He ignores this. “I already have a few requests for interviews.”
This makes me laugh. “Uh, I bet you do.”
A text from Eden pops up on my phone. I hear you laughing in there. I’m assuming the crushed flowers I found in the entryway last night mean that there’s a man in your bed.
Giggling, I text her back. Some random guy showed up. Good timing. Needed a rebound.
Does that mean Alexander Kim is single? Now’s my chance.
I laugh, and then a new alert pops up on my screen. It’s a follow request from @GigisBottomLip.
“What are you doing?” I ask, grinning over at him.
“Starting my fan account.”
Tossing my phone to the side, I launch myself onto him and let him pull that bottom lip between his. He nibbles his way down my neck and blows a raspberry into my shoulder.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk today,” I say.
“I’m going to be limping,” he agrees.
“You know what would loosen you up?” I ask, pressing my smile to his cheek.
“What?”
“A nice hot shower.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder, and he rolls over onto me, already laughing at what he knows is coming: “You’re more than welcome to use mine.”
Epilogue
Sunny, Yael, and Alec stay in LA for three more days to handle the hurricane of publicity that follows the publication of the Vanity Fair article. When he isn’t fielding interviews, Alec is with me at our old suite at the Waldorf Astoria; he insisted on rewiring my association with the space, painting over those final shitty moments. I guess I did my best to block out the sensation of the sunlight coming in the bedroom, the brightness of the walls, the chill of the sheets against my skin, and the way they heat when Alec slides into bed with me every night because being back in the simple opulence is both a disorienting shock and deeply nostalgic.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the siblings are invited back to the same talk shows Alec visited only a couple weeks before for West Midlands promo. Except this time, he sits on the couch beside his sister, talking about the Jupiter scandal, sex abuse, his willingness to sacrifice his career for her privacy, and Sunny’s bravery in coming forward and talking about an event of which she has virtually no recollection.
It’s emotionally draining for them both, and that—combined with Alec’s and my inability to go anywhere without getting mobbed by photographers—means that we spent most of our free time in the suite, wrapped around each other.
When I say goodbye to him outside LAX, no hyperbole intended, it feels like my stomach is being ripped open. We don’t have a plan for when we’re going to see each other next—everything has been too chaotic—but we promise to make one as soon as he’s home and in front of his calendar.
In theory, I should be fine when he leaves. I know Alec and I are in a solid place. My story has led to a huge investigation into Jupiter and all the major players. Legal pundits barely have anything to argue about on the news networks—they all agree Josef Anders is going away for a very long time. I’m fielding job offers left and right （including one from the LA Times that I politely decline）。 Everything in my life is objectively golden. But in the chaos of the past few weeks, I’ve stopped feeling like my career has to be everything. Maybe I’m wrong about Alec and me, maybe I’m being idealistic, but I don’t think so.
So when he lands at Heathrow, and he calls me as soon as he’s off the plane, and I pick up on the first ring, and he blurts that he can’t believe he left without me, I blurt right back, “Maybe I should move there.”
He flies me out a few days later and we’re only four days deep into a vacation in the Scottish Highlands, planning the shape of our forever, when his agent calls with an offer for the lead role in an upcoming Christopher Nolan film. It’s scheduled to begin production in Singapore in a matter of weeks.
“Our new house can wait,” I say to him.
“This is the role of a lifetime,” he agrees.
“It’s only four months.”
* * *
But four months turns into six, and the role catapults him into household-name territory. We see each other as frequently as we can, but it’s hard to find blocks of time when he’s completely free. He wins a BAFTA for The West Midlands and major award buzz follows this new performance of his; Alec soon has his pick of jobs and collaborations. But when I visit, I get him only in the tiny cracks of his free time, and when he comes to LA, his schedule is just as packed. It isn’t the same being on his arm on the red carpet as it is being pinned beneath him in bed or curled up together on the couch. I’m lonely and he’s homesick for me. He worries he’s losing focus, and I can’t dive deep on any project because I prioritize flying to see him whenever he has a free second. Even when we have time together, it feels desperate and too short.