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Stevie

The one good thing about modeling is that it keeps you busy. In my line of work, that can be a good thing or a bad thing, but right now I’m only focusing on the good. The fact that I have a reason to get up every morning, somewhere to go, and that I’m making money. It doesn’t make up for the loneliness, but it keeps me from dwelling on it.

I don’t know if anything will help me get over Marty, or stop missing him, but work is the one thing that distracts me.

And living in Paris for the last month has been as wonderful as I always imagined it could be, loneliness notwithstanding.

I gave my agent the go-ahead to find me jobs, and offers started coming in right and left. Photo shoots, fashion shows, two commercials, and then that same perfume company that wanted me as a brand ambassador of sorts reached out. They’re located in Paris and asked me to fly out to do a test run. Once I got here, they set me up in an apartment and I never left.

The contract they offered me is…well, life-changing. I was rich before; now I’m fucking loaded. According to my attorney, it’s the biggest women’s fragrance deal in history: three years for twenty-five million dollars. They’re even structuring the payments so that I take a smaller tax hit.

Of course, the name of their new fragrance line, Adieu à L'amour—goodbye to love—is as ironic as possible, but I don’t care what they call it. They treat me like royalty, the owner of the company is a delightful octogenarian who makes me laugh every time we’re together, and she told me she chose me specifically because of what I went through with Damien. They were already considering me before the accident, and though they’ve tested other models since then, she always knew it would come back to me. What happened to me solidified it in her mind—she was just waiting until I was ready.

Honestly, Madame Bertrand has been a lifesaver, inviting me to dinners and evenings at the opera. Helping me explore the city and even practice my very rudimentary French. Our friendship is lovely, but at the end of the day, I’m still alone.

I’ve been losing weight again too, which means I can eat whatever I want. The issue, unfortunately, is that I just don’t want to; food has been tasteless since the breakup, so that’s part of it.

I’m doing my best to move on, find a new normal, and rediscover some semblance of my old life as a supermodel, but none of it feels right anymore. It’s almost like I’m not me, and I don’t know what happened to her.

The blank slate I’ve been so excited about seems to be mocking me and I’m frustrated because I knew who I was and what I wanted to do when I was in L.A. Now that I’m not there anymore, I just can’t seem to get a handle on it.

I’m not stupid. I know this is at least partly due to breaking up with Marty. I have a lot of distractions, but he’s always there, lurking in my subconscious. I’ll see something in a store and want to buy it for him. I’ll eat something I know he likes and wish he was here to share it. A children’s book will remind me of the kids… it’s all so frustrating.

Why does doing the right thing feel so shitty?

My melancholy thoughts are interrupted by my phone buzzing, and I see my lawyer’s name on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask when I answer.

“We have a court date,” she says without preamble.

“Oh, geez. When?”

“Starting October fifteenth.”

“So soon?” I ask in dismay.

“Damien’s lawyer has been bitching about getting a timely trial, and I got the notice today.”

“I’m working in Paris for the foreseeable future,” I say, “but I’ll make sure to be back in time.”

“Good. Make sure you give us a couple of days because the prosecutor is going to need to prep you. You know his lawyer is going to go at you hard, to make you look like the bad guy.”

“What else is new?” I mutter. “I’m always the fucking bad guy.”

“But you’re not, Stevie. You know that. You didn’t deserve what he did or what happened.”

“Maybe not, but if there’s a way to spin it to look like I did, he’ll try.”

“That’s why you have me.”

The ever-present loneliness creeps in after we disconnect.

Saylor will meet me in New York for the trial if I ask her to, and Chey and Ivan are both witnesses so they have to be there, but it’s hard to describe how alone I’ve felt since ending things with Marty. We weren’t together long—didn’t even use the word love yet—so it shouldn’t be this hard to get over him. But it’s been more than hard… it’s been impossible .

The nightmares have become less frequent but that’s probably because I don’t sleep worth a damn. I got used to having him beside me…his warmth, his touch, his soft deep voice telling me everything is okay. Now I mostly toss and turn all night. If I have a chance, I nap in the afternoon, but it’s been so much more difficult to move on than I would have guessed.

All I can do now is put one foot in front of the other and pray I’ve done the right thing—for both of us.

* * *

I’ve just gotten home from a late dinner with Madame Bertrand when I get a text from Chey.

CHEY: He lost, Stevie.

I stare at the phone for a beat and then immediately call her.

“What happened?” I demand.

She sounds dejected. “The judge ruled that though both sides have a point, she can’t see removing the children from their mother to give them to their father full-time when he’s not home nine months of the year.”

“Oh no.” Tears inexplicably fill my eyes. “He must be devastated.”

