Taking a moment to digest everything I’ve just read, I tell myself that apart from being none of my business what’s on Nathan’s laptop, I have no idea what it is he’s working on and where I might fit into it.
Just think about what you know, not what you imagine, I tell myself.
But it’s no use.
I can’t help but feel hurt. Used even.
Wondering now if this whole intimate one-on-one, private meet and greet with Nathan is some kind of setup like instead of a prank it’s really just a way for an author to get his creativity flowing. Maybe a way to bed some young girl in the process.
No. Lucy. Don’t be ridiculous! Nathan would never do that. You know how he feels about you, he told you himself last night. The note he left this morning…
There’s no way he’d do anything horrible like that. Writers must jot down all kinds of things when they’re brainstorming.
I feel like I want to be right, but there’s also an element of I told you so in my mind.
Nothing ever works out for me, I mean look at how my own chaperone bumped me from my own room to spend the weekend with some random guy.
Then, when I find myself in not just a room but a bed with Nathan Cartwright himself, it sure feels a lot like he’s just using me for some sort of weird play acting for his new book idea.
Feels that way when I listen to my own doubts and insecurities.
The memory of last night is strong though, and I still can’t convince myself Nathan is anything but genuine with his intentions.
I’ve no real reason to doubt him, so why do I?
Only one way to find out, and that’s to ask him.
I can just say I saw what he was writing quite by accident, not exactly untrue.
I can just ask if he’s using me as a character idea for his next book. No harm in that.
Writers, real writers must draw from real life inspiration all the time.
Why should I feel threatened by that? Why would I want to take it so seriously?
He said in his note and with a word from the waiter who brought breakfast that there would be a car waiting and ready when I am to take me to him at the conference.
That doesn’t sound like someone using you, does it, Lucy? It sounds like a man who knows what he wants and that something starts with ‘L’ and ends with ‘E’ maybe?
“Oh! I just don’t know,” I growl to myself, feeling more confused than ever as I flop back on the bed, huffing for just a little longer before I decide if I’m gonna do anything today I’d better get moving.
I shower and dress, going to my original room to put on fresh clothes and almost laugh at how silly it all seems to have had separate rooms.
It really does just feel like Nathan and I were meant to be together somehow, no point getting jealous and petty over every little thing.
Especially only after the first night together.
That should settle it in my mind, but by the time I get to the convention and try to find a vacant seat after walking straight in without a ticket, Nathan is finishing up with his presentation.
He’s answering a question or talking specifically about the type of girl his lead character or someone he himself might even fall for in real life.
None of it sounds like me by the way, even from where I’m standing. But it does kinda sound similar to what he mapped out on his laptop, which I decided to bring with me after all.
Feeling double confused, I wonder why all the seats are taken when I should have a spot reserved for me next to Marie.
There should be two empty seats somewhere, seeing as she’s not even coming.
But it all makes perfect sense when, even in the dim light of the convention ballroom, I can determine the outline of Marie sitting next to a male figure in the seat I’m supposed to have.
Eduardo, I assume? Not a bad looking guy. But he’s no Nathan Cartwright, that’s pretty obvious even at a glance.
As if this woman hasn’t done enough to hurt my feelings this weekend though.
She said she was going to be busy ‘enjoying her weekend with Eduardo’, so why are they here? And why is he in my seat?
I’m just about ready to tap him on the shoulder and ask him that myself when there’s a loud thunder of applause and the lights go up.
Seething with anger now as well as hurt, I’m more determined than ever to get to Nathan.
Back row seats be damned, I want him up close and personal again, like we were last night.
I can ask him about his book idea some other time, when I see him getting closer to me as I get carried along in the rush of people trying to catch him before he leaves the stage, I forget all about my own crappy doubts.