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Onlyfor Ronni.
So, I can’t lie, her uncertainty about the kissing scene left me feeling a little annoyed.
I’venever, in the entirety of our relationship, given her any feckin’ reason to worry about me being unfaithful. From the day and hour I met her, I’ve never had eyes for anyone but her. Even when I was forced to stay behind the proverbial curtain during her dreadful faux relationships with various actors.
She was the one in the public eye holding another man’s hand. Smiling at him. All the while I was kept hidden.
Her reasons were altruistic, sure. But, oh how I hated it.Excruciating.
Whatreallysucked? Her fauxmance with my own feckin’ bandmate, Ty. What started out as a lark to clean up Ty’s image turned into insanity. The world went bananas for them as a couple. It killed me every time someone mentionedhe, and not me was her soulmate.
I wanted to shout from the rooftops, “I’m her soulmate.Me.”
It was a feckin’ mess.
I’m sitting in my dressing room feeling abandoned. I just don’t get it. My scenes were spot on. The crew all congratulated me when I was done. Not Ronni, though. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her. I figured she’d keep things professional on set, then meet me here. I’d givehera real kiss. Maybe even fuck the absolute bejeezus out of her.
Showher she’s the only woman my cock gets hard for..
Instead, she was so immersed in a conversation with Kris, she didn’t even see me walk past. It’s confusing. Disappointing. As the minutes ticked by while I waited for her to join me, my mind started whirling. Is she mad? Did I fuck things up?
Anyway, my thoughts were elsewhere when I took Yolanda’s call on autopilot. The girl seemed frantic. Distraught. Which made me panic. I gave no thought to my actions. I knew I needed to get to my son. On my way out, Ronni wasstilldeep in conversation with Kris. She didn’t even notice me walk by. I figured whatever they were talking about must be important. I didn’t want to disrupt her work when I wasn’t positive what was going on.
In retrospect, she’s my wife. Tristan’s and Torin’s mother. I should have interrupted, no question. Luckily it was only a wee nick, Tristan didn’t even need stitches.
I’ve been in the doghouse ever since.
I’ve never known Ronni to act this way. Ever. She’s been distant. Short. Erratic. Angry. Eerily quiet.
What’s worse, her unilateral decision-making is back in full force. Like arranging for a private jet to bring us back to LA a couple days early. Like firing Yolanda when we were all packed up and ready to catch the plane. She handed her a thousand dollars in cash with a first-class ticket back to LA. Like the day after we settled back in here, telling me she’d hired realtors to sell this house.
I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut. I know she’s processing some heavy shite. It’s not every day the man who horribly abused you and so many others sues you for defamation and demands a hundred million dollars. Her name has been in the headlines for weeks. She’s hired an expensive team of some of the highest-powered attorneys in the country who are defending her. It’s scary stuff.
Not to mention our security is at risk. We have paparazzi camped out at our front door 24/7. Barry’s handling my detail, but we hired five rotating security guards to patrol the property and another to be with Mae at all times. Doesn’t matter, with the telephoto lens technology that exists, there are shots of her and us every single day on the blogs and tabloids with scathing and salacious headlines.
All of this has taken a toll. No doubt.
Today? The movers showing up without me being informed has meraging.
I hear the front door click open. Ronni walks in dressed like the powerhouse badass she is. White pantsuit. Sky-high white pumps. White purse with a gold band. Her chestnut hair is tied back into a low bun. Oversized sunglasses swallow her face.
“Hey. I met with the lawyers.” She sets her purse down and surveys the room where dozens of men are working. “Wow, they’re fast.”
“Were you thinking of telling me they were coming today? Did that thought cross your mind?” I say through gritted teeth.
She cocks her head. “Of course I told you. We’re leaving in a few days. They’re just packing everything except our bedroom and the boys’ nursery so they can stage it while we still live here. It goes on the market the day we fly up to Seattle.”
“Ronni.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Take a breath. “Whendid you say we were leaving?”
“In three days, to be exact. I’m scheduled to meet with the lawyers again tomorrow then I’m free for a bit.” She takes her sunglasses off. Kicks off her shoes.
My palm slaps the granite on the counter. She gives me a puzzled look.
“It’s time for a serious conversation. We obviously can’t do that here with the movers around. Should we take the boys on a drive?” I keep my voice calm in an attempt to be reasonable. Mindful that there are ears everywhere, including Paxton’s.
I’m boiling mad.
Ronni picks up her shoes and walks back toward the bedroom, motioning me to follow. Her voice is cool, decisive. “We can talk back here, I’m not leaving people in our house unattended.”
