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“Oh, relax,” she said, her tone scathing. “It’s not like she’s really your wife. Your marriage is bullshit, just like the Elvis impersonator who married you.”
Maybe, technically speaking, Tessa was right. Maybe Liz wasn’t really my wife—at least, not in any way that involved actually being in love. But the more time I spent with her, the more I felt like maybe we could have something real. Of course, I’d just cocked that all up, hadn’t I, going on about our ruse right after we’d shared something so intimate with one another.
That’s not how you ask a girl to move in with you, you twat, I told myself as the whiskey warmed my guts. You don’t make her feel like she’s just another set piece in your oh-so-glamorous life. And you certainly don’t dress it up as a charade that will come crashing down as you’ve got your money’s worth!
“You just need to keep Little Miss Vegas in line long enough for this plan of ours to pay off,” Tessa continued, though I was hardly paying her much mind. I had so much more to think about than some stupid scheme to get me on the cover of the New York Times or the National Enquirer. Liz, and how badly I’d screwed up with her, was the only thing I currently found worth thinking about.
I thought about the way Elizabeth’s eyes had refused to even meet mine as I’d left the room, how she’d covered her face with her hands just so she wouldn’t have to look at me. I thought of how violently she’d torn herself from me, like she couldn’t even stand for me to touch her. Was this shame tightening my throat, making me grind my teeth this way? It had been so damned long since I’d been truly ashamed of anything that the sensation was utterly alien to me. I’d spent so long floating in and out of sobriety that even the word had all but left my vocabulary.
It felt like the memory of how I’d ruined a perfect moment was choking me. For so long, I had believed that true intimacy was for other people. I had coveted it, certainly, but I’d never actually thought it would fall into my lap the way it had with Liz up there. And then I’d sullied it, just the way I sullied everything else. How stupid I’d been, to think I could be the person Liz needed me to be—the person that my kid was going to need me to be. When it came down to it, I was a selfish, spoiled brat, and for that I had no one to blame for myself.
I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat, still feeling the burn of the last drink of my whiskey I’d taken. I was going to be a father, and all I knew was that I was woefully unprepared to meet that challenge. Tessa blathered on about some meeting she was having with another news network, and I was wondering whether I really wanted to let this whole thing go once the publicity stunt was over.
At this point… did it matter?
The whiskey in my hand felt so heavy, like a burden I was just itching to cast aside, and yet part of me wanted to keep holding onto it, to feel it scorch my throat again as it carried me into the sweet oblivion of intoxication—a land where my actions were barely my own and I couldn’t be blamed for being a complete and utter fool. But the longer I thought of Liz, the more the aftertaste of that whiskey turned sour on my tongue.
Maybe there’s a chance that I could be better, if I actually tried for once, I thought, setting the tumbler of Jack down on the table. Tessa was still prattling on, despite my rather obvious inattention. If I didn’t pull back at the last minute, maybe I could actually be worthy of something. Something good.
But was there even any truth to that? After the way that I’d behaved all these years, was there any turning back now? Or was this my one and only chance to become something more than just a drunken sex hound that only ever felt a connection when he got some barely legal groupie into his bed? The question tore at my insides, at the very fiber of my being, as I contemplated the crossroads I sat at.
“Earth to Julian,” Tessa called, eyebrows raised as she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry,” I muttered, frowning as I pushed her hand away. “I guess I’m a little distracted, is all.”
“Well, you’d better focus,” she said, shaking her head as she started digging through her purse. “If this plan our ours doesn’t go the way we want it to, then your career is over—and this time, I won’t be able to do you any favors. We’ll be done, and I’ll be looking for a client that has some actual promise.”
“We have a contract,” I reminded her. The way she tutted me right after made me want to flip the table over.
“One that I have the power to break, should you insist on reneging on your duties. Really, Jules, you should know this. Or didn’t you read the terms all the way through—”
“Can you spend a second of your life not being a bitch?” I snapped, my voice a hissing whisper so as not to draw the attention of the other patrons. “For Christ’s sake, Tess, I am so tired of hearing about how my career is in constant peril! Can’t I just sit alone for once and make a decision about my life that doesn’t involve money—or you being a right cunt?”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, blinking as she tried to process my words. “You need to remember who the hell you’re talking to, Bastille—I discovered you!”
Her voice was rising to levels I wasn’t comfortable with, drawing stares from the men and women enjoying their dinner at other tables. She was going to cause a scene, if I let her—make sure someone recognized who I was and get a video on their phone.
No. That wasn’t going to happen. For once, Tessa was not going to get her away. Even if it meant conceding this battle in order to win the war.
“Forget it,” I said, shaking my head as I stood up from the table. I threw down enough cash for my bill plus a tip before I turned away from her and started heading for the elevators. “I’ve had a shit night. I’m going to bed.”
I could feel Tessa’s gaze practically burning holes into the back of my jacket as I left her there, seething, and without any outlet for it. Good, I thought. Let her feel what it’s like to be trapped in a situation where someone else has all the control.
I smashed my thumb into the call button for the elevator, wondering through a whiskey buzz about how I was going to convince Liz to even let me into the suite. There was only one real answer—and it was exactly what she deserved.
You have some apologizing to do, I thought as the elevator doors opened in front of me. I took a deep breath before boarding, feeling a lot like I was descending into hell, and this was my personal hand basket. A hell of a lot.
Elizabeth
“I can’t believe he did that,” Jen said over the phone. “How could he think that killing the mood like that would make things better? You don’t bring up some business deal after you’ve just gotten done getting busy!”
“I didn’t say I slept with him!” I protested.
“I’m sure you just sat his in hotel room and played scrabble, right?” Jen replied, laughing.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. Jen always knew how to take the worst things and turn them into something to laugh about—it was why she was so good at cheering me up when my life took a turn for the worst.
“I just don’t know if I want to be doing this anymore,” I said, sighing as I laid back down on the king-sized bed that Julian and I had shared barely two hours before. “I thought maybe we could make this work…”
“So does that mean that you’re starting to actually like Julian?” she asked, “You didn’t seem too happy the last time we talked… What’s changed?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, staring up at the ceiling as I tried to find a way to put it into words. “It’s like the more time I actually spend around him—private time, not time surrounded by his fans or hounded by his manager—the less of an asshole he is. But aside from all that… after what he said to me, I just feel so used. You know? Like these moments we share, where he does and says these sweet things… like they’re not real.”
“You said you had a few genuine moments with him,” Jen said around a mouthful of something that couldn’t
be healthy for her. “Did he seem like that kind of person to you?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.” A thought occurred to me. I sat up in bed. “Jen… you know Julian’s tattoos, right?”
I could hear the smirk in her tone. “I know of them.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you know what they mean?”
“Um… well, there’s a lot of speculation,” she admitted. I could hear her balling up a paper wrapper. She’d finished her first course. “It’s kind of a special interest area for his fans, actually. There’re a lot of them who think it’s just your typical symbolism, or that he just liked the way the art looked, but plenty more of us think there’s a deeper meaning to it all. The pattern can’t be random. It has to be something way more personal.”
I could feel my heart in my throat. “You mean no one knows for sure? He’s never explained—not even in an interview, or to one of his groupies during pillow talk?”
Jen laughed. “No, never. Not that he hasn’t been asked, but he’s the kind of guy who likes to keep an air of mystery about him. Wait…” I practically heard the tumblers in her brain click into place. “Wait, did Julian tell you what his tattoos mean?”
