Alice’s photo was all over the internet: Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Reddit, and who knew how many other wretched hives of scum and villainy. It hadn’t hit the gossip blogs yet, but it was just a matter of time. #GriffinBeach was already trending in the US, along with #Kimbergriff and #BeachesSlut, which was the moniker Alice had been assigned, much to her personal and grammatical consternation.

Well, he wanted to generate publicity, Alice thought bitterly. Now he has it.

Only this was the wrong kind of publicity. It made both Griffin and Kimberleigh look bad: him for being a cheating scumbag, and her for being in love with a cheating scumbag. But that was nothing compared to what people were saying about Alice.

She scrolled through the hashtags, feeling increasingly sick.

The spelling in a lot of the tweets left something to be desired, but managed to convey the general sentiment nonetheless.

They went on like that forever. Insulting every possible aspect of Alice’s appearance while calling her some version of a whore or a bitch for stealing Kimberleigh’s boyfriend.

The general feeling on the internet streets seemed to be that Alice was too fat, too plain, too manly, too ugly, too slutty, too tall, too much of a lesbian, too un-rape-able, or too all of the above to deserve Griffin, in addition to being a home-wrecking gold digger who deserved to either kill herself or be murdered in a variety of creative ways. Good thing she was un-rape-able, so at least she had no worries in that department. Griffin, meanwhile, was trash who didn’t deserve Kimberleigh, and Kimberleigh was stupid to have ever thought Griffin would change his ways.

Rachel had already called to express her condolences and outrage on Alice’s behalf, but beneath the words of support Alice had detected an undercurrent of hurt. She was Alice’s closest friend, and she hadn’t known about the most important relationship in her life until it had gone viral—which said something genuinely depressing about the state of Alice’s life and relationships.

Alice had apologized, citing the need for secrecy—which was at least well supported by the social media firestorm the news had incited. Rachel had seemed understanding about not being let in on the secret, and had even offered to create an army of sockpuppet accounts and take to the internet in Alice’s defense. It was a sweet gesture, but since it seemed likely to do more harm than good, Alice had reluctantly declined.

The internet vitriol only ramped up as the day wore on and the picture spread. Occasionally someone would attempt to come to Alice’s defense, pointing out the inherent wrongness of slut-shaming and attacking her appearance, but they were mostly drowned out by the sheer volume of haters.

Haters.

Alice actually had haters now. Lots of them. She’d never imagined she’d one day be someone who inspired such strong negative emotions in total strangers. Her one consolation was that they didn’t know who she was. They had no name or identity at which to focus their ire. She was merely an anonymous blonde in a blurry photo.

Griffin flopped down on the opposite end of the couch with a protein shake and shot her a disapproving look. “Stop reading that shit. It’ll make you crazy.”

“How can you not read it?” She’d been glued to her phone all day. She couldn’t look away. It was like a toothache she couldn’t quit worrying with her tongue.

“Because it makes me sick, and I don’t want to feel sick all the time.” Griffin reached for the remote and switched on the TV.

“I can’t just pretend it’s not happening. Literally thousands of people hate me enough to go on the internet and shout about it. How am I supposed to ignore that?”

He took a swig of protein shake and changed the channel to ESPN. “You’ll get used to it.”

What if she didn’t want to? That didn’t seem like something anyone should ever have to get used to.

“How can you be so calm?” she asked him.

“I’m not calm. Believe me.”

He seemed calm. But then she’d never seen him any other way. Alice had never known anyone whose emotions were on such an even keel. Or maybe they were just tamped down so hard it seemed that way. Was he Zen or just repressed? She never really knew what was going on in his head.

“This basic bitch is the human personification of an Applebee’s,” Alice read out loud. “I’m supposed to just ignore that people are saying things like that?”

Griffin leaned over, grabbed her phone out of her hand, and set it on the coffee table. “Yes.” He directed his attention back to the baseball game on TV.

Alice tried to make herself watch the game. Griffin had been dealing with things like this a lot longer than her and probably knew what he was talking about. She’d never really given much thought to how little he used social media, but she had a better understanding of it now. Twitter wasn’t quite as much fun when it was full of strangers attacking you over lies someone else had made up.

