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women as the wife of a prominent director, as well as a middle-aged actress who was a regular on a daytime soap. The eldest

woman of the group looked vaguely familiar but Persephone couldn’t place her in the time it took to be overtaken by the flurry

of two-cheeked air kisses.

A seventies-ish woman laden in diamonds and shiny faced in a post-facial, post-peel kind of way introduced herself as Tessa

and grabbed Persephone’s hand. “You are such a darling thing. You and John must come to Shabbat. My husband and I host one

the first Friday of every month. My mother’s visiting from Tel Aviv and she’s desperate to have him over. You have to see

a picture of my father when he was young—John is his spitting image, the darker version.”

“I’m Bonnie,” said the girl who looked like an escort (and Persephone chastened herself for being unfair, although there were a few aspirings in this town who moonlighted as paid companions), “and yes, you have to come. Great food, great music.”

Liza, the elderly woman wearing the oversized sapphire necklace and rings on every finger, rubbed her skeletal hand along

Persephone’s arm. “You have great skin. But if you want to keep it you have to stay out of the sun.”

“I don’t tan,” said Persephone, shaking her head.

Liza patted Persephone’s hand. “Good girl. You know, even before SPF was fashionable, my Sammy always made sure it was properly

applied. He insisted on scanning his face with one of those contraptions every morning, to detect missed spots. For anti-aging.”

She glanced at Tessa. “You know Sammy.”

Tessa gave an elegant shrug. “Sammy is Sammy.”

Bonnie grinned. “But I can never resist lying out. How can you in the South of France?”

“Ah, France, the eternal lure,” said Liza with a knowing nod. She asked Persephone, “Where do you go?”

“Go?” Persephone asked.

“To get away.”

“Oh. Um...” She threw out the first celebrity haunt that came to mind. “Saint-Tropez?”

Margaret, the soap star, drawled, “Saint-Tropez is over. It’s all about Bodrum again.”

Clubs and restaurants were known to have expiration dates, but Persephone wasn’t aware it happened to whole cities and towns,

too.

Margaret continued, “I remember going to Saint-Tropez ages ago, before anyone knew about it. Unspoiled. And Ibiza.”

“It hurts my heart, Ibiza,” Tessa said mournfully. “The whole South of France, practically. Everyone goes there now. Your

boat can’t move five feet up the Mediterranean without bumping into this one’s and that one’s. Forget about Saint-Tropez,”

Tessa said to Persephone, the way a mother might tell her daughter to forget a bad boyfriend. “You don’t even want to be seen

there. Bodrum, Bodrum.”

Persephone was long familiar with the desire to prove herself worthy to her mother, but at this Hollywood party, her desperation to be more than a person revealed a paradox: she could run into the arms of these women and their once-removed adulation, but that would mean they would get to know her.

The real her. Regular girl from Corpus Christi, Texas, who still couldn’t land an acting gig, who limped a little and had a bit too

much peach fuzz on her arms and broken capillaries near her nose if you looked close. She was like the Hollywood sign’s O : impressive only at a distance.

Tessa turned to Liza. “Monaco is still nice. And Cannes will always be Cannes.”

“Perfect sun for lying out.” Bonnie laughed. “What? I’m not saying lie out with baby oil! But we all get older, right?” She

sipped her champagne. “Just maybe, one day age will be fashionable. Sexy.”

It was Tessa’s turn to laugh. “Only for men, dear. It’s never been so for women.”

“Things are changing,” Bonnie countered.

But Tessa was already shaking her head. “Don’t let the feminists fool you. Men want what men want.”

“They’ve been the same since Adam,” said Liza with a languid wave of a jeweled arm, “but when you get to a certain age, you

realize there are more important things than being fashionable and sexy.”

Persephone realized where she’d seen Liza before: on YouTube, in one of those videos that showcased beauty commercials from

decades ago.

“Being beautiful is easy,” Liza said. And when Bonnie and Margaret began to disagree, she silenced them with a gentle lowering

of her chin. “I don’t speak of prettiness. I speak of beauty. Of charisma. There have been plenty of unpretty women who were

utterly devastating. Being a star is easy, too. But stardom. Ah, stardom is treacherous. Hardly anyone makes it out intact.”

“I’ve seen plenty who seem OK,” Persephone ventured. “They’ve had issues, but came across grounded enough.”

“There’s grounded,” Liza said, “and there’s grounded. People who want to fly amongst the stars find it difficult to remain on the ground. As for seeming OK , with how many former bright lights have you spoken?”

