Kissing Jenna (Big Sky 2)

I just nod, wishing my sister would shut the fuck up. I’m quite sure that we could have worked around the geography. And I would have taken the next couple of days to talk to Jenna, to make plans for the future. I was just too selfish with our private little bubble to talk about what would happen after the bubble popped.

And now I’m gone, and she doesn’t want to see me again.

I look out the window to the dark clouds below and bite my lip, ignoring my sister who’s still talking. She’s pulled out her planner and is rattling off my schedule, full of meetings and photo shoots and television appearances.

The full onslaught of promotion is about to start. Ready or not.

“First, we’ll go see Mom, of course,” she says.

“I haven’t seen her in five years.”

“I know.” She sets her planner on her lap and frowns. “I know there are hard feelings there, Chris, but damn it, she could have died. Shouldn’t you let bygones be bygones and try to have a relationship with Mom?”

“Fifteen million dollars,” I murmur, and she grimaces.

“I know.”

“It wasn’t your money, and you weren’t the one she betrayed. I understand and support you wanting to be close with her, Nina. I do. But I don’t have the desire to have the same kind of relationship. So, I’ll stop by and say hello, and then I’m going home to get ready for this press junket.”

“Understood,” she replies, and I turn away, pulling out my phone and connecting to the on-board Wi-Fi.

I bring up my browser, find the land for sale in front of Jenna’s mountain property, and contact the agent.

Dear Sir,

I would like to purchase this property. I’ve already seen it, so no need to take me out there. Please advise on how you’d like to proceed. I’ll pay full asking price.

Sincerely,

Christian Wolfe

***

I do not want to do this.

I’ve made it through the past ten days without feeling much of anything. I’m a robot. I saw my mother, and that went as well as it always does.

Full of frustration and mistrust.

Thankfully, she’s recovering at home, and Nina is looking in on her.

I’ve been in New York and London to promote Tender Graces, and now we’re back in L.A. for the premiere tonight.

The movie is already garnering huge critical acclaim, and my name has been thrown around with the possibility of another Oscar nod.

And I don’t care.

I’m sitting in the back of a stretch limo with Serena Holmes perched as far away from me as humanly possible. We haven’t said two words to each other on this tour when it wasn’t in front of a camera.

We can’t stand each other.

But we’re really, really good at faking it.

“I can’t wait until this is all done so I don’t have to do this with you anymore,” she hisses between her teeth, glaring at me.

“Sweetheart, I couldn’t agree more.” I watch the crowds on either side of the car. No one can see inside, which is good.

I don’t want to have to touch her more than necessary.

When we park in front of the red carpet, Serena slides over to me, plasters on her fake smile, and we climb out of the car. I turn to offer her my hand and escort her down the carpet, stopping on our marks to smile for the cameras.

A thousand lights are flashing around us, video cameras are pointed at us, and every gossip columnist has a mic in their hands, hasty to thrust them in our faces as we approach.

Serena lets me do most of the talking, per the studio’s request. She wasn’t happy with that, but they’re paying her paycheck, so it is what it is.

I assume my normal stance, one arm slung around her low back, and my other hand tucked into my pocket. The crowd is deafening, and the lights are blinding.

This used to excite me. It pumped up my adrenaline, and I lived for moments like these, when all eyes were on me, and the people couldn’t wait to hear what I had to say.

And now, well, I don’t enjoy it like I once did. I even resent it.

I need a break from it.

“Let’s go,” Serena says in my ear, making it look like she’s kissing my cheek. “These lights are giving me a fucking headache.”

I don’t say a word as I gesture for her to go ahead of me, and I follow behind, careful not to step on the train of her dress.

That happened in New York, and I got the verbal beating of a lifetime when we got back into the limo on the way to the hotel once the after party was finished.

She’s fucking exhausting.

Serena and I won’t be watching the film tonight. Instead, we’ll come back for the after party, and then I’m done. There isn’t a European leg of this tour, thank God.