The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(16)
NOXIAN GENERAL
Your Highness, your treaty with us is already thin.
CARMINDOR
The Black Nebula - what’s happening to it?
The NOXIAN GENERAL draws herself up to full height. She is unafraid of her answer.
NOXIAN GENERAL
It has opened again, unsurprisingly .
Looks like your princess didn’t sacrifice enough.
Now get out of my way.
CARMINDOR’s mood darkens. He stands rigid in the doorway, like a sentinel. Just out of the NOXIAN GENERAL’s line of sight come two Federation officers. They have their hands on their pistols, ready to draw.
The NOXIAL GENERAL notices them and she whirls back to CARMINDOR angrily.
NOXIAN GENERAL
You know this is war.
CARMINDOR
(to the Federation Officers)
Arrest her.
For a moment, it seems like CARMINDOR won’t let her pass, but then he steps aside and the General leaves.
Ugh, people.
From across the hall, the booms and murmured shouts of a TV show hum underneath the door. Dare and Calvin have been marathoning old Star Trek movies in preparation for the fourth or fifth one—I can’t remember—coming out next week. They’re up to the one with the whales. I recognize Leonard Nimoy’s voice. My mom loves Spock—I think she had a crush on him, honestly.
Things were simpler back then, when Mom would catch the last thirty minutes of her favorite Star Trek movie before she bussed me off to auditions. Ethan would sometimes tag along, playing his Gameboy in the backseat while Mom and I played traveling games in the front. That was before I appeared in a commercial, which got me in front of a casting director for Huntress Rising, which nabbed me an Oscar nomination. Sometimes I wish Ethan and I could go back to Mom’s VW bus, with the windows rolled down to catch the summer breeze, Led Zeppelin blaring from the speakers, the road wide and open and the stars spread out across the endless horizon.
I could be anyone I wanted.
My story was mine.
The door to my hotel room creaks open and Ethan appears with a dirty chai latte and chocolate Frappuccino. I quickly sit up, checking to make sure my mascara isn’t runny from crying—until I notice a stain in the shape of Texas on Ethan’s once-immaculate shirt.
“What the heck happened to you?”
He scowls. “It was that girl again—the one who impersonated you. She’s a total monster, but I survived.” He marches over and gallantly hands me my chai latte and sits down beside me. He takes a long gulp of his Frappuccino.
I sip my chai, and it tastes like bliss. He smells like hazelnut creamer, but I don’t say anything since he looks as annoyed as the time his older brothers put blue dye in his shampoo (they didn’t know he used it for body wash, too).
“Thanks, Ethan,” I say quietly, and lay my head on his shoulder.
“Don’t mention it—”
“Not for the coffee, for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Call me every day and complain about your other PAs?” His spot-on guess makes me laugh. “You can complain to me any day of the week whether I’m your assistant or not, you know that, right? I’m always all ears.”
“I’ve tried not to do it too often.”
“But it’s okay if you do. Everyone needs to vent sometimes, you know?”
I do know, but there are some things I can’t even tell Ethan—especially not now. He reports to my agent, so it’s his job to tell her whether I’m all right or if something is wrong in my life and how to make it better. But those are questions I don’t know how to answer. He’s my best friend and my secret-keeper, but it isn’t his job to be burdened with all the self-doubts in my head.
He shifts slightly, a little uncomfortably, and says, almost in a whisper, “Hey, Jess? Are you…are you happy?”
At first, I don’t understand the question. I blink once, twice, and the words sink in.
Are you happy?
Of all the interviews and online questions and magazine articles, this is one question I’ve never been asked. Perhaps because, in everyone’s mind, it’s never been a question. It’s always been a statement: Jessica Stone is happy.
She has to be.
I open my mouth to tell him the truth when—
My phone dings. Ethan looks at me expectantly but I wave him off. “Twitter notifications. Someone’s leaking a fake script again.”
“Again? Wasn’t there one last week?” he asks. Thankfully he doesn’t push the “are you happy” question.
“Yeah, they’re being ridiculous—”
Suddenly, the Jaws theme shouts from Ethan’s front pocket. We both glance down to it. The duuuuuun-dun, duuuuun-dun is so loud it would be almost comical if we didn’t know who he assigned the ringtone to.
My agent.
But…I just talked to her. Why would she be calling Ethan so soon?
We exchange the same questioning look before Ethan pulls his phone out and answers. “Diana, good evening.”
I sit quietly, straining to make out whatever Diana is saying. Ethan tries to keep his face impassive, and to most people it would look like he succeeds, but I know him better than I know anyone. I know that the left side of his lip twitches when he hears something he doesn’t want to know; his breathing becomes even, deep, almost like a trance.