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Lea laughs, too, slowing down to merge into traffic. “Can you imagine her on the roof?” She cracks up again, and so do I. The image of Rachel Foley in her little black Versace dress, golden hair flying wildly as she screams and ruins her manicure trying to cling to the roof of Lea’s sedan is too much.
I brush the tears out of my eyes and realize, as Lea’s laughter fades, that I’m crying. It only gets worse, great big gasping sobs, because now that I’m safe, I have to face the fact that Gabe is out of my life.
The city is a blur as Lea drives. She doesn’t ask me where I want to go and she doesn’t give me empty words of sympathy. Not that I’d hear them over the pathetic noises I’m making. At a red light, she hands me a box of tissues, and later, when I’ve settled into hiccups and silent tears, she hands me a mini bottle of vodka from her handbag.
“I emptied the hotel minibar.” She gives me a small smile. “And since your mother is a regular guest, I had the room charged to her.”
“Thank you,” I say with a sniffle, twisting the cap.
Lea takes me to the one corner of the world where no one would ever find me—Wendy’s beach house. The house was a gift from her father to her Brazilian mother before Wendy was born, and Wendy’s been living here while working on screenplays and novels. The tiny seaside town is a safe place I can visit her without worrying about us getting photographed together.
Wendy greets us at the door, pulling me into a hug, and I cling to her. There’s still too much roiling inside me, and I can’t keep it in any longer. “Beach,” I say. Wendy knows what I need. She and Lea walk me down to the cool sand, standing a little back to give me some space. We’re alone, and in the dark, I scream my hurt to the waves until my voice fails.
Heartbreak was my friend. I knew how to make armor out of my pain. I did it for all those years with Nic.
This…it’s naked. Raw.
I hadn’t known heartbreak at all.
I wish Gabriel Sinclair had never set foot in that room at the reception.
Before he came into my life, I would’ve had my tantrum, brushed myself off, and gone back to work with the end goal—happy ever after with the man I loved—in mind. This time, there’s no way forward and I’m so angry because I can’t go back to who I used to be. He’s left me vulnerable and I’m going to have to learn to live like this in the bad times now that the good times are gone.
I hate him.
I wouldn’t take Gabe back if he came crawling on his knees. Over broken glass. With sunburned legs.
I love him.
He’s in my blood and under my skin. More a part of me than I am, if this ache is any indication.
He didn’t believe me. All the time we spent together, all the secrets we shared, and he still had to ask if I’d planted that paparazzo to catch him. It hurts more than him choosing his reputation over me. He could love me and still choose to sacrifice us for his goals, and it would hurt. But thinking I’m still the woman I was the day we met means he doesn’t love me. He never did and he never will because he’ll never see me and that’s what’s gnashing at my heart.
“Come on,” Wendy whispers, her arm going around my shoulders, and I realize I’m on my knees in the wet sand. The frothy edges of a cold wave kiss along my legs and I let Wendy pull me to my feet.
Back in her house, wrapped in a blanket with a glass of wine in hand, I’m empty enough that I can finally talk, so when Wendy tells me to spill, I do.
I trust Wendy. I know her secrets, she knows mine, and if mutually assured destruction isn’t a strong foundation for a friendship, I don’t know what is. And Lea—she signed an NDA before she started working for me, but I trust her anyway.
So I tell them how I fell in love with the worst possible man for me. How our fake relationship turned real turned into a secret. How he doesn’t see that I’ve changed.
“To dickheads,” Wendy says when I run out of words, raising her wineglass.
I raise mine, and Lea raises hers.
In the morning, I walk to the beach and hurl driftwood, pebbles, and shells back into the ocean. I imagine each one is a piece of my pain, but it’s not that easy. The tide brings the feeling back and my arms get sore, so I do the next logical thing and glare at the water.
How dare that man make me love him?
Gabriel Sinclair is a jerk.
I write it in the sand, kicking out the letters. The rising tide eats it not long after I’m finished, and I do it again. It’s cathartic to write insulting messages to Gabe, letting the ocean carry them away.
The man I love doesn’t love me. Again.
Why does this keep happening to me? I tried to be better. I tried so fucking hard, and for what? Gabe, the one person I thought could see inside, only sees rot in me. I don’t deserve this. I deserve…
I have no idea what I deserve or what I’ve earned. Maybe I haven’t done enough. Maybe nothing is ever going to be enough.