It was disturbing, really, the level of investment people had in a relationship that didn’t even exist between two strangers they’d never met. Kudos to the publicists, she supposed. A whole Kimbergriff fan community had been inspired by their supposed relationship. They seemed to spend all their time on the internet poring over photos, constructing elaborate fantasy narratives by filling in the gaps with details supplied by their imaginations, and then behaving as if those made-up details were absolute, incontrovertible truth. Confronted with a photo that threw their fantasies into doubt, they’d turned on the former objects of their obsession with an alarming speed and ferocity. Some of them almost seemed excited by this excuse to hate Griffin, as if they’d put him up on a pedestal purely for the pleasure of knocking him down.

Alice’s phone buzzed on the table. It was lying facedown so she couldn’t see the notification. She started to reach for it, but stopped at the look Griffin gave her.

“Fine.” She sank back on the couch with a sigh.

Her phone vibrated again.

And again, a few seconds later.

Ignoring Griffin’s glare, she leaned forward and snatched it off the table. “It might be Rachel.”

It wasn’t Rachel. It was a Twitter notification. As she stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the words being directed at her, another notification came in. And another.

Alice’s blood went cold. “Oh my god.”

“What is it?”

She stared at her phone in horror. “They know who I am. They identified me somehow and found my Twitter account.” Which was linked to her Instagram and Facebook, so they’d be able to find those too.

“What? How?” Griffin took the phone from her. “Jesus.” He shoved the phone back into her hands. “Lock it down. Right now. Set your account to private. Set all your social media accounts to private.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alice muttered under her breath as she scrambled to navigate the settings and lock her account down. She’d gained a hundred new followers in just the last few minutes, which meant she was locking the gates after the Trojans had already wheeled their horse inside the city walls. Fuck.

“How the hell did they find you?” Griffin demanded.

“I don’t know.”

Okay. Twitter was locked, Facebook was locked, Instagram was locked. She went through her most recent followers, blocking all of them until she got to a name she recognized as an actual acquaintance.

Griffin started pacing in front of the TV, looking a lot less calm than before, and Taco got up to pace alongside him. “You didn’t post anything, did you? I told you not to post to any of your social media accounts until we figured out what to do.”

“I didn’t!”

“Are you sure?” Behind him, one of the Washington Nationals popped a fly ball directly into the glove of the Cubs’ centerfielder to retire the side.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alice said through clenched teeth. She powered her phone off and shoved it into her back pocket before it could transmit any more devastating news. “This isn’t my fault.”

Griffin exhaled a harsh breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe my whole career is at risk right now because you insisted on going to some stupid party.”

Alice stared at him. “You think it’s my fault all this is happening?”

“We never would have been photographed if you hadn’t manipulated me into taking you someplace people would be taking pictures.”

Whoa.

She was on her feet before she was conscious of making the decision to stand. “I manipulated you?” Her hands balled into fists at her side. “Being upset isn’t manipulation. It’s called having emotions—which I realize is a foreign concept to you.”

“Hey!” He actually had the nerve to look hurt—after he’d flung the word manipulate at her like a weapon. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you conveniently leaving out the fact that we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place if you hadn’t agreed to this ridiculous publicity stunt of a relationship!”

Taco looked back and forth between them and whined under his breath, upset by their raised voices.

A muscle ticked in Griffin’s jaw. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course you did,” Alice shot back. “All you had to do was say no.”

“My career is actually important to me, so no, I didn’t have a choice. And we weren’t even together when I agreed to it.”

“But you didn’t put an end to it after we were together. You forced me into the role of the Other Woman and made our relationship seem like something tawdry that had to be hidden.”

“I’d made a professional commitment! Which I realize is a foreign concept to you.”

Alice recoiled, shocked that he’d throw that particular barb at her when he knew perfectly well why she’d abandoned her dissertation, how hard she’d worked to get back on track, and how much of a sore spot it was.

Numbing tendrils of ice traveled down her spine, turning her voice glacial. “Fuck you.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Alice turned her back on him, grabbed her purse and keys off the table, and headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?” Griffin shouted after her. “You can’t be seen out in public right now!”

“You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t do,” she shouted back as she slammed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, topping off Alice’s wineglass. “All of this sucks so hard.”

“It really does,” Alice agreed.

She’d come straight to Rachel’s when she stormed out of Griffin’s house. Thank god Rachel had been home, because Alice hadn’t had anywhere else to go. As much as it rankled her, Griffin had been right that she couldn’t afford to be seen in public right now.

Rachel had welcomed her with a hug, canceled her plans with Pete for the evening, and opened a bottle of wine that the two of them shared while Alice spilled the whole wretched story from the beginning.

