“Honestly, Antonio, it’s just Jens. And anyway, it was one moment captured that was like a minute-long tops. ”
“Yeah, well, my family won’t see it that way. We don’t do disloyalty.”
“We aren’t together.” I exaggerate, hitting my t’s with persistence.
“Doesn’t matter!” He mocks me, and I scrunch my nose at him. “Stop that.” He waves a hand in my face, and I push it out of the way.
“Appearance is all we have to validate our relationship. If I can’t fuck some chick,” (Debatable whether he already has.) “you can’t—“
“Can’t?”
“Have some guy grope your leg.”
“Fine.” I grit, annoyed at the double standard.
“And I’m still getting you a publicist.” He gets up from the table before I can fight him again on the matter and heads up the steps to shower. I growl under my breath when I’m sure he can’t hear.
I hate that he thinks he has any sort of control over my personal life. The whole point of this agreement was to be free to do as we please. It’s understandable, his intention to keep my image perfectly curated, considering both of our families care deeply about that. Though it doesn’t make it any less infuriating.
I place my plate in the sink for Alk as he’s cleaning up, and we exchange a glance. He’s not one to ask if he knows something is wrong. He lets me come to him, and I really admire that— always have.
I head up the stairs and quickly rummage through the smaller-than-satisfactory closet to find an outfit for today. It’s bright and sunny as usual, warm and humid, so I go to the side with lighter clothes, pushing each piece past me to browse. I grab a denim Prada dress— short, straps half-an-inch, and simple in its silhouette. I change into it, put on some small but thick gold hoop earrings, and throw my hair into a messy ponytail.
I lace up my all-white Prada platform sneakers and jump up, heading down to the front door to wait for Antonio, but surprised to see he’s already there.
“Ready?” He continues to scroll through his phone, and I can already hear security walking to us from their places in the house before I’ve answered.
“Yes.” I fight back the urge to use sarcasm. Why would I be here if I wasn’t? Also, has he seen me? I’m more than ready. In response, he turns to the door, and security follows us out to the car.
I’m thankful that Antonio leaves the driving to his boys because this way, we can easily get out without having to find parking by the Gucci store. Melrose Avenue is still some of my favorite shopping in California, regardless of the traffic it accrues. I may even get something new today. Actually, no question asked, I will get something new today. I deserve it after the night I had.
My hangover has greatly subsided since breakfast, so I’m glad at least that’s going in my favor. It’s also another plus that I can wear my favorite pink square Gucci sunglasses without having to squint from a hangover headache. The car stops before I realize we’ve arrived, and we leap out at the same time, not wanting to hold up traffic, then cross to the sidewalk with diligence.
“Pap,” Antonio says to me quietly, taking my hand in his, tightly lacing our fingers, and I laugh like he said something funny as the bald man clicks away at us. A couple more joins his side, clicking their cameras from a distance as we enter the Gucci store.
“They ever leave you alone?” He squeezes my hands when I don’t let go immediately upon being inside.
“Not in LA.” I roll my eyes, and he furrows his brows in thought, slipping his hand from mine as one of the women working the floor approaches us.
“Welcome! Anything I can help you find?” She’s blinking googly eyes at Antonio, barely glancing my way.
“We’re fine.” I grab Antonio's hand again and pull him to a section of clothes. He gives me a look I ignore because I prefer not to respond to him the way I want to, in public.
“Have a personal vendetta against the Gucci store workers now?” Antonio speaks up when I’ve got at least four items in my hand, and no one has been brave enough to bother us. It’s a little unfortunate; I would have liked to start my change room by now.
“No.” I punch my words a little too obviously. That woman was clearly flirting with him. A man who, if you ask anyone up to date with celeb gossip, is clearly dating me.
“‘Scuse me,” Antonio waves over the floor sales lady who greeted us.
“Stop,” I whisper through grit teeth, and he gives me a side-eyed glare as she approaches.
“Yes?” She smiles, eyes blinking up at Antonio’s, and I hate that I feel this twisting in my stomach. It’s stupid. If he thinks she’s hot, it’s none of my business. Still, I’m clenching my jaw.
“Can you start a change room for my girlfriend, please?” Her face drops, and she snaps her neck to me.
“Certainly.” She reaches out her hands with a smile, and I look at Antonio, a satisfied smirk on his pink lips as he nods.
“Thank you.” I relent, handing them to her as she nods and walks with them to the change room.