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His hand shoots out to hold my chin, steadying my face to stare up at his dominating height over me. “Tell me what that bitch said to you, Isabella. Right now.”
My breath catches in horrid shock. “She didn’t say anything, really. I swear. Why are you being like this?”
“Tell me the truth!”
I wince, his voice echoing through the parking lot. His anger is so hot that it’s palpable, and I lurch my arms out, shoving him back a step or two. He staggers upright, still seething. His hand rests casually on his belt, but I’m not going to take his threat kindly.
He’s furious at the situation, not at me, and I need to know why that is.
Maybe what Sam and I were talking about is coming true.
“Carter, you’re scaring me,” I whisper. “What’s the problem? She came up to me and started talking to me. It’s not like I met her behind your back or something.”
“You won’t do that,” he bites, as if I was threatening him with that insulation. He steps forward again, growling in a low hum into my ear. “I’ll tie you to the bedpost if I have to. You don’t go behind my back with anything.”
“Isn’t that what’s going on here?” I ask.
“What did you just say?”
“You’re doing something behind my back, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head, tucking his lips into his mouth while trying to calm down. It’s not working. He’s more furious than ever, but I don’t care. I won’t let him get angry and pushy with me. It’s not my fault he doesn’t want me to know what’s going on with Lilian McCoy. It’s something he needs to work out and bring to my attention rather than be surprised when it comes up to me in a business suit and a smile.
“I told you before, dove,” he snaps, his voice unkind while he fights himself to calm down. “I am with you, and you alone. I have been for a long time. I won’t sit here and field accusations that are saying otherwise. I want you. Ionlywant you.”
“Then tell me how you know her.”
He flicks his focus elsewhere, and I can see the avoidance in his eyes yet again. I climb into the car and sit furthest away from Carter. He eventually gets inside; Ernesto nervously looks between us.
“Take me home, please.”
Carter sits up straight. “We’re going to the docks, dove.”
“You can go alone. I want to go home. Please, Ernesto. Take me home.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, flicking his hand in the air between us. “I’m trying to protect you, Isabella. I don’t need you hanging out with shady journalists that have it in their best interest to ruin my fucking life.”
“Then just be honest with me,” I plead. “Why is she trying to ruin your life? What did you have with that woman?” My stomach knots tighter than ever before, and I swallow the building lump in my throat. “Is she someone that you used to be with, Carter?”
He looks at me thoughtfully, his entire demeanor unfamiliar to me. “No, dove. She’s not. She’s just someone in the media that I fear has it out for the both of us, okay? I want you to be careful.”
I look at the man I love, the man I’ve spent every day with for nearly six months, and I break.
He’s lying to me.
If there was ever a woman who looked more like Brooke Blackthorne than me, it was Lilian McCoy.
“Take me home, Ernesto. Please,” I pant.
The Blackthorne chauffeur nods glumly, headed back onto the highway toward the heart of Manhattan.
***
I wake up too early in the morning, feeling the missing indention of the mattress. Carter must not be back home yet, perhaps still touring the dock property. I wipe my wet eyes, realizing that I’d fallen asleep mid-sob, and stand up out of bed to stretch my body.
When I make it downstairs, my mouth desperately dry, I see a pacing figure on the doorstep. My heart slams in my chest when I walk up to the doorway, looking through the peephole to see Rich hanging out casually on the porch, hands in his pockets while he looks at the empty street.
It’s bad enough the women in this neighborhood already think I’m a gold digger.
