a few hundred acres larger – but Popeye sold off most of the land a few years ago right before the security walls went up so that it’s much more manageable. I can’t imagineDadeverreturning to live here, even if his career were to end at some point. It’s so far from who he is today.
“Good morning,” Popeye greets me, holding up the wrench. “Sheri is with the horses, but she said she’ll cook you a hearty breakfast once she’s back. I’m trying to fix this darn window that won’t stop creaking.”
“That’s okay. I can grab something myself,” I say. I pad across the wooden flooring and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Good morning, Popeye.”
My hand is on his shoulder, and he squeezes his fingers around mine, his skin warm. He looks down into my eyes. “So, I hear you got stuck outside the gate last night.”
I throw my arms around him from behind and bury my face into his shoulder blade, inhaling the scent of. . . Well, the scent of Popeye. Like someone who has lived his entire life on a ranch. “Yeah, I did. Let’s not joke about it.”
