Untouchable ~ A Jared Leto/MARS Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-Five

"You're right." Flora studies me, a worried look in her eyes. "If that's what the investigation's turning up, I think you have good reason to suspect your ex. What I don't get is why he'd do something like that. What would he gain from it?"

"That's what I'd like to know," I answer.

"If it was Todd, what if he's still around, waiting for a chance to get to you and Shelby?" Flora begins combing my hair. "God, Lanie. From what I've heard about him back home, he's crazy and he's liable to do anything."

"Gene and David are escorting us to Bouchon. Jimmy's called in a few more guys to guard the property, and Shelby's going to be at Jimmy's house while we're gone." I wring my hands as nerves once more threaten to consume me. "As much as I don't want to, and as much as Jared doesn't want to, we have to go to this meeting. But just between you and me—" my smile is grim— "I'll be armed."

Flora begins curling my hair, her lips tight, and that worried look in her dark eyes intensifies. "Does Jared know?"

"No. I don't want him to know, either."

"Jesus," she says softly. "I don't like this, Lanie. I really don't like this at all."

While Flora's working on making me look like someone who'd belong with the beautiful people who frequent a place like Bouchon, Jared's in the studio giving an interview to a reporter from Vanity Fair. Looking at my phone, I realize the interview has run well over the allotted time it was supposed to. It's five-thirty and because of the constant congestion of L.A. traffic, we need to leave by six to get to the restaurant by seven. Good thing men don't have to go through the shit women do to get ready, I think with a touch of annoyance. Then at last voices echo down the hall as Carrie shows the reporter out.

"Go knock his socks off," Flora tells me with a grin, erasing some of the concern in her eyes. "I can't wait to see his face when he sees you dressed up like a real girl."

I throw her a withering look. "Sure. If I don't break my ankles walking in these ridiculous heels first."

"Just remember—heel-toe, smaller steps, lean back just a little bit," Flora instructs as she rearranges a few of the loose curls and gives me a final once-over.

"My feet already hurt and I've only worn these things for an hour," I complain. "Beauty is pain? Fuck that. I'd rather be ugly and comfortable."

Flora rolls her eyes. "Lanie, you're incapable of ugly. Now come on and let's show you off." She ushers me out my bedroom door and reluctantly, carefully, I follow her, praying I make it intact.

***

Of course Jared's ready in record time. A quick shower, and then dressing in a gorgeous if not quite conventional outfit of a paisley print jacket and pants, a purple silk shirt and loosely knotted, faux-leather tie. Pairing this with old-fashioned blue wingtip shoes, his hair left loose and messy, his beard wild and untrimmed, he cuts a look that's decidedly unique, decidedly outlandish, and decidedly his own. He's stunning.

It's almost enough to make me forget what this is about, but only almost. My nerves are frayed, and the wary, worried look in Jared's eyes are a visible reflection of them. Still, his hand holds mine firmly, a gesture of reassurance and comfort as we settle ourselves in the back of the rented black sedan, David behind the wheel and Gene riding shotgun. 

We don't speak much on the trip into the heart of Beverly Hills. My thoughts are drifting between what's in store tonight, and my dark suspicions about the so-called paparazzi incident. A glance at Jared tells me he's probably thinking about the same things as I am, but he says nothing about it. Instead he gazes out the window at the evening traffic, silent and remote. He's tense. Very tense. I can feel it through his hand in mine, now offering little in the way of reassurance.