Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Outside the sun is shining, and it’s hot. So hot that I’m sweating and my breathing is labored because I’m on the verge of a meltdown. I decide to walk, to get lost in the crowd even though that is nearly impossible because people are calling my name. They’re grabbing at me, asking for a picture, an autograph and I can’t stop and give them what they want.
I slip inside a tourist store where I can buy a fake Hollywood star and use the attached stickers to make my name. That would’ve been easier than paying the ridiculous fee that my band, Reverend Sister, paid in order to get a legit star on the Walk of Fame. I keep my head down and pick up a T-shirt that reads “I Almost Got Famous in Hollywood” which is something I would never be caught dead in and snag a hat off the rack. Anything I can do to hide my platinum blonde and purple hair from the people on the street. I’m not expecting it to help much, but a little would be nice.
Thankfully I have enough cash to pay for my items, and luckily the clerk doesn’t recognize me, or if he does, he’s not a fan and couldn’t care less that Zara Phillips is in his store buying ridiculous Hollywood propaganda. Either way, I’m grateful that he’s not asking for a selfie because there’s no doubt in my mind that I look like utter shit. The last thing I need is my face on Instagram with comments leading to speculation that I’m stoned and on my way to rehab.
On my way to divorce court is more like it. I can’t imagine what those headlines will be like. Of course, no one will believe that Van Phillips would do such a horrible thing to his precious Zara, his high school sweetheart, the love of his life and soul mate. Yet he did and did so without giving me a second thought.
Thinking about Van and whatever the hell her name is, sends my heart and stomach in opposite directions. I thank the clerk and don my newly purchased disguise before stepping back out and into the foot traffic. My name is called less, and it’s more of people questioning whether or not they’re getting lucky and seeing me walking down the street. Any other day I’d be happy to stop and chat with them, but not today. Today I want to get home and figure out what I’m supposed to do, and where I’m supposed to go from here because any decision that I make, is not going to be an easy one.
Our lives, Van’s and mine, are intertwined in so many ways. From the time he joined my silly little garage band to the day we took our friendship to the next level. Everything we did, we did as a team with people around us and now those people depend on us. Reverend Sister isn’t Van’s or mine, it’s ours and only works together if we’re in it together and right now I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
By the time the tears start to fall, and I mean really fall, I’m halfway home, and my phone is ringing with Van calling. The alerts are going off like crazy because the paparazzi are relentless and insist on snapping pictures of people. And when they put them online they add the most ridiculous headlines, except these are spot on, and tell people about my impending breakdown. It’s coming. I can feel the gut-wrenching ache, my heart being ripped out of my chest, and every muscle and bone in my body in pain. The takeover is slow and almost alien-like. I can feel it in my toes, moving its way up my legs. It’ll take some time for my brain to really figure it out. For the light bulb to go off that my marriage is over.
And it is over. I can’t forget what I saw and if I can’t do that there is no way I could forgive him. There is no way that I’d let him touch me after what I witnessed. The thought has me doubled over, and someone is yelling from a passing car, asking if I’m okay. Mentally I flip them off because do I look okay? No, I don’t. Nothing about my appearance screams that I am okay.
Van’s car is in the driveway when I reach the gate to our house. I stand there, like a celebrity stalker, looking at the property. The half-circle driveway with its pristine concrete leads to two amazing French doors that I chose. Beyond those doors, the marble flooring that I had to have extends up the sweeping staircase and fills the hallway that leads to my bedroom with its balcony that overlooks my swimming pool. Everything about this house is what I wanted, complete with an empty room for a nursery because damn it, Van promised me we’d start trying for a baby.