New York City in the fall is quite possibly the most perfect place in the world. I love Los Angeles; I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else. But here, I feel a freedom of movement that I don’t have at home. I don’t need a car; I get to run in Central Park. This time, it’s even more special because I’ve got Lucía with me. This is her first visit and we decided to stay an extra day, because she wants to go the 9/11 Memorial and the Statue of Liberty.

She and her team have been working sixteen-hour days for the last month. The screenplay’s first draft is done. We’re heading to New York with that under our belt. It feels great.

We took the red eye from LA and are headed straight to our first appearance this morning. We have three more after that. Only one is in-studio, the rest we’ll join via video feed. Now, in the back of the limousine, I look over at Lucía. I laugh when I see that she’s plastered herself to the window with her neck craned up so she can see the city as we drive by.

She doesn’t take her eyes off the view, but says, “I can’t believe I’m here. It’s like being in a different country.” Her voice is full of wonder and happiness.

She slept for almost the entire six-hour plane ride. She said, “When we land, I want to be wide awake. I’m afraid that if I’m tired, I’ll miss something.” She’d even packed her SLR camera in her carry on.

The last month has been just like this. Seeing everything I take for granted through Lucía’s colored lenses. Her optimism, courage and curiosity make everything seem bright. They make anything seem possible.

All the staff at the Malibu estate love her. She asks about their kids, remembers birthdays and makes them feel special.

She does the same for me. Because, no matter how brightly she smiles at everyone else, the smile she reserves for me alone is the brightest.

Our publicists advised us that the best way to keep our relationship out of the news was to lay low. We’ve been spending a lot of time in Malibu. Lucía’s swimming— basic chest stroke, but swimming. I’ve mastered the first three Asana and am feeling stronger than I have in a long time. I’m also sleeping really well.

That last part has to do with the fact that I spend most nights next to Lucía.

Our limo pulls into the garage below Rockefeller Center. We roll to a stop and my door is opened almost immediately. A man, with a tan too orange to be anything but sprayed on and teeth so white I have to force myself not to squint when he grins at us, leans down to greet us in a very warm, but professional manner. “Mr. Carras, Ms. Vega, welcome to Thirty Rock. I’m Rick O’Banyon. I’m one of the show’s producers and I’m here to escort you to your greenrooms.” When I get out of the car, I start to reach in to grab Lucía’s hand, but he steps around me and beats me to it.

“Ms. Vega, I’m such a huge fan of your book. We’ve all been dying to meet you. We’re honored that you’re giving our show your first live interview,” he says as he helps her out. He doesn’t let go of her hand immediately, but Lucía doesn’t seem to mind. She’s smiling warmly back at him. “Thank you Mr. O’Banyon, I’m so happy to be here. This is just amazing.”

And I see it happen, the way it always does when she smiles, he falls a little in love with her. He grins at her and says, “They’re going to die when they see you upstairs. You’re gorgeous. Oh, you’re going to be a hit.” As if he suddenly remembers I’m here, too, he faces me. “Oh, both of you are. The staff is buzzing.”

She blushes but squeezes his hand before she comes to stand next to me again. My arm instinctively goes around her shoulder. Rick’s eyes widen with realization, just for a second, before he schools them.

“Well, I’m sorry to keep us standing out here while I blather on. Let’s get inside.” He turns and leads us into the building. He’s practically hopping with excitement and I groan inwardly. It’s going to be a long day.

“You have separate greenrooms, but we can always put you in one together if you’d like,” he says casually, but I know he’s fishing. He’ll probably be on the phone to some entertainment reporter as soon as he leaves us. I don’t even give a fuck.

Lucía asked me to wait until the screenplay was done. I’ve waited. I’m sick of not being able to tell the world she’s mine. I’ve had to watch the staff flirt with her, some of the guys have asked her out. I hate all that shit. I’m not a kid. I stopped sneaking around when I was a teenager. I hate doing it now. So, this trip is going to be our coming out—whether she likes it or not. Whether she thinks she’s ready or not.

“We’ll share one,” I tell Mr. Not Slick Rick. He actually claps before he catches himself. “That won’t be a problem, we have both of your rider items completed, so we’ll just take you to Ms. Vega’s room and move your items over there.” He pulls out his phone and starts to make a call.

“What’s a rider?” Lucía whispers as we follow him down the long hallway leading to the greenrooms.

