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Katherine
Sitting on the edge of their bed, staring down at her phone, Kit willed herself to turn off the “Do Not Disturb” feature. Austin had insisted they both turn it on before bed, so they could get some sleep without being jolted out of sleep every ten minutes with a text or a phone call.
But now, she was out of excuses and it was time to face reality. Taking a deep breath, she swiped the screen down and hit the button to turn it off.
There were a few texts from Claudia and her dad, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to discussing the interview with either of them — especially her father — so she ignored them.
Social media was a different story. Dozens of messages from so-called friends she hadn’t spoken to in years, asking her what was going on. Tags in posts and comments offering support faker than Chloe Carlisle’s perfect nose.
The tabloid, despite shaking her to her core, had barely been a blip on everyone’s radar. But Chloe’s interview had gone fucking viral and now everyone knew who Austin Barrick was dating and the awful things that had been said about both of them.
With her stomach rolling, she clicked on one of the news articles and scrolled the comments.
Well, that explains why Austin is with that fatty. She probably lets him do all kinds of weird, kinky shit. How else would she get a man?
I don’t care how good she is in bed, I wouldn’t touch her if you paid me a million dollars LOL. Do better, Barrick.
And on and on and on. Whore. Slut. Cow. Bitch. Gold-digger. The words crowded together, ricocheting around her brain until she wanted to scream.
This was only the beginning. After the press conference, the speculation would become even wilder. More people watching her, judging her and finding her lacking.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered to the empty room. Clutching her phone in her hand, she threw on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt and hurried to the living room where she’d left her bags the night before.
“Kit? What’s wrong?”
The concern in Austin’s voice just pushed the burgeoning tears closer to the surface. Worried she might break if she spoke, she shook her head and grabbed her bags, hauling them up over her shoulder.
“Where are you going? I thought you were working from home today.” His hand wrapped around her upper arm, forcing her to stop moving. “What happened? Talk to me, baby.”
“Can’t.”
“Okay. We don’t have to talk but you’re not going anywhere when you’re this upset. Sit down and I’ll make you some coffee.”
“No.” The panic she was trying so hard to keep at bay settled in her chest, making each breath a chore. “I need to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere like this.” His tone was still gentle, but there was steel beneath it that told her he wasn’t going to back down.
“I can’t do this, Austin.”
“Do what, baby? What happened?”
“I can’t —” Her voice seemed to desert her, so she waved her hand at him. “Dothis. You. Me. Us. It’s too much.”
“I know it’s a lot right now, but we’ll get through it. Look, let me talk to Mary and we can postpone the press conference until you’re feeling better.”
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped, scraping her throat raw on the way out. “You know what would make me feel better, Austin?”
“What? Tell me, kitten, and I’ll make it happen.”
She finally forced herself to look up, to meet his confused, concerned gaze. “Not having my life picked apart by assholes on the internet. Not being forced to listen as people wonder what exactly you see in me. Not being called crude, horrible names for daring to be fat in public. All of that would make me happy. So unless you plan on postponing indefinitely, you should just go ahead and do the press conference.”
“I’m not putting you through that when you’re this upset.”
“You won’t be.” Hiking the straps for her bags up higher onto her shoulders, she let her gaze drop to the floor. Her heart was breaking enough as it was. She wasn’t sure she could handle looking him in the eye as she broke his as well. “I’m going home, Austin.”
“This is your home, Katherine.”
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” Without giving him a chance to stop her, she turned and fled.
