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“Miss Mercer, the records we’ve found have you living with a Mr. Alex Castle. Is he aware that you’re here with Mr. LeBlanc?”
“That’s none of your business,” said Luke coldly.
Rose glanced up at him. His jaw was clenched. His fingers dug into her side, and she felt him trembling faintly.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Just ignore them. Please.”
The pair reached the crosswalk, and Rose stared past the flashing cameras and intervening bodies at the orange “DON’T WALK” sign across the street, mentally begging it to change.
“You were avoiding alcohol tonight. Is that because of a pregnancy?”
The paparazzi’s voices grew into shouts, and the flashes sped up, not even a second remaining between them. Rose’s eyes stung with tears, and she held onto Luke as the light mercifully changed and they started to cross the street.
How do they know? she wanted to ask. We were so careful. Were they inside the building? But she knew Luke wouldn’t hear her if she whispered, and anything above that would be fair game for their camera-wielding pursuers.
She didn’t realize she was shaking until she felt Luke’s lips against the top of her head, and he gave her a squeeze that was more reassuring than agitated. A few tears broke free at last, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the shouts and flashes as she struggled to focus on the car. Luke’s ice-blue Miata was a safe haven, an island in the storm.
Just as they reached the passenger side, Rose felt a hand on her arm. She whipped around to face one of the photographers, whose flash went off about a foot from her face. She winced.
All at once, Luke released her, and she forced her eyes open again just as his fist met the photographer’s stomach. Screams filled the air as the flashes multiplied tenfold, and Rose grabbed Luke by the arm and pulled him back. He was still glaring daggers at the man he’d punched, who had fallen back to be caught by another pair of black-clad paparazzi.
“Just get in the car,” Rose begged Luke.
He nodded stiffly and crossed the Miata’s front end, and he climbed in just as she did the same on the other side. As they pulled away from the curb, the shouts and flashes followed them, but the roaring in Rose’s ears slowly receded. Her breathing remained rapid and shallow.
“I’m sorry.”
When Luke’s voice cracked on the second word, she had to look at him. His mouth was pressed into a tight line, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“Why?” she asked. The word was all she could force out past the tightness of her chest.
“I… I saw how panicked you were, and I didn’t want them touching you. But I don’t want you to be scared of me. The last time I snapped…”
“Hush.” She reached out and squeezed his arm, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not scared of you. And thank you for looking out for me.”
He removed one hand from the wheel to squeeze hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke paced the lounge, a glass of bourbon in his hand. His head was warm and light and numb enough that he could almost forget the throbbing of his knuckles. Rose had already gone to bed, and he’d tried to go with her, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. His mind was racing, trying to process what had happened. He’d needed to get up and move.
Paparazzi had followed him more than once before. He’d been living in the public eye for years—anyone who wanted dirt on his mother usually went through him. The barfight had put a huge strain on their relationship that he had been fighting to mend ever since. Now he’d punched a paparazzo just outside her campaign fundraiser, and he could only imagine how angry she was going to be.
And then there was Rose. She’d said she wasn’t scared of him, and he wanted so badly to believe her. Still, he couldn’t stop replaying the night she’d left him in his mind. She’d looked terrified when he’d caught up to her outside the bar.
“I never thought you could do something like—They were your friends. People you were friends with did this to me.”
Calvin and Lorenzo had only ever been glorified acquaintances, really. Friends by coincidence, because they had shared classes in high school and played on the same hockey team and moved on to the same college. They and Rose and Alex had been a few of many young people who’d traveled from the Chicago area to Carbondale to school. It was as far away as one could go within Illinois; in-state tuition combined with hours of distance between oneself and one’s family had made it irresistible. He’d hoped he could trust Calvin and Lorenzo more than actually trusted them, because he hadn’t known them as well as he should have before he’d left Rose alone with them. They’d proven his attempt at trust miserably misplaced. Alex and Wyatt had been his real best friends, along with Rhys, whom he’d hoped to see at the fundraiser but had reportedly been out of town. Luke had thought of those three like brothers. He bit back a bitter laugh at the thought of what his relationship with Alex had become.
At least Wyatt had been kind to Rose tonight. Luke hadn’t expected any less, if they ran into one another, but he’d still appreciated Wyatt’s effort more than he knew how to say. He hadn’t been prepared to face his family at the point when Wyatt had attracted their attention, but that had worked out better than he could’ve hoped. Lenore had been there to help things along, and his parents…
He sighed heavily and dropped into the chair beside the dormant fireplace. He’d worked so hard to rebuild his reputation. His career. His relationship with Rose. Had he blown it all in one night?
His phone buzzed from the bar, and he rubbed at his temples. No matter which family member it was, he wasn’t in the mood. But he knew he couldn’t hide from them forever. He might as well rip the bandage off now.
He drained the rest of his glass and stood, setting it down a little harder than he meant to when he reached the bar. With a deep breath, he looked at his phone’s screen—Why is that buzzing so loud? It’s going to crack my head in two.—to find that his mother was the one calling.
He tapped the “Answer” button and lifted the phone to his ear.
