I've waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"Dude, chill." Omar adjusts his mirror for possibly the 10th time, while his left leg bounces up and down. As an actor, he was not fooling anyone. He was just as concerned for Stephanie as I was.
"How much longer is this going to take?" I uncomfortably shift in my seat. I tap my phone's lock screen and notice only ten whole minutes have passed. In those ten minutes, I've responded to my agent, rescheduled a few meetings, ordered Stephanie a new phone, and provided Bethany with unlimited expenditure to select and buy Stephanie a new wardrobe for the time she will be living with me.
"A year. Nothing more, nothing less." Estrella punctuated at the time we came up with our contract. "A year would be plenty of time for both of us."
We presumed our relationship would stay hidden for at least a month or so before our parents and the world caught on. Little did we know how it would escalate. Not that I am surprised by the media, but rather, how I failed to protect her. You would think that after years of publicity arrangements and ongoing fake relationships, I would learn. I guess I didn't. What I thought would be a dream quickly turned into an absolute nightmare.
Don't get me wrong, the concept of Stephanie living there was more than enough to catch my fancy, but that excitement drizzled when the worry in her eyes kept rising to the surface. None of it would matter if she weren't happy. The last thing I would want my home to feel like to her is a prison, and for this relationship to harm her rather than help her.
I knew from the moment her panic set in that I would need to step it up. I won't let anything happen to her. I can't.
"She's going to be fine, Nardo," Omar says, looking at me through the rear-view mirror. "If she weren't, she would let us know."
"I know Omar, I'm just,"
"Worried." He finishes my sentence.
"Yeah." I slouch over my knees with my hands at the sides of my head. "And guilty."
Omar pauses for a moment. I wasn't expecting a response, nor would I ask that of him. I press on the screen again.. Another minute has passed.
"I know it's none of my business, but believe me when I say, Stephanie is a strong, independent woman. Omar abruptly says. "Anyone can see that."
I smile. "That she is."
"And that is why I believe she will be fine. As for feeling guilty, if she wants to speak her mind, she will. Believe me when I say the girl does not hold back. Especially when she spoke about you," Omar chuckles, and meets me in the mirror to enjoy my reaction.
"What does she say about me?" I ask him, sitting up in my seat, and lean closer to him.
"Speaking of which," Omar rudely turns on the ignition, "Here she comes."
Out of the corner of the building, Stephanie walks up to us, her shoulders slouched and her lips pursed together, a common thing she always did when she held back her emotions. I lower the window and wave at her. She briefly waves back, and before we know it, she crumbles. Droplets fall from the sides of her round cheeks and travel to the asphalt of the parking lot. I rip the seatbelt off and run out of the door with my arms wide to wrap around her. I am careful not to overstep and guide her to the car. In the process, she holds onto my shirt as though she were scared to trip over herself.
"I want to go home," she says, hiding her face with her long, dark, starry hair. I knew exactly what she meant and closed the door after I buckled her in. I sent Omar the address, and he drove us out of the premises without a delay to spare.
As Stephanie somberly stared out of her window, I dialed for reinforcements to secure and evacuate any media away from the property. I made sure all hands were on deck. Should anyone, for the matter, get in, either I or my security team would make them pay for it. The paparazzi should know better by now, as one year ago, I broke the arm of a reporter who had attempted to enter my co-star's Felicy apartment in the middle of the night through the back window. Luckily, I was there as we were rehearsing overnight for our scene in an upcoming musical remake that takes place in her hometown in Argentina. I made the headline that year and took it to court with Felicity for invasion of privacy and harassment, given the fact that he was armed and had ill intentions. I would do that again and kill the man without hesitation if another bastard attempted to come remotely close to her.
"Turn left right here," Stephanie says, still having her back turned away from Omar and me, and her face turned to the window. Omar obeys and switches on his turn signal at her command. We pull into the back of the apartment complex, and she clicks open the gates using a small clicker she has in her purse.
Omar backs up to an open slot and parks the car. Isa snaps open the door and sprints into the apartment complex, with her hair waving behind her. I trail after her, and she yells at me to stay away. I freeze in my place and hear the door of her apartment slam.
Buzzz.
I glance at my phone. Another damn call from my agent followed by a capitalized text. "WE NEED YOU NOW."