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32
Bronte pasted on a smile, trying to fake any kind of enthusiasm through the rest of the night, but it was evident Chris saw right through it. Once they were out of the restaurant and on the road, he glanced at her. “What’d you think of dinner?”
“It was good.”
“Sorry about Tom. He’s a bit of a humblebrag.”
She got that. “Yeah.”
“Did you have fun?”
Her emotions were too raw to answer, and she stared out the window. “Mm-hmm.”
He huffed, and she could feel his frustration building the longer they drove. When they arrived back at the house, he slammed the car door, the sound ringing in the garage as she followed him inside. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter so they sailed across it, landing with a smack against the wall, then ran a hand through his hair. “You’re going to give me the silent treatment?”
He stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa across the living room. Bronte rolled her eyes. “You want me to throw a tantrum like you?”
“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.” He waved his hand, bending into a deep bow, but when he stood up, he finally must have seen the tears she barely held back. He cut the distance between them in a few steps, wrapping his hands around her arms. “What’s wrong?”
How could she begin to explain? She loved Chris, but this weekend proved they couldn’t have a future together. She wasn’t interested in living here, where it took an hour to get anywhere, and she especially wasn’t interested in being some kind of trophy wife while he worked. “Everything and nothing.”
“What are you talking about?” He glanced around the room as if he could find the answer. “I know you go silent when you’re trying to find your words, but I’m losing my patience.”
She pulled away from his grasp, trying to come to terms with what her brain wanted while her heart pulled in the opposite direction. “I came here to see you. To see if we could make this work.” He nodded in agreement, but she held her hand up. “What I got was a nice vacation with gorgeous weather.”
He stopped her when she took a step toward the bedroom. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I wanted to be here with you. You, Chris. But I came here for what? To hang out in the back and be invisible while you worked?”
Chris stood rooted in his spot, mouth gaping, and Bronte rushed by him, this time making it to the bedroom, where she picked up the mess she’d made earlier with her clothes.
“Invisible?” he said behind her.
“I enjoyed being here—I loved seeing you do what you love, but I’m not naive enough to think I could truly fit in here.”
“Fit in here? Of course you fit in here.”
She turned to look at him but fell off-balance and ended up on her butt. He met her on the floor. “What does that have to do with us?”
“It has everything to do with us,” she nearly shouted, throwing shoes into the luggage. “You’re CJ Cunningham. Your job is here, in front of cameras, and on set.” He opened his mouth to interrupt, yet she barreled on with her thoughts. “I know all of this—” she waved around the house “—all this glitter and shiny stuff is part of the package, but I don’t want it. I’m not cut out for it.”
He mashed his lips together like he didn’t want any words to escape as his cheeks filled with color, and she went back to folding the last of her things before zipping up her suitcase. “I think I’m going to go to the airport now.” She stood up. “My flight leaves at six anyway. Might as well sleep there.”
“No,” he said, scrambling to stand up. “You can’t leave.”
“Yes, I can. I have to.”
“No. You can’t. You said you wanted to make a plan. So, let’s do that. Let’s talk this out and figure out how to make it work.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The last time they’d had this conversation, it was in reverse. “You can’t be mad at me for this. When you left, you didn’t give me a choice. You didn’t give me a say. At least I came here and tried to work it out. I tried, but it’s not possible.”
“It’s possible! It’s fucking possible!”
His eyes were wide and hysterical, and she wanted to comfort him somehow. “I love you, Chris. I do. But it’s too complicated.”
“It won’t always be this hard.” He reached for her hand, holding it tightly in his. “My schedule is crazy right now, but it’ll slow down. Then we can—”
“Then what? Then we can be together? So I have to wait while you finish whatever project you’re working on so we could be together for a few weeks, and then you go back and we do this all over again?”