“It’s everything you request when you’re doing an appearance. Sol filed one for you, but I didn’t see it. I thought he would have run it by you?”

“Request? What would I request?” she whispers back, sounding perplexed.

“It’s not a big deal. They like to make sure their guests are comfortable, so they ask if they can get you anything special. A particular snack you like . . . you know, things like that. I’m sure Sol just told them to have something for you to eat and didn’t get too specific,” I explain.

We turn right from the garages tunnel into the brightly lit, chrome, marble and glass lobby of Thirty Rockefeller Plaza. Lucía grinds to a halt and just stares. Her eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. “I’ve only ever seen this on TV. I can’t believe I’m here.” Her grip on my hand tightens as she surveys the lobby.

“After you’re done, we’ll make it possible for you to come back and take a private tour of the plaza. It’s quite a marvel. And the view from The Top of the Rock is a must see,” says Rick.

“Oh, thank you, I’d love that,” Lucía, exclaims. I smile, but inwardly curse him. After we’re done, I’d been planning on taking her back to our hotel and fucking her hot, tight pussy for dinner.

I just smile at him and say, “Yes, thank you, Rick.” My tone is warm, but my eyes when I look at him are anything but.

He smiles nervously and says, “Well, let’s get going. We’ve got to get you in makeup and we’ll send our producers in to give you a quick prep, and then you’ll be good to go.”

We step onto the elevator and climb to the fifty-first floor. When we step off the elevator, the scene that greets us is what I’d call ordered chaos. A lot of people moving rapidly, but with purpose.

“This way, please,” says our erstwhile guide. “We’ve moved your rider items into one greenroom. We’re going to start makeup right away.” He smiles coyly at Lucía. “Not that you two need it.”

She giggles. I groan. She elbows me in reprimand just as we’re shown into our greenroom.

There’s a rack of dresses and suit jackets on the left. There is a sitting area that frames a huge television screen on the right. A woman is standing in front of a huge vanity with lights and a counter. She’s dressed in all black with light blond hair, cut very close to her head. She smiles and walks toward us. “I’m Mila,” she says, revealing an Australian accent. “I’ll be doing makeup for you both today.” As effusive as Rick was to Lucía, she’s even more so toward me. She sidles up to me, a cool, but very suggestive smile on her face. “I’ll do you first,” she says, the innuendo unmistakable.

This isn’t new or surprising. I’m relatively young, wealthy, famous. So, wherever I go, women try their luck with me.

In the world I live in, most women don’t care about anything but what I represent. But, I’m used to them, so Mila’s flirtation barely registers.

I feel Lucía tense. Mila doesn’t notice though, and she puts her hand on my arm to lead me to the chair. I remove her hand politely and keep a pleasant look on my face, but my message is clear. “Actually, I need to make a call, so I’ll go last.”

I turn to Lucía, who is eyeing Mila, and grab her shoulder. She looks up at me then and I lean in fast and press my lips to hers. It’s a quick kiss, but for the fraction of a second that our lips touch, I forget where I am and why we’re here. And she does, too. I expect her to tense, but she doesn’t. She deepens the kiss, putting her arms around my waist and stepping into me. She steps back and smiles at me. And then I remember Mila is standing there. She’s blushing furiously and staring at her phone screen.

“I’ll just go sit down and make my call, have fun in makeup,” I say to them both, before I turn and head toward the seating area. I pour myself a cup of coffee and pull out my phone and get on a call I have with the Chairwoman of California’s Democratic Party Committee. As I’m prospecting the idea of running, I think it can’t hurt to try and start building some relationships. I want to be ready in case Lucía decides she’s in.

Thirty minutes later we’re done. My call was a good one, the party’s interested in talking. We have a face-to-face when I get back to LA next week. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Lucía step out of the chair and walk over to another woman. Melanie, as I’d heard her introduce herself earlier, is from wardrobe.

“Okay, Lucía, let’s get you into something that’s going to knock them dead.”

Lucía looks down at her black, sweater dress that she’s paired with a pair of black knee boots and then looks up.

“Oh, I though what I was wearing would be fine.”

Melanie looks her up and down, no recrimination in her eyes, but says frankly, “We can do better. You should wear something jewel toned. It’s fall, and you’ve got great skin and hair. I’ve pulled some things. We got your size from your agent, but we’ve got everything in alternate sizes, too. We’ll get you something that works.” She walks over to the rack of clothes and beckons for Lucía to follow her.