Rachel shook her head as she brought her glass to her lips. “I can’t believe Kimbergriff is fake. Do you think all celeb romances are fake?”

“I don’t know,” Alice said. “Maybe. Maybe everything’s fake with actors.”

“Hey!” Rachel protested, giving her a friendly shove. “We’re not all like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Rachel’s expression grew serious again. “You don’t think Griffin’s feelings for you were fake, do you?”

Alice shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

That wasn’t strictly true. She knew Griffin cared about her in his own way. She just wasn’t sure his way was enough. He’d sworn there was no one in his life more important than her, but there was one person who would always be Griffin’s number one priority: Griffin. His career was everything to him, and woe unto anyone who got in the way.

All Alice had wanted was for someone to put her first, for once in her life. She didn’t think that was too much to ask of a person who was supposed to love you.

Her phone vibrated on the table, and she and Rachel both glanced at it warily. A second later it vibrated again, and then twice more before falling silent.

Rachel had been the one to figure out how Alice’s identity was uncovered. Some obsessive fan had apparently scoured the accounts of everyone Griffin followed on Twitter until they’d found her. Alice had foolishly assumed she was safe since Griffin had never followed her back, but he did follow Robert, the show’s old second AD, who also followed Alice. Right there in Robert’s photo stream was a picture he’d taken with Alice and some of the other extras on their last day, just waiting to be discovered by one of the goddamn Sherlock Holmeses on the internet. And of course he’d tagged her and she’d commented on it. That was all it took for them to trace her back to her own account and splash her real name and Twitter handle all over the place.

She’d changed the name on her profile to something that wasn’t her actual name, and was pretty sure she’d weeded out all the weirdos who’d followed her before she locked her account down, but the information was already a matter of public record for anyone who wanted it. Her identity had been outed to the world.

She felt numb. It was hard to believe this was really happening to her. How had she gotten herself into this mess?

Griffin had said she’d get used to this kind of negative attention. But what if she didn’t? What if she wasn’t capable of getting used to living like this? Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this kind of life. Maybe it wasn’t worth it.

She could understand why Griffin put up with it. It was the cost of fame. He’d chosen this life because he loved acting and wanted to live this way. But she hadn’t chosen this. She wasn’t looking for celebrity. There was no upside for her. She just wanted to be left alone to live her life in obscurity, but Griffin’s adoring public would never let her do that. Not as long as she was with him.

“You want me to see what it says?” Rachel offered, gesturing at Alice’s phone.

“Yes, please.” Alice had turned off all her social media notifications, but she’d been getting texts and emails from old acquaintances and distant relatives all day. Now that she was infamous, everyone she’d ever gone to school with or gotten a birthday card from was crawling out of the woodwork to get the scoop on her celebrity relationship.

She had no desire whatsoever to reconnect with any of them at the moment. On the other hand, if someone was trying to alert her to some new social media disaster that was unfolding, she should probably know about it.

Rachel picked up the phone. “It’s a bunch of texts from Griffin.”

Alice’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“Do you want to see them?” Rachel asked, biting her lip.

Alice swallowed a mouthful of wine. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“He’s apologizing.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alice held out her hand. She might as well see what he had to say.

I’m sorry.

I was upset and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.

Can we talk?

Please?

“What are you going to do?” Rachel asked.

“I guess I’ll talk to him.”

Not tonight though. She was way too drunk to have a serious conversation tonight, much less drive.

Tomorrow, she typed back. I’m too tired tonight.

Are you okay? Where are you?

I’m at Rachel’s. I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll talk.

I’m glad you’re with a friend. I love you.

Alice didn’t reply back.

Kimberleigh had sent Alice flowers: a giant bouquet of buttery yellow roses that Griffin didn’t know what to do with. He stared at the card, wondering what it could possibly say, and whether it would make things worse between him and Alice. For a brief moment, he toyed with tossing the flowers straight into the big garbage can outside. Instead, he set them on the coffee table and went back to cleaning the house.

The house didn’t need cleaning; his cleaning woman had been there only three days before. But Alice was coming over and Griffin was a nervous wreck. Cleaning soothed his nerves. It was something productive he could do to distract himself from the acid whirlpool currently ravaging his stomach lining.

He’d completely freaked when Sabrina told him about the photo yesterday. The thought of everything he’d worked for going down the shitter over a single careless mistake had sent him into a panic, and he’d taken that panic out on Alice in a way she hadn’t deserved. He hadn’t expected her to walk out like that though. It wasn’t until after she’d left that the enormity of his mistake had sunk in. He’d been so focused on his own problems, he hadn’t given enough thought to what she was going through.

