Because this is real. I’m really doing this. With a deep breath, I put on a broad smile, and prepare to face the cameras.
13
Cassidy
My interview might have started out nerve-wracking, but by the end, I’m vibrating with a whole different emotion: excitement. Because by the end, I know I’m nailing it. Jackie and the host are both ridiculously fun to chat with, and they even insist on having me do (or rather, re-do) some of their makeup live on camera while I explain what ingredients I use (all-natural and free from preservatives that often irritate sensitive skin), and why (cruelty-free products that haven’t been tested on animals because I feel like that’s a practice that we need to retire in the beauty industry).
By the end of our interview, both Jackie and our host are swearing up and down that they’ll be customers of mine for life— “and I swear, she’s not paying me to say that,” Jackie adds at the end, laughing along with me.
The thrill of being on television and not just holding my own but actually having fun while doing it, is a high I don’t know that I’ll be able to top anytime soon.
But almost as soon as I step off the stage, I start to spiral all over again. Because one glance to the side of the stage, and there he is. Lark. Waiting to talk to me as promised.
My soaring spirits do a quick dip toward crashing and burning. Then they hoist up again as Lark gives me a sheepish grin and a half-wave with one hand, because damn it, he’s still as drop-dead sexy as ever, and all I want to do is run straight into his arms and forget about the past week.
I especially want to forget about what I overheard in the hallway of my new therapist’s office last weekend. The event that triggered this whole separation.
Unfortunately, I can’t. Always a pleasure, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Their marriage counselor. And then Sheryl’s reply. That went well, I thought.
If she’s right, if it did go well… if they have a shot at reuniting… I won’t be the person who comes between them. I refuse. No matter how devastating Lark looks in his well-pressed suit right now.
No more avoiding this, I guess. At least I still have the buzz of adrenaline from the interview coursing through me. Not to mention Marcel’s voice whispering in the back of my mind, telling me that Lark seemed devastated all week too. That he’s as stuck on me as I am on him.
It doesn’t make this situation any less of a complicated mess. But it makes me feel a bit better, at least, for how cut up I’ve been over it.
At least I’m not the only one. Not overreacting. Not making up this emotion all in my head.
As I approach Lark, I try to remember what my therapist suggested to me in our second session last week, as the self-doubting voices rear up in the back of my mind all over again. She told me not to identify with those voices, with the anxieties that tell me I’m not good enough for anyone. Those are just things I’ve been conditioned to think, as a sort of self-defense mechanism, after all that I’ve been through in past relationships.
But while it’s easy to tell myself that, it’s a lot harder to believe it as I’m approaching the one guy who I thought was different. The guy who somehow managed to wound me even more than the rest.
When I reach his side, I notice that none of the stagehands are fluttering around anymore, or even the catering people I’d noticed carefully removing the buffet earlier. He positioned himself in a far corner, out of sight of almost anyone but me. Like he doesn’t want to be interrupted.
It only worsens my nerves because I don’t know if I trust myself alone with him, if I trust that I can say what I need to say.
But when I reach his side, he doesn’t let me say a thing at all. He cuts in first.
“You look incredible today,” he says. “Not that you don’t always, but… wow.”
My cheeks flush, and I’m grateful for the camera-level of foundation Marcel gave me because it hides the blush. “Thanks. You look all right yourself.” All right? Mentally I kick myself.
But Lark just grins, the same devilish grin that I fell for hard. “I was starting to worry you’d been avoiding me,” he says. It’s meant to be a joke, but I can see the flash of hurt in his eyes.
“Lark…” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Look, Cassidy, I don’t know what’s upsetting you, but I want to help. There has to be some way I can help.” His brows contract. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”