Page 62 of False Promises

Dahlia’s face with her cheerful expression slid through the opening. “Hey Savannah. Since I have a few hours to myself, I was about to go shopping downtown. Ed said he would drive me. Wanna join? There’s this little café I like here in Los Angeles that I haven’t visited in ages. We could make a stop there afterward. Get to know each other better. What do you say? Carter and Jack are taking a nap and I—”

I swung the door open, and she lost her footing but braced herself against the doorway to avoid crashing face-first. “A nap?”

She shrugged. “Yes. They often do this when they are together. Carter sings to him and reads a story, and Jack falls asleep in his arms. Then Carter chooses to nap with him instead of settling him by the side and waking him up. He’s great with Jack. Always has been.”

There. Again. The mention they shared a past together. One I wasn’t part of. One that I wished Carter could forget all about.

As tempting as shopping sounded, I couldn’t see myself spending the rest of my day with Dahlia Ellis. No thanks. It was enough that I would have to share my apartment with her for three whole days. No need to make it more awful than it would already be.

I cast a glance down and slumped my shoulders. “Thank you so much for inviting me.” I grabbed her hand between mine. “There’s nothing I would like more right now than us spending time together. But this headache is a bitch, and if I don’t rest, I won’t be able to join you tonight at that awesome place Carter made a reservation in. And I’ve been waiting for a long time to have you guys over. The last thing I want is to miss on the short time we have together. Can I take a raincheck?”

Dahlia’s face fell. “Huh, sure. I just thought it would be fun for us women to hang out together. We’ll try to fit in some alone time later. Take care of yourself. I know how debilitating headaches can be. Hope you get better before tonight. If not, I have an herbal tea recipe that could help. Let me know if you wanna try it. I’ll pick up the ingredients on my way back.”

Of course, she also possessed the remedy to cure me. Once the door closed behind her, I breathed out. Why did she have to be so nice? Couldn’t Carter’s best friend be a nutcase? I was better at dealing with crazy people than sane ones.

Once I heard the front door close and I made sure I was alone, I returned to my dressing room, changed into workout gear, and made my way to the gym, two blocks away from our apartment.

Pilates, it would be. And maybe a group class or two if I could squeeze them in.

I had to burn a thousand calories since I bet tonight’s menu would only consist of carbs and fat. A wave of nausea rose at the back of my throat. This day couldn’t get any worse.

18

CARTER

Dahlia and Jack left two nights ago, and already, I missed having them around. Their contagious happiness was hard to live without. They were here. With me. They came into my world. And I introduced them to my new life. For the entire time they were in town, I felt Savannah’s resistance to their presence. Even under fake confidence, I knew she wasn’t at ease with my best friend around. I tried hard to reassure her, to include her in all our outings and activities, but still, she wouldn’t participate in the board games hour, cartoon-movie night, or join us when we visited the theme park, always pretending some physical ailment or conflict of schedule. And Savannah’s work agenda was pretty loose these days. She sometimes spent weeks without working. Other than a few appearances on TV shows, a photo spread in a magazine about the trendiest diets in Hollywood, some advertising contracts, and a small role in an indie movie produced by a streaming service, her time was mostly spent at home, working out, or shopping.

Things between us had been sailing smoothly until we got into a fight last night. After I refused to throw a party and invite Hollywood A-listers. My home was a sacred place to me, and I had no intention of playing host to a bunch of people I didn’t know, just to rub my success in their faces, only for the sake of it. I despised the superficial side of the showbusiness. And no one, not even Savannah, could convince me otherwise. And after the way she behaved the last time we were around a bunch of people from the music industry, I had no intention of having a do-over. No thanks.

This morning, I woke up feeling agitated. My sudden burst of restlessness had everything to do with the memories of what happened at Dylan’s birthday party, brought forth due to the previous night’s fight. Even after all these days, and despite begging my brain to erase them on numerous occasions, every time I replayed that night in my head, wrath lodged in my chest. The images of Savannah rubbing herself against another man were inked in my mind. Last night’s fight woke up my desire to deal with this situation once and for all. Yeah, I had enough time to think. We needed to talk about it. About her flirting with another man. Until we did, I wouldn't feel at ease.

The last—and only—time I tried to broach the subject with her, it ended up causing a huge rift between us that lasted for weeks. Still, it was the reasonable thing to do. We had to set some ground rules. And flirting with other people was a big no for me. We were in a committed relationship, and it had to mean something. To both of us.

After a day spent running errands on my own and replaying in my head how I should approach the subject, I came home a little after dinner. The place was awfully silent. But Savannah was home. I could tell from the energy reverberating through the walls.

“Carter, is that you?” my girlfriend called out from the bedroom, her voice sultry.

Not in a hurry to see her just yet, I emptied a bottle of cold water I fished from the refrigerator in one gulp to tame my annoyed self. After kicking off my shoes and grabbing a snack, I followed the sound of her voice.

“I did something, and now I need your help. It was supposed to be a surprise, but you’ve been gone for so long, I’m dying here.”

With half-hearted steps and a collected demeanor, I padded toward our bedroom down the long hall with half a dozen doors to rooms we never used. Three guest rooms—one that had become my bedroom—another full bathroom, a second home office. I already used the bigger one on the east side to store my guitars and other musical apparatus. The apartment looked like a museum. Lifeless. White. Only displaying paintings on its walls. No pictures. No kid’s drawings on the refrigerator—Savannah told me to display Jack’s pieces of art only in my office the first day we moved in.

Our place bore no personal touches.

No signs that real people lived here.

I sighed. This place was way too big, too impersonal, too frigid.

Once I reached the bedroom, I steeled my back. I hoped Savannah was in a good mood because we really needed to have a conversation. One where more than one-syllable words and moans were spoken.

In the doorway, I stopped. My heart did a tumble in my chest, and I forgot how to breathe for a moment. I blinked. Blinked again. And gulped a big intake of air. Dozens of thoughts swirled in my head.

On the bed lay Savannah, wearing red lacy lingerie, with a crimson satin blindfold over her eyes, matching lipstick, black high heels, her arms raised overhead, with her wrists handcuffed to the headboard.

She squirmed a little, and I enjoyed the vision. A little too much.

She looked sinful. A hot temptation with her full breasts barely covered by the fabric and her long brown hair curled to perfection.