Author's Note: Can I just tell you how much fun it is to write this story? Also, thank you so much for your incredible support. I appreciate you all!
Eden Stiles was on top of the world.
Overnight, her blog hits sharply increased and every major news outlet linked to her site. They even said her name!
On social media, she had to fend off questions and comments as she responded to as many people as possible. Everyone wanted to know who the mysterious woman was and furthermore, if Eden could give any details about their upcoming interview.
Eden knew the power of media and wanted to hold off everyone's appetite for just a bit. She wanted to make sure she had all of the information correct and this story was just too juicy to pass up. It was going to make her famous or notorious. Only time would tell.
She'd successfully told that line to everyone.
The truth was Eden couldn't believe someone like Renee Young was actually the artist behind the artwork posted on the blog. With the Afrocentric artwork as a backdrop to many pieces, there was nothing remotely Renee about any of it. In fact, Eden wondered if Renee even knew how to pick up a paintbrush.
She'd found a few episodes of the Real Housewives online and watched Renee in action. Not once did she mention a passion for art, nor did any scenes show her drawing anything. Instead, she was shown getting into numerous catfights, being teary-eyed and emotional, and going on dates with various men while she talked about her one "true love" – a man she nicknamed "D."
D is for Dean, Eden figured out. With the recent photographs of them, there might have been some truth to her story.
Now she was about to have a mini phone interview with the Artist Known as Renee before she was going to have a face-to-face meeting with her. Eden scrolled through the blog once again and wondered in the land of reality where everyone and everything was fake from the hair to the lifestyle to the friendships, she wondered if Renee truly had the real story – there was more depth to her that she purposely kept hidden.
How many ways can I fuck myself today?
Renee Young had a penchant of getting into predicaments that just inexplicable to anyone but her. Like the time she went joyriding and totaled her new Range Rover, only to be gifted with another one by a wealthy benefactor. Or the time she convinced one of her teachers to give her that A she'd deserved by wearing the shortest shorts possible every day for a month.
Or was it that time, just recently, she'd discovered the Hollywood legend of the "casting couch" was no legend but a very real thing. It didn't matter what she did or how many times she had to do it to, she nailed the part and would be making her rounds on Hollywood red carpets soon.
But this one, though…this one was a killer.
She spent a better part of the night trying to figure out who the mysterious artist was and see if there was a way she could contact her. She went on various forms of social media and tried to see if anyone knew who the girl was. The problem was everyone was just as stumped as Renee. Mysterious Girl was available on just about every social media platform but there was no picture and no private e-mail. If Renee wanted to contact Mysterious Girl, it was going to be public and everyone would see it.
That was a no-no.
She'd successfully led the public to believe there was something going on between her and Dean and it wasn't quite a lie. There was something between them, even if they were taking a small break from each other. Dean wasn't going to transplant his life to San Francisco and Sydney wasn't going to give up her family and friends to an unknown city like L.A. Long-distance relationships don't typically last and their relationship wouldn't be any different.
I just wish he would call me finally.
Dean's stern warning put the fear of God into Renee and she kept her phone by her side with the ring on the highest setting. She didn't want to waste not even a single second of possibly missing his voice. She was going to explain the Chicago trip and the drawing to him. Yes, that's it! The drawing! She'd already nicknamed her drawing Ode to Dean. Once Dean knew she was behind the drawing, everything was going to be okay. He would see that she truly loved him and only wanted the very best. They would get back together and her reality show future was secured.
She just wished he would pick up the damn phone and call her.
Roman didn't even like spending that much time online and there he was, leaned over like the Hunchback of Norte Dame and on his laptop as he perused through his Sydney's blog.
His Sydney. He groaned and cleared his throat. She was no longer His Sydney. She was, ahem, his Sydney.
He would be the first to admit he dogged her out in their relationship. If he was clear about his intentions from the get-go, she probably wouldn't have put up with his shit as long as she did. He knew why he did it – he wanted his cake and eat it, too. Sydney was his good girl who would do whatever he'd asked. In Roman's mind, he became a little too comfortable with the thought she would always "be there."
And then, she wasn't.
He remembered the day he discovered they broke up. He came home after being out all night with his boys and the house was emptied. All of her belongings were gone as if she never resided there at all. She left enough money to pay her share of bills and the rent but she'd changed her number.
Do not try to contact me. Do not come to my job. Do not visit my family and friends. Do not make this any harder than it should be.
Roman knew what she meant and didn't press the issue. The last thing he needed was a public restraining order so he left her alone. For months, he wondered how she was and everything was okay. When he walked around Market Street, he purposely stayed away from Macy's out of respect, though he occasionally looked through the windows to see if she were there. It was a seven-story building and unless she was putting up decorations in the front window, she wasn't to be seen.
Until recently.
She was breathtakingly beautiful and he remembered feeling his heart being lodged in her throat as he recognized her. She looked better – healthier, even – and time apart did her justice.
It was all because of her new boyfriend.
Roman felt another groan stuck in the pit of his stomach as he clicked on various pages of her blog. He definitely knew she was the artist. She had a certain style that many tried to duplicate but no one could come close. He remembered she took him to an art gallery to explore an exhibition and he was bored out of his mind while she was floored by the oil paintings and pencil drawings of some unheard artist to him.
He should've appreciated her more.
Now another woman was claiming something Roman knew wasn't remotely true. He had a permanent reminder of Sydney's artist on his arm; an intricate rose that bloomed. A rose from Your rose, Master, she once smiled as she drew on him.
He was a dog to her but maybe they needed to be apart so he could grow up. He realized he was getting too old for the bar fights and arrest records. His home no longer served as the after-party hangout with days-long benders and binges. It was time for him to settle down and possibly get married and have children.
If he treated her bad, it was one thing. If another man mistreated her, he was going to knock the guy's teeth out.