Madonna Saint Elise POVShe responds: What? Me: Why are you up at this hour?Paula: I was snacking. Why are you up at this hour?I didn’t know she had a middle-of-the-night appetite, but maybe it’s a thing with chefs. I reply:Walk of shaming it back across town.My phone instantly rings. I laugh, needing the lightheartedness right now. “Hello?”“Do tell.”“Two words.” I track my gaze to the driver, who seems too occupied in his own world to be concerned with mine. Whispering, I say, “Joemar. Russo.”“Holy sh—”“I know.”“How the hell did that happen? What happened to he’s horrible, and I hate him and all that talk about rude, offensive, frustrating?” She takes a breath and adds, “Attractive.”“Absurdly so. Yeah, I remember, and I’m eating my words now.”“What else were you eating last night?”A bubble of laughter escapes me. “Pizza. That’s it.”She fake yawns, and then she laughs. “Boring. Tell me the good stuff.”I stare out the window and begin to recognize that I’m getting close t
Joemar Russo POV“I’m not sore anymore,” Madonna drops casually into our call.“That’s too bad. I liked you walking around with the memory of me.” I slide lower on the bed until my head hits the pillow. “But it was a good run.”“Trust me, I still have the memories.” She giggles, and I find myself holding the phone closer to my ear so I don’t miss any sounds. Then she says, “We need to make new memories soon. When will I see you again?”Although I know I head home after the race on Sunday night, I have Cullen the following four nights and then Brazil after that. Fuck. I palm my brow and drag my fingers into my hair. “Other than video?”“A new territory for us to explore soon, but I want to see you in the flesh,” she says, her voice trilling into suggestion.“What’s your schedule?” I put her on speaker and flip over to my calendar.“I return to New York on Thursday for a three-day press blitz and the premiere.”“We can’t see each other then?” I can ask my mom to hang out with Cullen, ge
It takes about two minutes of me staring at the phone, but then I receive a reply:Thanks. I’m feeling good about tomorrow. I’ll try to call you after the race. Sweet dreams, babe.Me: Sweet dreams.As much as I love our nightly calls and text exchanges, I’m feeling lonely. Sleep is going to be my friend tonight instead of dwelling on the fact that I won’t get to see Joemar in person for another week. That is, if I can slip away during the time I’ll be promoting the movie.XXXWatching Joemar come in fifth and move up in the rankings along with Saint Elise Racing has me wishing I had someone to celebrate with. I know he won’t see it for a while since he can’t have his phone on him, but I text Joemar anyway:So proud of you! Congratulations!I also send a congrats to the family group text, letting them know I watched from Vancouver. I get quick replies from most of them. Harry is celebrating with the crew in the paddock. I want to be there, but being a distraction is not something I wa
“My heart feels too big for my chest.”“Mine too, babe.” He kisses my temple and then leans back, his gaze roaming my face, taking me in until it settles on my eyes. “I don’t want to date anyone else. I only want you. I love you, Madonna.”My lips part, but no words escape, nor breath, or a single sound. My own feelings are so large, too much to restrain in the confines under the current situation. “I love you, too. So much.”I worry I’m living in a fever dream and afraid to wake up, but every kiss and touch is so real that I’d choose this reality over life if I could feel like this forever.And then he says, “The press will have a field day when they find out.”My back stiffens as my feet land on the floor again. “My brothers are going to kill us both.”He sighs, the bubble sounding like it’s burst. “I’m not sure what to do about that.”“I’m tired of the world having a say in my relationships and my professional management team advising me on how to behave. I just want to be with you
I lift to see mischievous eyes staring into mine. “Oh yeah?”My plans involved a bed, the kitchen island, and a shower.Hers involved cramming into a crowded theater, paying for overpriced cheap wine for her, then hiding in the corner praying the lights go down before we’re spotted.I’ll never say no to her, so my plans are back-burnered until later while we watch a play in the standing-room-only section since all the seats were sold out. Madonna insisted this was the best way to see a play. I’m not convinced until after intermission, and I see tears hovering in her eyes as she watches the people on stage.I’ve missed the complete story because I was captivated by the way every emotion she feels deep inside plays across her face. The magic isn’t on stage. The magic is wrapped up inside Madonna Saint Elise.Not once has she shown this depth of emotion in her films. I need to get her back to Broadway. Selfishly, it brings her closer to me as well.We slip out before the ovations, which
Joemar RussoPOVI have connections, so it wasn’t hard to snag a ticket. I’m hoping Madonna will be happy to see me. Everything we have could be ruined by a bad decision. This could be my worst of all time, and that’s an impressive list.Stepping out of the SUV, I straighten my jacket and button it. I don’t dig these events, but I’ve been to enough to know what to do. I’m guided forward to the press and start the game, answering questions and taking photos. The positive about not being announced until arrival is that no one is prepared to talk to you.The downside, they wing it. “The last time we saw you and Madonna Saint Elise to get her, you were holding hands in Miami.” The journalist holds the microphone under my nose and asks, “Are you here to support her as a friend, or is there more between the two of you?”I step back and reply, “She’s a brilliant actress. I’m here to support her and the movie.”Not really into the fame side of things, I start walking ahead until I hear someone
Tears fill my eyes, and with no time to find my sunglasses, they fall. A back door is opened and through watery vision, I squeeze through the chaos. The phone in my back pocket buzzes as I climb inside the car. I don’t even care if my suitcase makes it at this point. I tell the driver, “Go. Please go.”How do I go from one of the best nights of my life to dropping my head into my hands and crying?“Are you okay, miss?”“No. I’m not.” I turn to look outside, but something catches my attention in my periphery. I look at the driver again and see him handing me a box of tissues.He says, “I’m sorry. That was awful.”Taking the box, I stare at him. As awful as that was back there, here I’m being offered the kindness of a stranger. “Thank you.” This is what matters. Not people who make more money off upset celebrities or the paparazzi who make a living off provoking someone to capture their worst in a photo. “I appreciate it.”He nods, focusing his attention forward for the remainder of the
Madonna Saint Elise POV“You left me to fend for myself, Lauren.”“I can have security in place by tonight, but you must take some responsibility. You went rogue by having Joemar Russo crash the red carpet like he did.”“I didn’t do anything but arrive like I was told. He showed up because he cared. He knew that I would be walking the carpet alone following Carlos’s engagement announcement.” Even her heavy breath sounds argumentative and rubs me wrong. “I was thrown to the wolves last night, but I’m not going to fight with you. We’re clearly at a crossroads.” Sitting in my trailer alone, I move the steamed zucchini around on my plate, but then stop and set the fork down.I can’t do this. I don’t want to be here.“We’re not. I’m team Madonna. You know I like a plan in place and for it to go smoothly. I apologize for not being there or having staff available for you. I will be there with you next time.”I’m not cold-hearted, but I am upset. I have no idea where we go from here. I just k