"Mineral water, please," Vaughn says.
Hmmm. He’s in Mr. Responsible mode. "How was your premiere?" I ask him politely. "I saw you on TV." And apparently I am not quite drunk enough to dampen down my venom because he shoots me a look.
"Valencia is just a friend, Grace. Not even a real one at that. Just a publicity date."
I c**k an eyebrow at that. "Good to know. Just one question, Mr. Asher. Do you have any authentic relationships? Any? A friend? Your brother? No? He’s a player in your game as well? Your daughter? Oh, no, another player. She’s a little young to be your legal counsel, don’t you think?"
He sighs. "This is giving me a chance?" He stares at me. Like I’m the one who’s disappointing him right now, instead of the other way around.
My drink arrives and I take a sip. A long sip. My head is fuzzy and I am good and buzzed, but I’ve got some time before I’m drunk. And if ever there was a day that required a spin before bed, it’s this one.
I plan on being good and spun before I black out tonight.
Vaughn grasps his water glass with both hands and twirls it slowly, like he needs to be doing something. He clears his throat. "Um, well to answer your question, no. I don’t."
I look up from my menu and find his eyes. He looks lost.
"I don’t have any friends. So everyone you see me with on TV, they are a negotiated business deal. I mean, I guess my agent, Larry, he’s probably my best friend, but we don’t do things together. Like hike or boat or—"
"Surf," I say with a smile.
Vaughn laughs and that smile he’s famous for warms up my stone-cold heart for a moment. He does have an incredible smile when it’s genuine. "Larry actually does surf, but he doesn’t invite me."
"Why not?"
He shrugs. "I always say no, so why bother asking when he already knows the answer."
"I can’t imagine a life without my best friend. I haven’t seen her very much these days. We’re going in different directions, it seems. But Bebe and I have been besties since I was fifteen."
Vaughn is silent for several seconds, like he’s thinking about that. It makes me a little bit uncomfortable, so much so that I feel compelled to divert the topic to something else. The problem is, I’m not sure anything is safe right now.
"What are you thinking?" he asks softly. "Tell me."
I shake my head no. "You are the one who has to talk, not me. I’m here to listen, remember?"
He nods. "OK, you’re right," he says as he studies my face.
What does he see? God, that bugs me when people look at me like that. Like they know all my secrets. It makes me so uncomfortable. I forgo the straw in my margarita and lift the wide glass to gulp, the salt sticking to my lips.
"If you were serious, the movie premiere went really well. I’m happy with my performance. Do you think you’ll go see it?"
"A few weeks ago I was dying to see it. The man of my dreams was the star."
"And now? I’m your worst nightmare and you’ve lost interest?"
"Not exactly."
"I’ve disappointed you and you’re hurt?" I nod and he nods with me. "I’m sorry. I… I don’t know how to be me, Grace. The real me, I mean. I’m so used to being him, I might’ve lost me along the way. What exactly did you like about the fairy tale me? And I’m not fishing for compliments, OK? I’m seriously interested. What did you see? If this is the guy I am”—he gestures to himself—“then how did you get beyond it when everything out there in the public eye is fake?"
I turn my head and concentrate on a point off in the distance. Another couple having dinner. They are comfortable with each other. Talking easily. Smiling easily. "There was this picture of you. It was taken about four years ago, I guess. And you were at a charity function for foster kids." I stop for a moment to choose my words carefully. "And you were sitting on a couch somewhere, surrounded by kids—"
"Trust the Future."
"Yeah," I say, smiling. "That was it. That was the name of the charity. And you looked so freaking happy in that photo. I thought to myself, now that man might make me want to marry. And then I went looking for more information and I found a video of that day. You were playing X-Box with those kids. Some violent shooter game that most parents would throw a fit over. But you looked like you were having the best time. You looked real that day."
"I love kids."
"I can tell."
"I want a shitload of kids," he says, almost wistfully.
"Is that your dream? Marriage and children?"
He nods slowly, pressing his lips together, probably expecting me to object since I told him I was not interested in marriage. But I don’t. It’s not my place to stomp on his dream.
"I just don’t get it, Grace. If you want the prince, why don’t you want the marriage?"
I take another gulp of margarita and finish it off. "Because," I say, picking up my menu. I’m not hungry anymore but I need something to do with my hands. "Because regardless of what you think, I realize there are no princes, Vaughn. And you’re right, it was unfair of me to expect you to be perfect." I stare at him. Hard. My eyes are narrowing, I just know it. Because it sucks to admit I’ve been foolish for all these years. Looking for a phantom man who will spoil any good relationship I ever have because my expectations are too high.