In the first video, she turns the camera on herself and smiles. “Y’all, I have a secret. I can’t share it yet, but it’s juicy.” In the background, Jace is standing with his guitar, talking to his bandmates, unaware that she’s recording.
Why is she at Jace’s rehearsal? The one Cooper told me was strictly for band members and I shouldn’t even think of dropping by?
In the second reel, she walks up to Jace and hooks her arm through his like she’s trying to poach him. “Smile, darlin’. Say hi for the camera.”
I grit my teeth as my husband turns on the charm. “Hey, guys. We’re in Dallas this week working on some top-secret projects. Can’t wait to tell y’all more.”
Are they rehearsing “Red Light” for another show?
But then I get to the third video. Someone else records this one. Jace is playing his guitar and singing into his mic when Marlowe drapes herself over his shoulder and winks at the camera before she sings into her own mic.
So much for getting space because Jace has his own microphone.
Or having a spouse who tells you what the hell is going on.
And just when I think this can’t get any worse, I stumble across a video from last Saturday night after their show.
Where she sits in his fucking lap.
Needless to say, I seethe the rest of the night. I try to nap, but my mind won’t stop playing worst-case scenarios. That Jace will want Marlowe. That he and I will never withstand the pressures of this industry. That we’ll be over long before this tour ends.
Layla wakes up around ten, irritable and hungry. I feed her, clean her up, and play with her on the floor for a while. Her teeth start bothering her again, and nothing I do soothes her.
“Come on, honey.” Exhausted and at my wit’s end, I’m on the verge of tears. Ignoring the ache in my shoulders and back, I bounce her in my arms and pace.
Sometime around one in the morning, His Highness walks through the door. “Babe. You’re up.”
“No shit, I’m up.” I glare at him while I pat Layla’s back.
He glances back and forth between me and the baby. “Are y’all okay?”
No, I’m far from fucking okay. I take a deep breath so I don’t throw a lamp at his head. “I need you to watch your daughter for ten minutes so I can take a shower.” I hand him Layla. Before he can respond, I lock myself in the bathroom, crank the water, and sob into my hands.
What am I doing here?
Did I think I had grown from this trip? Because I feel like the same girl I was in Wild Heart, hiding behind books and the “no talking in the library” sign.
I love Jace, but if this is the life he wants, I’m not sure I can handle it. Besides, it’s not like he’s told me he loves me. Signing “xoxo” on a card isn’t a declaration of love. He’s made me no promises.
Wait. He made two.
At the beginning of all this, he swore he’d never embarrass me.
But as I scrolled through all of those videos of him and his ex earlier today, I was humiliated. My father might not know we’re married, but he knows we’re together. What if he sees those clips?
Jace’s family and our friends know we’re married. It might not mean anything to him, but it means something to me.
He also promised he’d never pursue anyone else without breaking up with me first.
My throat gets tight when I think of how cozy Marlowe looked on his lap. And he just let her sit there.
Stupid, Aurora. You fell for the wrong kind of man all over again.
After I shower and get a handle on my emotions, I finally emerge to find Jace sitting on the couch. Layla’s asleep on hisshoulder. “Hey, babe,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry about this week. It’s been hell.”
“It sure looked like hell from those videos Marlowe posted.”
He closes his eyes. “I wanted to warn you about that, but I still can’t find my phone.”
