Escorting the Actress by Leigh James
Kyle
I drank halfthe bottle of vodka, but it did nothing to dull the pain. I sat on the bed, running my hands down the sheets, just thinking about Lowell.
My heart hurt. I didn't know that was actually a thing, aside from in movies and books, but it was happening. To me. It actually hurt pretty badly.
Then my father called, going on about Caroline Barton. Some nonsense about her threatening to go to the press and him giving her money to stop her. I only half-listened through the haze of vodka, but it sounded as if Caroline would be able to afford her next series of cosmetic procedures, along with another Louis Vuitton bucket bag, courtesy of my father.
As if I gave a fuck.
We hung up, and I sat there, fuming. I wanted to tell him I wasn't coming in tomorrow. I wanted to tell him I had more pressing matters to attend to, but I didn't. I wasn't sure if Lowell would want me if I walked away from him. She might think I was never going to grow up, never going to be the man she needed.
Old Kyle would have just finished the bottle, passed out, and slept in late. Fuck you to my dad, fuck you to my questionable future, fuck you to the woman who left me.
But Kyle 2.0 couldn't do that.
For once, I felt as though I had something at stake that mattered. And I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything.
I put down the bottle and called my father back.
Some photographer—one I would be punching later, when I could get my hands on him or her—had taken pictures of Lo and me in front of the Stratum. We were clearly fighting. In the picture, her face was angry and mine was despondent. My abs had made it into the shot; at least they looked good.
The headline on XYZ read: LovebirdsDone Already?
Then there was another shot of Lowell, looking exhausted with puffy eyes, getting out of a cab at the Boston airport: Lowell Packs on Pounds Amidst Breakup.
I cracked my knuckles, just thinking of what I was going to do to Katie from XYZ.
I pulledup in front of Lo's house the next afternoon. I'd only made one stop between LAX and her house. I hoped she would understand what I was about to do.
I also hoped she would be happy to see me, but I kind of doubted it.
There was a full-on campground of reporters splayed out on the sidewalk, drinking coffee, chatting, and waiting for Lowell to come out of the house.
I triple-parked and got out, waving to my favorites. "Hey, Jimmy. Jose. Hey, Lila." I stopped when I saw Katie. "Your click-bait headlines had it all wrong. Again."
"Really?" she asked, not missing a beat. She snapped about a thousand pictures of me as I forced myself to smile pleasantly at her. "Tell me how I got it wrong. That wasn't a fight? It sure looked like one. Is she expecting you today, or is this a surprise visit?"
I flashed my dimples. These pictures would be a far cry from the ones last night, dammit. "I don't think I owe you a detailed explanation," I said, flashing my teeth at her, "but I will say that I'm thrilled to be here."
She snapped some more pictures as I moved on, then she trained her zoom lens on the door and waited like a cheetah stalking its prey.
I ignored her. I would deal with her later.
I smiled and nodded at the other reporters as I headed toward the door; I would allow nothing in my face to give away the jagged nerves in my stomach. It was as if I'd swallowed a bunch of teeth and they were rattling around in there, chattering. I took a deep breath. I rang the doorbell and took the box out of my pocket.
My back was to the reporters—hopefully they couldn't tell I was scared shitless.
Lo came to the door and peered through the side pane of glass, her brow furrowed. She probably thought one of the paparazzi had had the audacity to ring her doorbell. When she saw me, shock registered clearly on her face. I nodded at her, praying that she'd regain her composure quickly. We had a job to do. By the time she opened the door, her face was serene.
I'd always said she was a fabulous actress.
"Come in," she said, motioning me through the door.
"Not yet," I called, loud enough so the closest reporters could hear me. "I wanted to say something first."
Her brow furrowed again. I noted, stupidly, that she was wearing jean shorts and a tank top with flowers on it. She looked innocent and adorable, her face scrubbed clean of makeup.
I had a feeling I would always remember this moment. For better or for worse.
She crossed her arms and watched me. "What?"
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," I said, again loud enough to be heard. "I'm so sorry about how I'm doing this,"I mouthed to her.
I watched one of her eyebrows go up as I went down on one knee. I opened the small box to reveal a square-cut diamond engagement ring, fit for a princess and paid for by the credit card I'd begged my father to lend me.
Now both of her eyebrows were up.
I looked at her pleadingly. "I'm sorry about last night, Lowell. I said things I should never have said. But after you left, it got me thinking…" I was still speaking loudly enough for the press to hear, but I was getting choked up because I meant every word. "I don't ever want to be away from you again."
She still wore a skeptical expression, her arms crossed firmly. "What is it y'all is asking me?" The Texas that had leaked into her question was the only giveaway that she was freaking out.
She's gonna kill me once she lets me into her house.That was surely the truth, but it was too late to stop now.
"Are we back to y'all status?" I asked.
She continued to look at me skeptically. "Some of us are. Let me see that." She edged closer, and her face softened when she saw the ring. "That's… pretty. You have pretty good taste."
"I actually have excellent taste."
She looked at me and blushed, knowing full well I wasn't talking about the ring. I took a deep breath, praying for several things all at once. First, that she would forgive me for this someday. Second, that she'd say yes. Third, that the reporters would get a good shot.
I was still looking at her pleadingly, inwardly begging her forgiveness. "Lowell Barton, would you do me the undeniable honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me, Lo?"
Our eyes locked for a second, and a thousand different emotions shone in hers.
Then she flashed me her megawatt smile—the one she saved for the press. "Why, Kyle Jordan, I thought you'd never ask."
She threw herself at me, and I put the ring on her finger, petrified of what her private reaction would be—but thrilled nonetheless to have her back in my arms. I pulled her tight against me.
"I love you," I whispered against her hair.
"I freaking hope so, because everyone thinks we're engaged," she whispered back.
We turned around and posed for the cameras, the ring front and center, my arms wrapped around her like a vise.