“So devastated. We just left the courthouse and he went straight to the arena since tonight is the first night of the season, but he’s…I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Fuck.”

“The good news, at least, is that although Brenna has physical custody, they have shared custody so he’ll pay some child support, but no alimony, and he can see the kids whenever he wants. Every other holiday, shit like that, and two months in the off-season. He takes care of their health insurance, but he doesn’t have to pay for private school. If Brenna wants that, she and Phil have to pay for it.”

“I guess that’s something,” I mutter.

I can’t believe he lost.

I sacrificed so much—all for nothing.

And now I don’t imagine he’ll ever forgive me.

“He needs you, Stevie.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m working, Chey. I can’t just leave. And Damien’s trial is coming up.”

“You got a date?”

“Yes. I’ll be back in New York for trial prep next week.”

I give her all of the pertinent information.

“I have to be there anyway, but I’ll just adjust my schedule so I can be with you the whole time.”

“I appreciate you,” I whisper.

“You want me to talk to Saylor and Effie?”

“I’ll reach out,” I say. “I don’t want everyone’s lives disrupted for me. Again.”

“This is different,” she says firmly. “We are going to be there for you, no matter what.”

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Love you too.” She pauses. “Really, Stevie. Consider unblocking him…reaching out. He needs you.”

“Has he asked about me?”

Another pause. “No.”

“Everything I did was for him,” I say quietly. “And it was all for nothing. I don’t know how we get past this.”

“You explain why you did what you did.”

“I didn’t do it just for him, though,” I admit. “It was partly for me, to protect myself from the negative fallout with the press. It was coming. And I couldn’t risk spiraling like that. The TRO was a wake-up call, reminding me that I can’t escape my past.”

“He understands that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he cares about you.”

“His kids were more important.”

“He knows that too. He’s not happy about the way you did it, but deep down, he knows why you did what you did.”

“Then why hasn’t he reached out?” I demand.

“Because you blocked him!” she says in exasperation.

“All he had to do was ask Ivan to ask you to talk to me.”

She sighs. “Honey, you’re not the only one who has trauma, remember? It doesn’t help that a few days after you left he saw pictures of you online with L’il Barracuda.”

“Cassius?” I laugh. “What are you talking about? He’s been dating Marcie Franz. I introduced them. We were all together that night.”

“I know that, and you know that, but he doesn’t know that. Considering it’s the second time you’ve been in the news with him, I think he was hurt.”

I blow out a frustrated breath.

As usual, no matter what I’m doing—or how innocent it is—I wind up looking like the bad guy.

I’m so tired of the false narrative that seems to surround me.

“I told Marty ’Cuda and I were just friends. If he doesn’t believe me, that’s on him.”

“You dumped him and then a day later were hanging on the same guy the media portrayed you as having a relationship with.”

“I wasn’t hanging on him!” I snap. I rub my temples. “Sorry. I’m just tired and frustrated. There’s nothing between Cassius and me. There never has been.”

“If you tell Marty that, I think he’ll?—”

“I can’t,” I interrupt. “I love him, but for once in my life I need a man who believes in me, no matter what. When I’m being a little crazy, he has to put up with me because that’s who I am. I can’t be with a guy who doesn’t get that. The negativity that follows me is part of my professional persona. I am who I am. If he can’t love me in spite of myself, then he can’t love me at all.” My voice breaks at the end.

“Oh, honey.”

“Look, I have to get some rest. I’m doing an in-store appearance at some high-end perfumerie tomorrow, so I need to at least try to sleep.”

“Nightmares?” she asks knowingly.

“They’re better, not as often, but yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you’re dealing with a lot,” she says after a moment. “But don’t write him off yet. Just think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

Once we disconnect, I go to the window and take in the beautiful view. I can see the Eiffel Tower from here, all lit up. It’s so pretty at night. I spend a lot of time sitting by this window, usually with a book and a cup of tea. Thinking about the twists and turns of my life.

I’ve been so lucky professionally—and yet so unlucky in my personal life.

Maybe it’s time to tip the karma scales in my direction by doing something completely selfless. It won’t fix things with Marty, but it could fix things for him.

I have no need for twenty-five million dollars.

Not even close.

I reach for the phone and call my attorney.

“Hi,” I say when she gets on the line. “I need you to reach out to Madeline Aronson. Tell her to draw up paperwork.”

“Paperwork?” My lawyer sounds mystified.

“A check for five million dollars if Brenna signs over primary custody of the kids to Marty.”

“Stevie, are you sure…” Her voice trails in confusion.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Do it. And please, keep my name out of it. Anonymous donor.”

“Stevie, I don’t think?—”

“Please just take care of this for me. And I’ll see you next week.”

I disconnect and smile.

I love you, Marty. I hope this makes up for how much I hurt you.