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But as far as the world was concerned, she was with Sparks.
With the blessing of the record label for once.
Fuck.
How did her life get so damn messed up?
She twined her fingers around his for a moment. His silvery eyes blazed.
He knew.
He had to know how much she wanted to pull him in and taste him. But she didn’t.
She wasn’t supposed to.
All because of those pictures of her and Sparks. Worst of all, that wasn’t even the truth. She and Sparks were together, but not on their own. Tristan was an essential part of them. That he’d been written out of the story as if he didn’t exist wasn’t right on any level. Wasn’t fair.
She’d spent her whole life as part of an edited-for-television narrative. God forbid anyone ever know exactly how screwed up her family truly was. And she’d done her part, because for a while she’d been too young to realize exactly how much bullshit was being served. When she’d finally gotten old enough to understand, she’d started acting out. Still not telling the truth. Still not exposing the lies for what they were.
Her father was a philanderer and didn’t give a shit about their family. They were props to him. Dolls to move around and pose so he always came off seeming like a wonderful, benevolent husband and father.
Lies. All lies.
So was she really going to live a lie, again? A lie she had the power to stop in its tracks and set right?
Glimpsing that brief flash of emotion in Tristan’s eyes as he realized he couldn’t touch her in public, not really, was more than she could stand. Especially when she could fix it. Maybe they’d never really intended on being a permanent thing, or to exist outside of the shadows, but wasn’t the truth an absolute defense?
The three of them were together. More and mor
e, she was realizing she wanted to be with both men in the dark—and in the light.
No shame.
No excuses.
No more lies.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tristan slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. His hands still itched to palm Juliet’s perfect ass. To give her a searing kiss. To stamp his fucking brand on her in front of the crowd before them.
Dammit.
He roared out of the exit for LAX and headed toward the Hills again. He should have been heading into the city, but being trapped in the kitchen in his current state of mind was probably not the smartest idea.
The kitchen was usually his solace. Emotions had no place there. It was all order and chaos in an odd symphony that he controlled.
There was no control today.
He sent off a text through his in-dash to Kendra. He hated to stick her with the kitchen alone, but she was practically ready to run the damn show anyway. Why she was staying back, he’d never know. Not that he wasn’t grateful. A chef relied on his people, but especially his sous chef.
Instead of texting him back, a clattering of broken dishes blasted through his speakers.
“Ken,” he said in answer.
“Chef, everything okay?”
“Yeah. You okay to cover?”