When Persephone failed to answer, Liza gave her a pointed look. “My Sammy can be a character, but I married an extremely predictable

man because I needed something stable to grasp. I didn’t have an easy time when I was young. In those days modeling was a

minefield. But no complaints, and only two real regrets. At my age, that’s a feat. But I came to hate my work, this town,

everything. And yet, though I wanted to stop, I found I just couldn’t.” She smiled softly. “You’re thinking it was the money,

the independence. No. Being the object of envy and lust is easy. It’s downright frightening, nearly impossible, to be the

other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“Yourself.”

9

Persephone stood at the edge of the balustrade. Moonlight silvered the dark emerald foliage while shivering across the surface

of a lengthy fountain pool. Beyond it, a sea of bushes and tangles of flowers manicured to look like a wild wonderland. Rich

people paid a lot of money to make things look as if they hadn’t paid at all.

She’d sensed resignation in Liza’s voice, but contentment, too. Was there such a thing as contented resignation? Or maybe

it’d been relief. Before the larks had flown away, Liza patted Persephone’s arm and said, I love to do a good turn, so you let me know if you need anything, anything at all . But all Persephone could think about was how she had an expiration date. If this acting thing didn’t turn into a bona fide

career soon, she’d have to be happy with...?

Yourself.

She shoved away Liza’s words.

“Had enough?”

John walked across the stone balcony to stand beside her.

“More than enough. Can you believe this English garden, though?”

“William says he’ll be at your place in the morning before you come to the hotel. Or you can just bring the dress to my room

when you come over and he’ll get it then.”

“Oh, right.” It was like the Cinderella story, only instead of Persephone’s coach returning to its pumpkin state, her Armani

dress would return to its showroom rack. “It’s nice out here.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t chilled. Looks breezy.”

“You ever wish you could feel it? The breeze?”

“I don’t wish for anything. Not in this world, anyway.”

“Oh, come on. Nothing? Those oysters in there are pretty amazing. And we know you love a good donut. And Korean fusion.”

“Fine, maybe food. But I’d trade in my taste buds for a real chance to return home.” John sighed deeply and stared out across

the balcony. “All right, maybe I’m a little curious about the wind.”

“Well, it feels like a touch from something bigger than yourself. It makes you feel like you’re big enough to be part of something,

but also small enough to know that you don’t matter as much as you think you do.”

“Wow,” he said, turning to her. “That’s... that’s really corny, Persephone.”

“I could’ve said that it’s like being a ghost,” she retorted. “Felt but unseen. Temperamental and annoying—”

“Annoying?”

“Destroyer of feel-good moments—”

“So terrible.”

“Spoiling picnics, blowing paper plates and napkins all over the place.”

“Making a complete mess of things,” John said. “ SPOTTED: John ruining a gender-reveal party, Persephone standing by in horror, just before the parents-to-be unleash yet another mountainside fire. ”

“ SPOTTED: Persephone eating too much at said party, only for her bloated stomach to be mistaken for pregnancy. ”

John laughed. “Imagine that.”

“I don’t have to imagine. They literally printed something like that a few days ago. Too much cheesecake.”

“ SPOTTED ,” John said with a grin. “ John’s midnight cheesecake runs spark yet another rumor of baby on the way. Twins! ”

“ He’s over the moon and scared to death! ”

Persephone and John laughed, but he sighed again. “I’m really ready to be home. But what about you? Whenever a journalist

mentions your hometown, you seem tense.”

“What? No.” She faked a laugh but cut it short. Why not? Put yourself out there. Ask him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Corpus Christi. Five years. I hadn’t spoken to my brother in a long time.”

“Brother?”

“I never mentioned him. To anyone, not just you.”

John spoke with his face to the sky, addressing clusters of stars. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

Ask him. “He’s in really big trouble. I don’t know what kind yet, but he wants me to come back. The thing is, he’s always found himself

in some kind of situation. Varying degrees of screwups. I should go. I owe it to him.”

“You’re a good person, Persephone. You don’t have to be perfect.”

“I should go. I am going. But...” I need someone—I need you—to come with me. It took a few days for her to realize the real reason why. Yes, she needed the moral support. But more than that, there was

this: Persephone Cross had yet to make it as an actress. Returning to Corpus Christi with John meant at least returning as

something . Returning without him would mean going back with a pocket full of broken dreams and a face covered in egg.

Ask him.

“Will you come with me?” she blurted. And with a twinge, she realized too large a part of her had expected him to agree immediately.

She waited, and waited.