"Hi. I have a reservation for Jack Reynolds for six-thirty."
"Of course," the hostess tittered, still looking awed. I wondered why Jackson bothered using a pseudonym when he obviously wasn't trying to disguise himself.
Heads were turning to look at us as the hostess guided us to our table. I was dismayed when I saw her lead us to a table in the center of the restaurant, but I didn't see any others available.
"Enjoy your dinner. Please let me know if you need anything," the hostess said breathily as she handed us our menus. Jackson nodded, not seeming to even notice her come-hither look.
"Why did you use a fake name?" I asked as I opened my menu, happy to see that at least the food looked the same.
"Habit," Jackson said shrugging. "I'm so used to giving out fake names when booking things that it's second nature. I prefer that people not know I'm frequenting their establishments beforehand. It prevents unwanted attention." He smiled slightly at me. "Although tonight I don't mind the world knowing that you're mine."
I smiled back at Jackson, my cheeks flushing. I had been prepared to ask Jackson about Claire tonight, about why he had cheated on me, but I decided to save it for another time. I just wanted to enjoy being with Jackson tonight.
I tried to ignore the glances of the other diners, grateful that at least no one seemed to whipping out their phones to take pictures. Fortunately, our waiter was a consummate professional and didn't bat an eye at Jackson, providing excellent service without fawning over him.
"I'm glad to see you didn't order the squid ink pasta," Jackson said with a grin after the waiter left. "I don't think I can stomach it tonight."
"I learned my lesson." I looked around the restaurant out of the corner of my eye. "Doesn't it bother you that everyone is looking at us? I feel like we're on display at a zoo. I keep expecting someone to throw bananas at us."
"You get used to it. Pretty soon you won't even notice it."
I didn't think that was possible, but I did my best to block it out. I was grateful that at least the tables were far enough apart so that we could have a private conversation.
"Does your publicist have plans for what to do next?"
"I have a few more interviews lined up," Jackson replied, pausing as the waiter set down our glasses of white wine before quickly disappearing. "She thinks it's a good idea if we give an interview together for a print magazine. We can manage what's published in a magazine better than a televised interview."
"I don't know, Jackson," I said nervously. "I've never done anything like that before. What if I say the wrong thing?"
"Don't worry." Jackson reached over and grasped my hand that was resting on the table. "I'll be right there with you, and Marcie will brief you before the actual interview to help you with what to say."
"Did she do that with you?" I asked, wondering how much of Jackson's public declaration had been his own words. I felt a bubble of happiness when he shook his head.
"Marcie knows better than to try and guide me on what to say. She might be helpful for you though, make you feel more prepared. But I have no doubt you'll do fine."
"Let me think about it. I'm not sure if I'm ready to say things on the record yet."
Jackson nodded, accepting my answer. "We have time. Candace's people haven't released a response yet to my interview last night. They're probably scrambling to try and find a way to spin this to their advantage."
I sighed, taking a sip of my wine. "I never thought these things were so deliberate, so planned out. It's so calculated."
"You'd be surprised at how many Hollywood relationships are business arrangements. Celebrity relationships bring a lot of attention, perfect for when you're releasing a new project. Even the breakups are negotiated and planned."
The whole thing was disenchanting but I dismissed it from my thoughts. I had a more pressing topic of conversation.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question about your apartment?" My tone was hesitant, cautious. Jackson grimaced but he nodded stiffly. I continued even though it was an uncomfortable topic. "You already told me why you made it look exactly the way it was while we were dating, but I don't understand why you kept it like that all these years."
Jackson's grasp on my hand tightened as he looked at me grimly. "It would be easy to just claim that I left it like that because I was too busy to change it. But I'm not going to lie to you." He looked slightly embarrassed but continued. "These years apart have been...difficult for me. I had a hard time coping with us not being together, even as time passed. I spent a lot of time in that apartment. Whenever I had time off, I would come to New York and stay there. It made me feel connected to you." His lips twisted bitterly. "That must sound pretty sick."
I shook my head, not wanting him to feel alone in not having been able to get past our failed relationship. "No, I understand. It was a way to cope."
Jackson laughed harshly. "You probably wouldn't think that if you knew what I did in that apartment. How many times I jerked myself off with your skirt, imagining that I was inside you. You saw all those pictures I had of you, how I placed all your things as if you were going to walk through the damn door any minute. Sometimes I would believe it. Sometimes I thought if I waited long enough, you'd appear. When you didn't, I would talk to you like you were there. Even though I was fucking alone." Jackson's eyes were glittering with self-loathing. "Not the healthiest coping mechanism."
I was shocked by how much Jackson had been suffering all these years, but I was also a little disturbed by what he had revealed. It sounded mentally unstable, as if he had created a fictional world where we were still together.
"It sounds a little unbalanced," I admitted. "I understand the pain you were going through, but not facing reality probably just made it worse."
Jackson's grip on my hand tightened almost painfully. "Promise me you'll never leave me again," he said urgently in a low voice. "Promise me, Emma."
"How can I make that kind of promise, Jackson? We don't know what the future holds."
"Emma, I'll never do anything to hurt you again. I swear. Promise that you'll never leave me as long as I don't do anything to hurt you." Jackson sounded desperate and my heart ached for him. I couldn't help but give him what he wanted. I also wanted him to know that even though his confession had unsettled me, he wasn't alone in clinging to the past.