He could have been more understanding. He should have tried to help her deal with her sudden infamy instead of lashing out at her over it. He would have gotten there eventually, if they’d talked it out last night. But instead Alice had gotten angry and left.

He’d thought they were just arguing. That they’d vent at each other a little until they’d gotten it out of their systems, and then they’d make up. But instead of staying to work it out, she’d run away. Walked out on him before he’d even grasped that it was happening.

He hadn’t appreciated how upset she was, because once again he’d had his head too far up his own ass to look beyond his own immediate crisis. All he’d been able to think about was how it affected him, and his career, and his professional relationships. She probably thought that was all he cared about, because in the moment it was all he’d thought about. He really was shit at this relationship stuff.

In the emptiness Alice’s absence had left behind, that one stupid photo didn’t feel so important anymore. His career didn’t feel so important anymore, if it caused him to lose her.

Griffin wiped down the kitchen counters, scrubbed the sink, ran the dust mop over the floor, and fluffed all the cushions on the couch. One of the roses had already dropped a petal. He plucked it off the coffee table and rubbed the velvety material between his fingers as he carried it to the kitchen. By the time he dropped it in the trash, it looked like a used dryer sheet.

Taco jumped up from his bed and ran to the sliding door, wagging his tail expectantly, which must mean Alice had pulled up.

Griffin stood in the kitchen and waited.

He startled at the knock on the front door. He’d expected her to come in through the sliding door, the way she always did when she knew he was home. And why was she knocking instead of using her key?

He had a feeling he knew why, and he really hoped he was wrong. His heart beat a jerky rhythm in his chest as he walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob for a second, drawing a breath before he pulled it open.

Alice looked pale and unhappy. Her skin had a papery translucence and her eyes were sunken, with a reddish cast as if she’d been crying.

Instinctively, he started to reach for her, then stopped himself. “Alice—”

She stepped into his arms, her hands sliding around his waist and fisting in the back of his shirt. The comforting, familiar scent of her worked like an aerosolized tranquilizer to banish his anxieties. He blew out a long breath as he wrapped her up, burying his face in her hair.

It would be okay. She still loved him. They could work the rest of it out. Together.

He’d break off the arrangement with Kimberleigh if that’s what Alice wanted. Deal with the publicity from the fake breakup of his fake relationship and whatever that might mean for his career. As long as he had Alice, he could navigate the rest of it.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled out of his arms. Her spine was rigid and her expression pained. That was when he realized. He’d read the situation all wrong. She hadn’t come to make up with him at all.

She walked past him into the house, and he stood there staring helplessly out the open doorway like someone who’d just gotten on the wrong subway train and was watching the station recede in the distance.

After another moment he shut the door and followed Alice inside.

She’d stopped in the middle of the living room to stare at the roses. “Did you—”

“No,” he said. “Kimberleigh sent them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to read the card.”

Alice walked over and took the tiny envelope from its plastic holder. He watched her expression carefully as she peeled it open and read the card inside. Blotchy pink spots formed on her cheeks, and she pressed her lips together.

“What does it say?”

She tucked the card in her purse. “That she’s sorry for all this mess.”

“I’m sorry too, if that counts for anything.”

She turned to face him, and a feeling of cold dread settled in his limbs. “It does.” She shook her head. “But not enough.”

Griffin took an unsteady breath and released it. “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

Her eyes gleamed, but she blinked the tears away before they could fall. “I don’t think so.”

“Why? Because of Kimberleigh? I’ll get out of that, if it’s what you want.”

Alice’s mouth took on a bitter twist. “It’s a little too late to put that toothpaste back in the tube. Whether you’re in that relationship or out, the damage is done.”

“Look, I know it seems bad now—”

“It doesn’t just seem bad.”

“We can get past this. Just give it time.” He was desperate now. Pleading. “I know I didn’t handle any of this well, and I’m sorry. But don’t do this. Please, Alice. Let me fix it.” There was a tremor in his voice.

“It’s not your fault. I—” She took a step toward him and seemed about to reach out before she stopped herself with a little head shake. “It’s not just about Kimberleigh or the photo. I just think all this was too much for me. Living together. Not being able to go out or talk to anyone.” She made a jerky gesture in his direction. “Your whole lifestyle. I’m not like you. I can’t deal with all this attention and craziness. I don’t want it.”

