The Arrangement

Chapter 34

The sitting area of Hilary's bedroom had become a makeshift studio — one ring light, a laptop, and a backdrop arranged with her favorite books. It was intentionally modest, the opposite of her costars' glossy, camera-ready setups. She wanted people to believe her life was real, not produced.

She leaned toward the laptop camera, finishing her second interview of the morning about the upcoming A List reunion. She was calm, polished, engaging — everything that fed impressions and kept her brand thriving. And despite what it did to her personal life, she couldn't deny she lived for this — the eyes on her, the narrative in her hands.

When the conversation shifted toward her feud with Buffy Peterson, she sidestepped the messiest details, hinting at a possible truce just long enough to move the reporter along. She knew how to work the press, and today it paid off. She offered a final wave, her jaw aching from forced smiles, and shut her laptop with a soft click.

Were her interviews trending? Were the blogs and pop-culture critics talking about her? She reached for her phone, scrolling through every platform she could think of. Nothing. Not a single mention. The quiet hit harder than she expected. After spending the entire season in headlines — quoted, cheered, dragged — the silence felt like a slap.

She walked over to her bedroom window and saw John inspecting a malfunctioning sprinkler head, his attention fixed on something beyond her. She could call in a favor with her media contacts, manufacture some buzz.

She opened the drawer of her nightstand, removing the essentials that she kept within arm's reach — L'Occitane hand cream, a pair of readers, and a few books that she never read. The items were harmless, ordinary — except for the powered-off burner phone hidden in plain sight. She reached for it, turning it on for the first time in days, and returned to her post at the window to track John.

The screen lit up with alerts of missed messages. Then she saw it, two unread texts from Andrea that she couldn't bring herself to open. The days of deceit and betrayal were behind her. If she was going to fix her marriage, distancing herself from Andrea Douglas was a good start.

John tightened the new sprinkler head into place — a small repair he welcomed now that he finally had the time. He eyed the uneven hedge, lips twisting as he planned his next move. The laser leveler and sharpened shears waited at his side, the kind of tools that let him focus on something he could actually fix.

Hiatus gave him too much room to think, so he threw himself into tasks like these, anything to outrun the hollow ache in his chest.

His mind churned with Marlena and Hilary. Marlena had left him shattered, ending their relationship for the second time. Hilary's confessions forced him to confront the state of his marriage. He still didn't trust her — didn't believe a thing she said — and that left more to untangle than he wanted to admit.

The slap of a skateboard hitting the pavement broke through his focus, and a smile tugged at his lips.

His son Paul shot into view, landing an ollie with that fearless, gangly confidence only kids possessed. His helmet was crooked, his shoelaces half-tied, and his grin was the sun.

"Dad!" Paul skidded to a stop, breathless and beaming. "How far is Las Vegas from here?"

John blinked. "Las Vegas? About four hours north. Why?"

"There's this HUGE skateboard convention," Paul said, hands flying everywhere. "Like — huge huge. Can we go? Please?"

"John reached into the toolbox, memories flashing of begging his own father for rides to the batting cages at this same age. That's where his passions had started — the same spark he now saw shining in Paul's eyes.