Mila beckons me with the tip of her head and I sigh. She clearly hasn’t learned her lesson. Lucía doesn’t handle this sort of thing with the same flippancy that I do. In the last month, I’ve learned that she’s as possessive as I am.

When I sit down in her chair, she makes a show of walking back and forth in front of me, digging in the drawer of the vanity, ass in my face, trying to find “that damn brush,” she keeps calling it.

She comes to stand in front of me and I notice that two of the buttons on her shirt are undone. I roll my eyes, not bothering to hide my boredom.

I crook my finger at her and look over my shoulder, pretending to check to see if Lucía’s paying attention. She comes, bringing her ear to my mouth. “Hey, I get what you’re trying to do, but I need to warn you. My girlfriend’s over there.” I mimic her head nod in Lucía’s direction. Her eyes widen in understanding and I start to feel relieved until she speaks again.

“Hey, if you want to wait until later, that’s cool. I didn’t realize you were a couple. But I get it.”

I shake my head. “No, there’s no later. You seem like a nice girl and I want to save you from getting cursed out.” She jerks back as if I spat in her face. “I’m not interested. At all. I need you to stop disrespecting my woman by coming on to me.”

Her face takes on a stony expression; I can see the flush on her cheeks. Her jaw clenches and she swallows a few times before she speaks without looking at me. “I really had no clue about you two and this week has been . . . rough. I’m sorry.” She cuts herself off and gathers her composure and says, “Let’s get your face done so you two can meet with production.”

She’s done with me in ten minutes. I hate the makeup they cake on your face for television. I sit through most of it, but stop her when she tries to put gloss on my lips. Thank God I’m not wearing a tie and my collar is open, or I’m sure I’d be worried about smudging my shirt with it. My hair feels like a helmet.

I thank Mila who mumbles a barely audible, “You’re welcome,” and hop out of the chair. Lucía’s in the bathroom changing so I go back to the seating area and pull my phone out to check email.

A couple minutes later, a pair of black leather stilettos appear in my line of sight. I let my eyes travel up her legs. They’re encased in skin tight black leather pants that show of her incredible figure. Her blouse, emerald green, silk button down, fits her like it was tailored for her.

She’s gotten the camera-ready makeup, and her eyes are kohl lined and look huge in contrast to the rest of her face, and she’s wearing a coral-colored lip gloss, completely different from her trademark red. The only thing about her that looks like she normally does is her hair. Free, flowing down in dark chocolate waves, and pinned up on the sides.

“Well, what do you think?” she asks me. She sounds apprehensive, but I don’t understand why. I stand up and lay my hands lightly on her shoulders. In her heels, her mouth is much closer to mine than it normally is when we stand face-to-face.

“You look amazing.” I try to reassure her and then lean forward to kiss her. Her eyes widen in alarm and she pulls back. I stop and look around. “What’s wrong? We’re alone.”

“You’ll ruin my lipstick.” She walks back to the mirror on the vanity and looks at herself and muses, “I like this color. I’m going to find one when we get home.”

I walk to stand behind her and try to hold her close, she steps away. “Stop! You’ll wrinkle my shirt, that poor girl just pressed it.”

I groan. “Oh, my God, I’ve created a monster. I can’t kiss you or touch you now that you’re TV-ready,” I quip.

She whirls on me, and even though she’s clearly pissed, I just marvel over how beautiful she is. “Leave me alone. You’ve done this plenty of times. It’s my first time. You’re lucky I’m not throwing up right now. Stop making it worse. When we’re done, and I haven’t made a fool of myself, you can smudge, tear, wrinkle, rip…whatever, but please, I’m just trying to hold it together.” And then her scowl deepens. “And that puta who was doing our makeup and hitting on you is really lucky that I’m not trying to get arrested.” I grin at her and she sneers back. She turns back to the mirror. “It’s not funny. I know you set her straight. She couldn’t even look at me when they walked out of here.”

“Fifty-five, it’s normal to be nervous. Don’t worry. You’re ready. I’ll be right beside you. You got this. You’ve been prepped and you’re well rested. It’s going to go by so quickly it’ll feel like a blur. We’ve given them a list of topics that are off limit. Nothing about where you come from. We’re focusing on the book, the film and the issues.”

She smiles, a reluctant tilt of her lips, but I can see her posture relax.

“Can I get a fist bump at least?”

She taps my fist with hers and says, “Fuck, yeah.”