What she was really saying was that she didn’t want him. Not enough to put up with all the downsides.

Kimberleigh had been right. She’d tried to warn Griffin back in Atlanta that it wouldn’t work out. The glare of the spotlight was too harsh for those who hadn’t chosen this kind of life.

Alice reached up to smooth her ponytail over her shoulder. She looked miserable. That was how being with him made her feel—miserable. “I just want to have a normal, quiet life and be in a normal relationship with a normal person. I deserve that.”

Griffin nodded, surprised at how calm he was able to be while his whole world was crumbling. “I’ll never be able to give you that. Even if this stuff with Kimberleigh had never happened—”

“People would still judge me,” Alice said. “I know. I’ll never be able to be seen with you without being photographed, scrutinized, and compared to some unreasonable standard.”

He looked down at the floor. “There’s nothing I can do to make any of that go away. It’s part of the package with me.”

“I can’t live like that.” Her voice hitched. “I could barely even deal with it when I wasn’t part of the narrative. When we were together—”

Griffin’s throat closed at her use of the past tense, as if the breakup was already final.

“—I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t get any work done. It was like I turned into this other person who was so caught up in you and your life that my own life didn’t feel real anymore. And I didn’t like being that person very much.”

He thought it was unfair to blame him for her inability to focus, but he also knew it didn’t matter whose fault it was. If being with him prevented her from living her life and accomplishing her goals, well then being with him wasn’t very good for her, was it?

And if he wasn’t good for her, then he needed to let her go.

“So what are you saying?” he asked, knowing perfectly well what she was saying. He needed to hear the words spoken aloud. For his own sense of closure.

“I guess I’m saying I can’t be in your life anymore.”

“Okay.” He had to force the words out. “If that’s what you want.”

She did reach out for him then, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “I think it’s what I need.”

He clutched at her hand and pulled her toward him, hoping she’d allow him one last embrace.

She fell willingly into his arms. Griffin breathed her in, knowing it might be the last time he ever got to hold her like this. Her chest hitched, and he laid his hand on the back of her head.

“Alice—” I love you. I need you. Please don’t do this to me. I don’t know how to live my life without you. He could have said all that and a lot more, but he choked it back. “I just want you to be happy.”

She nodded against his chest, the tears she wouldn’t let him see making his shirt damp.

They stood that way for a long time before she finally pushed herself away. Letting her go was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

She gestured toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna go pack up my things.”

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head. “It’s probably easier if I do it alone.”

Griffin sank down on the couch after she’d disappeared into the back. It only took her fifteen minutes to pack up all her things. He’d felt like their lives were inextricably bound together these last few months, but the truth was she’d never completely moved in. Not permanently. It shocked him how quickly she was able to remove all traces of herself.

He helped her carry it all outside and load it into her car. When the last of it was done, she bent to pick up Taco, who’d been anxiously trotting at her heel. He’d seen Griffin’s suitcases often enough, he probably knew what they meant.

“I’m gonna miss you, little fur ball,” she whispered, hugging the dog to her chest. Taco licked the dried tears from her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Griffin looked away. It was too fucking hard to watch, and he didn’t want to lose his shit until after she was gone.

He heard her set the dog down and step toward him. “Thank you—”

“Don’t do that.” He shook his head, grimacing at the bile in the back of his throat. “Don’t thank me.”

“You saved me.”

Her voice sounded so rough, he had to look at her. A single tear stood out on her cheek. He reached out an unsteady hand and rubbed it away with his thumb.

Her eyes fell shut. “You really did. You were my knight in shining armor.”

Was it his imagination, or had she leaned into his touch? “Are you sure we can’t—” He stopped when she shook her head.

She moved his hand off her face. “I have to save myself this time.”

He didn’t like to think he was what she had to save herself from. But that was the truth, wasn’t it? Maybe if he’d been an accountant or a car salesman, the two of them could have made it work. They could have had a happy, normal life together. But he was who he was, and the fame he’d fought so hard for was like a drug addiction. It brought a lot of highs, but the long-term effects were toxic—to everyone around him.

He held on to her hand, entwining their fingers. “If you need anything—ever—I’m right here. I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always—” He swallowed thickly. “I’ll always be here for you.”

She tilted her head up and pressed trembling lips against his. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a wordless goodbye.

Her fingers slipped out of his grasp, and he watched her get in her car and drive away.