Far Love (Book 1)

23 | The publicist

September 28th, 2023

When you get used to having privacy, it's hard to remember to close the curtains and lock your doors. It's hard to remember to be scared.

But when people start chasing you with cameras it's hard to not be scared. People have died trying to get away from the paparazzi—cameras shoved in front of lifeless faces for money.

I wake to the high-pitched echoing of cameras that are trying to peer through my curtains. I know they can't see me, but it still makes me stand up and walk to my bathroom—the only place I know they couldn't find me.

I hear Amy walking around outside my bedroom door nervously. I take a deep breath and flatten out my pajama shirt and pants. I walk through my room and open the bedroom door, quickly greeted by Amy. I say, "You don't have to worry about me, Amy."

"I wasn't worried, I was just coming to see if you were awake," she says innocently.

I smile and walk to the kitchen. The press and paparazzi would hopefully give up after a while and let me go back to my normal life. I still want to spend the weekend with Amy, even if that means we have to be home the whole weekend. They couldn't stop us from being around one another if they wanted to.

"Okay... if I'm being honest, I am nervous," she admits, shoulders slumping. I put down the cereal that's in my hand and place my palms flat on the counter to show her I'm completely listening. "I'm worried for you."

"What's to worry about?" I ask innocently.

"I don't know. You probably want to still work at the cafe if the position is still available. I don't think it would be safe to keep working there anymore."

"You think?" I scratch the back of my neck. She is probably correct.

"Yeah, I don't know how you are even going to get home. Is there even going to be a way for you to be safe in LA?"

She seems truly worried. If I am being honest I have no idea what to say. I myself am also scared. Not of the publicity, I couldn't give a shit about it, but I really don't want to be attached my father again.

My phone starts to ring and I put it to my ear without looking too closely at the unknown number. "Hello?"

"Hello," a pleasant female voice says. As she goes on I can tell she is probably just about my age or a couple of years older. "Is this Rylie Monroe?"

"Yes, this is she." I don't dwell on the name she's used—my father's name. And the one that I exchanged for Amy and Mara's--the one I picked for myself after her picked to abandon me.

"Do you have a minute to talk about some things with me? It won't take long."

"I'm sorry, who is this?" Amy gives me a confused look and I put my finger up to tell her I need a minute. She nods and walks upstairs to her loft-turned-bedroom.

I lean back on the island in the kitchen, waiting for her to go on. I won't tell someone that I don't trust anything they want to know. My privacy was always important to me, and this person might just sell any information they can get their hands on after this call.

"I am the Woods family's private publicist and we have to talk about the connection you seem to have with his son and the growing bond you have formed with the rest of them."

"Oh... Wait what?" My eyebrows pull close to the middle of my face and I find myself gnawing on my thumb nail. This felt serious.

"Since it has become apparent in the media as of this morning that you have connections to Matthew Monroe—a man with an awful reputation in the media—we need to make decisions forward to make sure you're not associated with Dylan in the media."

"I'm sorry, what?" I didn't plan to announce our 'relationship' yet, maybe not even in the next months either, but ever? I wanted to be able to be free to be with him at some point.

"I have spoken to Dylan already and he has decided what he would like to do, if you don't like the idea we can always talk more about it. I'm sorry to tell you Miss Monroe though, you will have to contact through me since the media is so prevalent on watching you right now." My heart drops. I can't talk to him at all?

I take a deep breath, "What was his idea then?" I'm ready for her to hit me with it, whatever it is. I and Dylan can make it through this. I know it.

"Will I be able to talk to him at all at least? Could we possibly talk through this phone number somehow? I'm okay with waiting until you can be with him."

She pauses, "No, that will just be suspicious."

I rub my forehead turning. I put my elbows on the counter, "Please just try to reason with me... I'm sure he doesn't want to completely stop talking to me."

"He does."

My heart sinks and my jaw goes slack, "Are you sure? What's your name anyway?"

"Amanda Hoggs," she says simply.

"Oh." She wasn't lying. It would have taken her a couple of seconds to figure out a name.

"Uh..."

She cuts off my thinking, "I am truly sorry Miss Monroe. The Woods' don't want to associate with you anymore, that's all."

"Because of my past?" Why did this man--my father--have to ruin everything I loved.

"Yes Miss Monroe, that's the reason." She pauses like she has something else to say. "They feel like you have lied to them."

"But I haven't," not completely. Amy was technically my mother by law since my own mom died and my father gave me up. Technically I didn't tell them where I came from originally either too—if I had I would have had to lie. I didn't trust anyone with the information.

Now it's out in the world for everyone to know.

Anxiety ripples through my chest and I feel my palms starting to sweat. The feeling I got when Jason grabbed me. I hated feeling like this.

I pull my shoulders back, trying to show my confidence but it seemed to get harder as paparazzi find me in the kitchen window. I close it and say, "Thank you for the information. Is it safe to talk to him at least? So I can say good bye?"

"Yes, I suppose that is okay. Just know he is pretty mad." There is at least a sense of sympathy in her voice as she says this.

I nod and say, "Okay... thank you I guess."

"Good bye Miss Monroe."

"Bye."

She hangs up and I stare at the phone app of my phone. This is going to be the call to him. The one where we say goodbye.

I press his name and a picture of him covers the screen as I wait for him to answer. I get all the way to the last ring and realize he isn't going to pick up.

Usually on a Saturday like this he would be free or catching up on sleep this early in the day, so he would be able to pick up. There is something different in the silence after the ringing runs out though. There is understanding that I won't get a message saying, Talk later?

I put my phone on the counter and shove my face into my folded arms on the cold surface.

He is truly mad at me.

I hate when people are mad at me. I hate when I'm the one to screw up this bad.

It's my fault.

🪿
Hey guys I am really sorry for not writing/editing for the past few months I have truly been busy and going through a lot. I have finished the first term of my schooling however and am taking a break for mental health. I will definitely have more time to write, but as always please be patient as I am not 100% yet.

🪿
Katelynn J. Peterson

Published: February 16th, 2024