Scandalized(33)

“Oh. I hadn’t really thought of that.”

He lifts a wry eyebrow. “It makes it hard to be in a relationship, for example.”

I carefully steer away from the personal aspect of this minefield. “You dated your one costar, though, right?”

“Park Jin-ae? Yeah. For a couple years.” He grins at me. “I see you read that Google result carefully.”

“I probably don’t need to tell you that when you type ‘Alexander Kim’ on Google, ‘Alexander Kim girlfriend’ is the first option that autofills.”

This makes him groan. “That relationship—we actually had to do a press release,” he tells me. “Every interview, someone would bring it up. They even asked our current and past costars so much about it. Finally, we acknowledged we were together. It’s a big deal to do that, and as a rule I don’t share personal things publicly.”

“I’m sure it’s hard to trust.” He goes quiet at this, and I can feel him staring at me, trying to figure me out.

“I can see you looking at me, thinking that I must be talking about myself right now.”

He laughs, and I know I’m right. “You said you only broke up with your ex a few months ago?”

“Yeah. Six months now.”

“How long were you together?” he asks.

I wince because I already know how this answer will land. “About six and a half years.”

As expected, Alec goes still next to me. “Wow.”

Nodding, I say, “I hate how much time I gave him. I think I was over him a long time before everything fell apart.” I take another sip of water, clearing the heat in my throat. “I’m not mad at him as much as I’m mad at me.”

“Why?”

“For being lied to for so long.”

He leans in to catch my eye. “You didn’t do the lying, though.”

“True,” I say, and finally look over at him, “but it would be the same for you. To be with someone who was lying to you for a year. Acting a part for a year and somehow you didn’t pick up on it. You’re an actor. It’s your job to know when someone is acting. I’m a journalist. It’s my job to see the story underneath. I didn’t.”

His mouth forms a little ah of comprehension. “I get it.”

“And it’s hard to imagine that none of our friends knew. I wonder if some of them did and were trying to help Spence get back on his feet without telling me.”

“Ouch.”

Nodding, I say, “So it’s hard to trust my instincts.”

We stare out at the water for a couple quiet moments.

“Well,” he says, “my instincts tell me it’s time for us to go play in those waves.”

I want to kiss him for this easy redirect. We grab a couple of pool noodles and slowly inch our way into the freezing Pacific, carefully dodging the huge crashing waves, diving under them and pushing past where they break, out to where the water is clear and calm. From out here, the people on the beach look like tiny dots.

Tucking the long foam cylinders under our arms, we float facing each other, catching our breath. I want to bottle this feeling so I can sip from it in the days and weeks and years to come. I keep pushing it down, but the awareness that Alec is genuinely perfect rises up in unexpected moments, shooting a spear of pain through my chest.

And then he meets my eyes, and my lungs do a tender wilt at the piercing realization that he brought me out here specifically to talk. I liked our Laguna Beach bubble.

“I have permission to tell you everything now,” he says quietly.

“Wait—why? What changed?”

“I told my source that I was talking to you specifically, and they told me it was okay to share.”

“Me specifically?”

He nods.

I don’t understand. But— “As much as it kills me to say this, you’ll have to tell me only as your two-week stand.” I try to smile. “Conflict of interest, you know?”

“Well, it would be off the record anyway.” He dips his fingertips in the water and lifts his hand, letting the drops catch sunlight as they fall. “But I think it would feel good to tell someone who understands. And maybe the information can help you find something else, even if you can’t write up this specific account.”

Gray area. The life of a journalist. “Tell me anything you’re comfortable sharing.”

“I’m not sure of the best place to start.” He stares up at the sky for a beat before taking a deep breath. “Okay.” Alec blows his cheeks out as he exhales. “An old uni friend of mine from the UK is a man named Josef Anders.”

He glances at me, logging the reaction I know I can’t hide. My stomach positively bottoms out and I feel shocked blankness take over my expression.

He smiles sadly. “I take from your reaction that you’ve heard the name.”

“I have. A lot. He’s one of the owners. His name is all over this.”

Alec places a hand over his brow, squinting over at me. “I suspect it is.”

Thunder. My heartbeat feels like thunder beneath my breastbone.

“During college I had a group of friends with whom I was very close,” he says. “And then when I returned to London after my time in South Korea, a few of us reconnected. I mean, we were all busy, so we weren’t as close as we had been, but we would see each other once a month or so.”