Chapter 45

“Come over here,” Arthur said as he sat me down in the closest chair. “There you go.”

I slumped forward and put my face in my hands. My head swam. Tears trickled from the corners of my eyes.

“Anna, are you okay?”

Arthur’s hands on my shoulders grounded me. I took deep breaths, inhaling his cologne. My head slowly steadied itself.

I wiped my tears and forced a smile for him.

“I’m all right. It’s just that…some of what’s in that article is tough for me.”

“So, some of it is true?”

“The facts are true, but what they read between the lines are not.”

Arthur tilted his head.

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, I had nothing to do with my brothers’ deaths. I was too young to remember my brother Charlie’s death. He died in childbirth.”

I could hear my voice crack. I barely pushed back more tears.

Arthur squeezed my shoulders. I looked up at him and saw his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry, Anna. I can’t imagine what that’s like. And for people to take such tragedies and turn them on you…”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“You know, if there’s anything that’s bothering you, you can tell me,” he continued.

I contemplated telling him about the upcoming anniversary of Michael’s death. He wasn’t family, but he had become a close friend, like Lily, and I could really use another one of those at the moment. I took a deep breath and nodded.

“I do know that, Arthur.” I paused. “The other reason why that article is so hard for me is because…is because it reminded me that the anniversary of one of my brothers’ deaths is in a few days.”

Arthur’s lips formed an “o”.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wish that I could say more…”

He hesitated, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me. The tears I had been holding back sprung forward in full force. I put my arms around Arthur and pulled him close.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

•* *

The rumors did not stop circulating. They made their way into the comments on my vlogs, where people started warring over whether they were true or not. I had to turn off all my notifications, and even then, I didn’t feel like I could escape them.

Everywhere I went, everyone seemed to talk about Charlie’s and Michael’s deaths. Most people seemed to come to the conclusion that I couldn’t have been involved with both of them, but people still stared at me with either pity or contempt. I was sure which hurt worse.

With my past dug up, I could no longer ignore the tenth anniversary of Michael’s death. Ten years since I had seen his smile or heard his laugh—and there I was, alone in my remembrance. My parents lived too far away, and I didn’t want to bother Lily.

It made me think about how alone I was in life. I had some friends—Lily, Arthur, sometimes Barnett—and my fans, but that was all. And soon, a lot sooner than I wanted to admit, I would be joining Michael and Charlie.

I continued to ignore my doctor’s calls for follow-up appointments. That didn’t keep me from thinking about the diagnosis, though, or about everything I would be missing out on because of it. The stress was enough to continually rip holes in my gut.

Arthur began to notice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked as I applied his blush.

My stomach clenched. That was about the third time he had asked me that morning.

“As okay as I can be,” I admitted.

“Is it the…you know?”

“Among other things.”

Gremlins started clawing at my stomach.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I hesitated.

“Not particularly. Not here.”

We fell silent for a few minutes as I did the finishing touches on Arthur’s makeup. He stood up to go change his clothes, then stopped and turned to face me.

“I’m going to treat you tonight,” he declared.

The gremlins climbed up my throat. I cleared it to force down some acidic bile.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’m taking you to dinner,” he replied in a tone that left no room for argument.

•* *

I had hoped that Arthur would just take me to a diner, like where we went when I took him out for a meal, but I should have known better. When we arrived in his Audi, I realized that we were at La Fleur Dorée, the most expensive French restaurant in town. Two thousand dollars a head.

Relax, I told myself. You deserve to splurge sometimes. Especially given…

The gremlins tore at my stomach.

Inside the restaurant, I tried to let myself take in the scenery and enjoy my surroundings, but not even the decadence of the French décor and gold-plated everything could distract me. All I could think about was the fact that this might be the last time that I would be able to come to such a restaurant before the stomach cancer got the better of me.

“Virtually everything comes with flakes of gold here,” Arthur said as he perused the menu.

“Uh-huh,” I replied, not really paying attention to what he was saying.

“Have you ever had it before? Edible gold?”

“Uh…no.”

I knew I was replying more slowly than normal, but I couldn’t help it. I found myself looking around at all the happy people, wondering how many of them were hiding the same kind of secret as I was, how many of them were eating there because it was on their bucket list and their time to check items off that list was coming to a close. Then I realized that many of them were probably celebrating, not mourning, and somehow, that made me even sadder about my own situation.

“What about escargot or foie gras?”

Normally, the mention of either of those dishes would have made me want to vomit. My stomach already hurt, but since I barely registered what he said, the words didn’t have any effect on me. Instead, all I did was shrug.

“Anna, what do you keep thinking about?” Arthur asked, setting his menu aside.

I blushed.

“Nothing, nothing,” I mumbled.

“Is it your brother?”

“No.”

“Is it all the stuff that the paparazzi has been spreading about you?”

“No—”

“I can make that go away, you know. Just say the word, and I will find a way—”

“I said no!”

I leaned over and clutched at my stomach. The gremlins had suddenly become a tornado of claws and teeth ripping apart my insides. I only wanted to throw up, now.

“I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth. Tears stained my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Arthur reached across the table and touched my upper arm. “I only want to help you.”

“You can’t,” I murmured. I struggled to breathe. “No one can.”

I thought about telling him about my diagnosis, but I knew it would do no good. If I couldn’t tell Lily or call and tell my parents, why would I be able to tell my client/friend? Besides, he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help me.

Only I could help me, and it was about time I did something about this diagnosis.