More Than Anything

“I’m fine. I was just exhausted.”

“Well, you should take some time to rest…somewhere nice and quiet without all the fans screaming at you all day and asking for pictures.”

I chuckled. “I will do that.”

“I know just the place,” she said, and I listened to her chatter about some resort she’d heard about with natural hot baths and vitamin infusions.

“Have you spoken to Braden?” she asked suddenly, surprising me. We never spoke about him.

I swallowed the surge of pain and blinked rapidly as tears ached behind my lids. “I’m not expecting to.”

Celine was silent for a moment. “I’m sure he’ll call.”

Why should he? There was no reason at all. It had been almost two years since our separation after barely one year of marriage. I’d locked out the agony of that failure with hard, constant work, but it never fully went away. Whenever I thought about him, I felt like my heart was being dragged over jagged glass.

Not long after the call, I woke up from another snooze to find my assistant sitting by the window, scrolling through her phone.

“Meredith.”

“Hey, you’re awake.” She rose swiftly and came over to give me an impulsive hug. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said softly before switching back to work mode. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Matthew has arranged a limo to take you home whenever you’re ready.”

She’d brought me a change of clothes and makeup. I dressed, doing my best to mask the remnants of fatigue. I brushed my hair over one shoulder and added extra color to my cheeks.

Meredith looked me over. “You look good.”

“I hope so.” I chuckled. “I’m sure they expect me to come out looking like death.”

“Nah. They love you. They’re just glad you’re okay.”

“And that my nose is intact.”

Meredith laughed. “That too.”

She took care of all the paperwork, and as we walked to the elevator, the nurses in the nurses’ station clapped and waved. I waved back, feeling a little tender inside.

“See,” Meredith said matter-of-factly. “Everyone’s happy.”

At the front entrance, a black limo was waiting, and my manager, Matthew Whitney, made a great show of helping me into the car while cameras flashed from the photographers stationed outside.

“Are you anorexic, Allie??

??

“Was it cocaine?”

“Are you an addict?”

“Allie, will you go to rehab?”

“How did they know I was leaving the hospital?” I groaned once I was safely inside the car.

“There have been a few camped out here since you were brought in,” Matthew said in a soothing, patient voice, making me feel like a drama queen for complaining. He was always impeccably groomed, and he was currently wearing a striped three-piece with a bright pink pocket square. “You’re big news, Allie.”

I sighed. “Whose idea was the black limo? It looks like a hearse. I’m not dead yet.”

“And won’t be for a long time.” He put his phone down on his lap and smiled at me. “We’re thinking a spa resort, somewhere in Europe, with limited press appearances so they don’t forget about you. Maybe a date with a European movie star to fuel rumors of a breakup with Guy… Of course, you would have to interrupt the break for the New Year’s Eve Gala in New York. You’re already committed, and they’re raising money for something or the other…”

“Mental illness,” I interjected.