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“He offered me a chance to feel good about myself, Dion.”
If she thought that was an excuse, she was wrong. So damn wrong.
“He offered me love and...”
“He gave you everything I didn't, hey?”
No one spoke. My words hung in the air between us. She didn’t speak. But she didn’t have to. There it was. The truth. Isla had been so desperate for attention that she had willingly gone to bed with the sleaziest man in music.
“You were still sleeping with me... fuck…” One step and then two away from her. I was halfway to the door when I turned. “And we were always careful. You are always sure you are safe. Except for…” Cold realisation hit me and it made me feel sick. “Fuck Isla, were you trying to baby trap me?”
“She wouldn’t…” Tate mumbled. “She isn’t one of those girls.”
But we all knew the truth. Isla was one of those girls, and the industry was full of them. The ones desperate to bag themselves a rockstar and willing to do anything to get one.
“I need to get out of here.” I reached for the door.
Erik’s hand on my arm stopped me for a moment. “Dion, wait outside and...”
Shaking my head, I swung the door open. “I need a drink.” After months of sobriety, of needing a drink every damn day, those words were never more true than in this moment. I needed a drink. And badly. I hadn’t wanted to be a father, but I would have loved that little boy. And again, Isla had done what Isla did best. She had set my life on fire. Maybe in her head I even deserved it. You could never quite tell with Isla.
Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Dion…”
I knew what he was going to say and waved his words away before he could say them. “You want to help me right now? I want you to arrange a paternity test. I need to know for sure whether I have a son.”
LOLA
Dion had a son. A healthy baby boy. I shouldn’t have felt betrayed, but I did anyway. I knew it was a selfish thing to feel, but I was all for owning my feelings these days. As long as I could own them with a healthy gulp of red wine, of course. Subconsciously, I tipped the glass to my lips, and no more than a dribble hit my tongue. In utter shock, I had forgotten that I’d spilled the contents all over myself. I sobbed out loud. The grip I had on the glass slipped and it bounced off the carpet, sending blood red droplets spraying out.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry.” Scrambling down onto my knees, I rubbed at them. But that only made it worse. I raised wide, tear–filled eyes at my roommate. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll pay for it to be cleaned and...”
“It’s wine, Lola. After my brother lived here, I doubt it's even close to the worst thing on this floor.” She lifted me under the armpits, the kind expression never leaving her face. “You want to talk about it?” Her golden flecked eyes searched my face. I looked away. Elodie was a talker. It was kind of what she did for a living, but in my case talking wouldn’t help.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Straightening my spine, I headed to the kitchen to grab a cloth. And it was the truth. There was nothing to talk about. Dion had done what rockstars did. He had lied to get what he wanted. And I had fallen for it even though I knew better. And I did know better. I was the sister of a drummer, and a pretty hot one at that. If growing up in Louis’ shadow had taught me anything, it was that rockstars could be charming when they wanted to be, but that charm hid the player underneath.
“Dion.” Elodie didn’t follow me, but her voice carried. I paused in the doorway and my shoulders slumped. Sucking in a breath and then another one, I kept on doing it until I felt I had some semblance of control over myself.
“There’s nothing to talk about there. We hooked up. It was nothing.” And it had been nothing. Any connection I thought we’d made had been my imagination. I was just another silly girl falling for a man’s lies. I reached for the dishcloth.
“He asked you to marry him.” It wasn’t a question.
Whirling around, I met her eyes. “He told you that?”
Patiently, Elodie smiled. “Hell, girl, why do you think I was there? Dion was a mess. He’s been a mess for months.”
Yeah, I knew that. But that had nothing to do with me. Apart from the press getting wind of our one–night stand and running with it. I was the girl he cheated on Isla with. The beautiful woman who had just given birth to his son. “Because of...”
I had been about to say Isla, which seemed all sorts of bitchy, but Elodie shook her head, silencing me. “Because he wanted you. I mean, he was pretty fucked up before that and with the mess with Isla.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Look, I’m not saying his breakdown was your fault because it wasn’t. But I’ve spoken to that man,” she narrowed her eyes, “in depth. And you…”
“And me what?” I snapped. Was my roommate, a woman I classed as a friend, about to tell me this was all my fault? It felt like my fault, but truthfully, the only thing I had been guilty of was believing him. And maybe my own stupidity. I had been stupid. I had let him goad me into being someone I wasn't. He’d labelled me a good girl, so I’d been the opposite. And I hated myself for it. Even if it was the best night of my life.
“Babes, don’t look at me like that. Like I’m your enemy. Dion was half crazy about you on tour. You were all he wanted to talk about.” She chuckled and my cheeks flamed at her words. Had he spoken about the intimate time we had spent together? Had he gone into detail? And if had, how had Elodie managed to look me in the face all these months.
Oh my God, how had my brother?
“He sees you as this good, pure Madonna, Lola.”
I frowned. How could he think that? The things we had done together had been anything but pure. “I’m not good.”
