Page 87 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

“So, tonight’s the night, eh?!” The joy in Sarah’s voice roused Leia smile again, the change of subject a welcome one. “On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you?”

“Try twelve! I took the day off so I could make sure everything on my to-do list was taken care of. We’ve got a few hours, so Shantelle’s hairstylist and makeup artist don’t have to rush, and I can take my time, have her walk, turn, and sit in her gown, make sure nothing pulls or feels odd. I’m just arriving at the hotel now. The film company is putting Shantelle and her parents up in a suite at the Maxwell.”

“Hello, big time!” squealed Sarah. “Look how far you’ve both come.”

Leia swept around the corner onto Lexington Avenue, her eyes drawn across the street. Two gigantic American flags hung still and limp, yearning for a breeze above the entrance to an art deco landmark. The Waldorf Astoria. A nostalgia-fueled flutter teased her stomach. The hotel from Serendipity, the one Tarquin wanted to stay in… until I burst his bubble and broke his heart. And mine, too, I guess…

“You SO deserve this, Ley! Your future starts now!”

Yeah. Yeah, it does. No more looking back. Leia exchanged smiles with the Maxwell Hotel’s doorman and escaped inside.

• • •

Three hours later, Shantelle fluttered her feathery false lashes behind her cat eye glasses and gulped, her chest rising and falling fast. “Scotty,” she whispered, leaning into Leia as they approached the photographers’ pen outside Radio City Music Hall. “I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

Shantelle’s fingers roamed up the symphony of hot pink chiffon of her gown, toying with the tiered sleeves of delicate cerise lace. “Remember all those games? Sat in the stands with Erika? Stuffing our faces with soggy nachos, talking about Eri appearing on Real Housewives, me acting, you designing—the two of us having our red carpet debuts together?”

“Green, you mean.” Butterflies swirled in Leia’s belly. “Tonight’s carpet is eco-friendly green! Perfect for Lost for Breath’s eco-theme!” Perfect for my dress! The moment was the culmination of one of Leia’s lifelong dreams, seeing her hard work worn with sass and style in front of the entertainment world’s movers and shakers.

Shantelle waved her seashell-hued manicure above her immaculately applied blush and foundation, trying to keep cool in the sticky August heat. “Am I sweating too much? I hope I don’t trip. What if I pose funny?”

“You’re fine! And you’re in good hands.” Leia patted her black tote. “I have enough antiperspirant, double-sided fashion tape, and heel liners to fix all of Manhattan!” She stayed a step behind Shantelle, ensuring her Frill-Seekers gown fell properly and didn’t reveal any last-minute problems like a popped seam or fallen hem before her friend hit the pack of photographers and reporters. Leia grinned over her shoulder. Mrs. Joy swooned with parental pride, chatting with her daughter’s agent while Mr. Joy, phone aloft, captured the festivities live over FaceTime, keeping Shantelle’s siblings and grandmother up to date back home in Wisconsin.

“I think I need to pee again!” Shantelle dawdled in her sky-high heels, her hands flitting above her long black hair twisted into an elaborate 1960s-style high bun.

“Shan.” Leia tenderly brushed her friend’s arm. “Stop fussing. You’re beautiful. You’ve got this!”

Like magic, Leia’s calm words soothed Shantelle’s distress and swapped her pinched brow for a grateful grin. “God, what would I do without you, Leia?!” She slipped her hands into her gown’s pockets. “For one thing, I wouldn’t look this stunning! I never want to take this dress off—EVER! My ass looks better than J. Lo’s! And check out my boobs…” She arched a coquettish eyebrow at the plunging neckline. “My girls are sexy and classy! I must admit, I had doubts when you suggested the deep V. I worried I’d be one sneeze away from nip-slip central, but they’re held in place real good!”

“All hail the sticky bra! It’s a life-changer.” Leia snickered and stepped forward, the heels she’d switched into at the hotel just shy of the green carpet.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Shantelle clutched Leia’s hand. “Thank you, Scotty! I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you could.” Leia squeezed back and let go. “It’s a shame Morgan couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, well…” Shantelle bit her glossy lip and peered past Leia where her mom and dad happily chatted over FaceTime to the Midwest. She whispered in Leia’s ear, “Don’t tell my parents, but…Morgan and I split three weeks ago.”

Split? Three weeks— Leia’s head jerked back. But Morgan’s lovely! A cinnamon roll of a guy! “Oh, Shan…” she muttered under her breath. “What happened?”

Loud squeals from the far end of the carpet disrupted their conversation. Fans draped over the metal barricades cried out for autographs and selfies every time another Lost for Breath star joined the press parade. Shantelle did a double take. “My psychic advisor, she recommended it.”

Oh, god. She didn’t! Leia’s face blanched. “What!?” She blurted through a fake smile, plastered on for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Joy. Her family loved Morgan like a son. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No!” The actress let out a rushed breath. “She said Morgan was holding me back…like, physically.”

“How?!”

“One guess—sex scenes. Morgan hates them. I’ve told him repeatedly, ‘They’re make-believe, they’re part of my job,’ but he kept freaking out about Bastien.”

Leia peered over her friend’s shoulder. Bastien Soulier. Dressed in a floral print designer suit, the quirky French actor raked a confident hand through his thick mop of shoulder-length mahogany curls and held court in the middle of the carpet, teasing the baying photographers and hysterical fans with his pouty air of Gallic indifference. Known more for his sensitive musings and love of existential poetry than his pecs, “beautiful Bastien with the f*ck-me eyes” (trademark The National Mail) had given Hollywood gossip magazines a huge scoop during his previous film’s press junket, announcing his newfound—and fan-criticized—celibacy. With his whimsical je ne sais quoi, the twenty-nine-year-old had divulged that by forgoing sex, his on-camera love scenes were indulgent and raw, sizzling with pure, primal instinct.

He’s not signing for his fans? Leia curled her lip as Bastien ignored their frantic pleas and lingered just out of reach before sauntering toward Radio City Music Hall’s entrance, its open doors dispensing frigid air onto the steaming pavement. Morgan had good reason to freak out. Shan confided that they had to stop filming their nude scenes twice because Bastien got a raging hard-on inside his flesh-colored modesty pouch. And once, he ejaculated! Blech! Leia’s flesh crawled. Shantelle might call that make-believe, but I call that real—and really gross.

Shantelle stared at her left hand and the three-carat pink diamond ring on loan for the premiere from her former employer, Tiffany & Co. “I don’t want a fight every time a role requires love scenes. I’ve supported him through injuries, trade rumors…if Morgan can’t support my dream, it’s time to move on—from hockey and him.”

Two months ago, she was talking wedding dresses, hoping he’d propose. Leia exhaled heavily. Morgan didn’t seem controlling. He was a nice guy.

“Leia, you left Tyler when things weren’t good. You understand, right?” Shantelle blinked, eager for approval.