by Rica Grayson
“I thought you regretted it. That you were just messing around,” I admit, finding my voice. Because I thought there was no way he could want me. “My first kiss and you said you were sorry.”
“Maybe we should fix that,” Ryan says, and the glint in his eyes is my only warning.
He pulls me in, his mouth taking mine in a searing kiss. For a moment, I try to resist it, but when I manage to open my mouth to tell him why this isn’t a good idea, he deepens the kiss. His tongue strokes against mine. Clashing. Soothing. Then I forget all about resisting. His hand skims down my back, the barest touch, but sending a shiver all over. It sends my head spinning. More than that, all the feelings I’d bottled up rush back to the surface, brutal in its intensity. Why is it always this way with him? Like a ravaging storm. Relentless. Merciless. Devouring. And yet somehow, it’s different from before. For once, I let go.
This tops the birthday kiss, twice over.
There’s a knock on the door, and our kiss breaks, but still, he holds me. I blink, still dazed. Feeling a little lightheaded, I try to catch my breath.
“Kids! I’ve made breakfast,” Gina calls from outside. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten where we are.
“Kids,” he mutters.
This makes me laugh, and I smother it with a cough. He grins back at me.
You’re falling for him. End this.
But I can’t. It’s reckless, like free-falling deep into an ocean. For years, there’s been a simmering attraction that drew us together no matter how much we tried to push each other away. Always hiding underneath the surface, both keenly aware of it, but never making a move—until today.
Please don’t say you’re sorry.
I wait for the apology I’m so used to hearing. I search his eyes for a hint of regret that must plague him. Because if I see it coming, maybe it won’t feel like a punch in the gut, like my whole world is falling apart.
But I don’t see it. His brows furrow. “Fuck. Why do you look like I’m about to put you on death row?” Was I so obvious? “I’m not sorry, Blaire.”
He caught me. “I’m not either,” I murmur.
“Good.”
I was right. His kisses do make me stupid. Makes my brain go blank until he’s all I think about, and every time, it’s as if my soul sighs in answer. But somehow, I can’t make myself regret it.
“Blaire?” Gina calls out after breakfast. Natalie had left earlier saying she had somewhere to be, and Ryan had to take a phone call. I had offered to help put all the dishes away.
Had she figured it out after all—that this is all an act? But instead, she gathers my hands between hers, beaming at me. The kind of smile that touches her eyes and makes you feel like you did something right. My heart aches at our deception.
“I’m glad it’s you. I hoped he’d find someone, but you’ve been here all along, haven’t you?” She gives me a level look. Her eyes see through me, kind and gentle.
My mouth opens, only to fall shut again. My throat tightens. I nod in answer, the enormity of the truth permeating the silence. Somehow, she’s made me admit what I’ve been keeping close to my chest all this time. Seeing through what even Ryan hasn’t before. “Yes,” I finally admit, and it frees a knot in my chest. In this, at least, I could be honest. All this time, I tried to push him away, even knowing I could never really drive those feelings away. Fighting so hard to convince myself that the past hadn’t left its mark on me. I’ve been in love with him all this time, and he never once saw it.
“Good. The media hasn’t been easy on him these past couple of years. At least he has you.”
If only she knew.
“Ryan, I haven’t heard you play in a while,” Gina chides. I hide a smile. Secretly, I take pleasure in his mom teasing him. She even showed me pictures of him when he was younger—the Ryan that the media didn’t know.
Him being with his family makes my chest twist in longing. I miss Chris, and Shelly, who’s starting her own family. I’ll probably see her much less now. I wonder how she’s doing.
He sighs, but he doesn’t decline. “Any requests?”
“That one you did last time on the piano.”
He sits by their white grand piano and starts to play one of his songs. “This one?”
She closes her eyes, her lips curling up in a smile. “Yes.”
Once again, I’m reminded of why I fell in love with his music. After this glimpse into his life, I wonder if in a few weeks’ time if everything will slide neatly back in place, as if all of this never happened.
Ryan stops playing and turns to find me. “Blaire?”
“Hmm?”
“You should come here, too.”
Oh my God. “Oh no, I don’t—”
“You sing too?” Gina exclaims in delight.
“She can play the piano too,” Ryan adds easily, trying and failing to hide a smirk.
I roll my eyes. He isn’t letting me out of this. “Oh, fine,” I relent. My fingers brush over the piano keys when I stop beside him. “You’re paying for this,” I say, my voice low, the threat not quite holding bite.
“Looking forward to it,” he purrs.
He adjusts to give me space, continuing to play the piano. When he starts to sing, I accompany him, singing a soft harmony. When I’m with him, things feel simple. I forget who he is and where I am. Those just fade away, insignificant.
Sometime while we were playing, Natalie returned, drinking some sort of green shake from a glass. When we’re done, I realize his mom is watching us both, eyes glistening with fresh tears, and guilt seeps in once more.
“You’re quiet,” he observes. A frown settles on his face and his gray eyes focus on me, silently asking what’s bothering me. And the thing that strikes me is that he can tell. Even though I’ve always thought he never really paid attention to me, of all people.
“She doesn’t know,” I say quietly, conflicted. “It makes me feel guilty, Ryan,” I confess.
“Guilty?” he asks dourly. “Why?”
“Because we’re keeping up this… this act in front of them. This is going to end, you know. This… agreement of ours.” My chest tightens at the thought. But when he looks at me with those intense dark eyes of his, I don’t know if he’s convinced it will. Because he’s looking at me like he doesn’t want to let me go.
His phone begins to ring. He glances at the display and then his expression shutters. “I have to take this call.”
“Come play again after?” Gina asks eagerly.
Ryan nods. “Of course.”
I watch his retreating back. His silence may as well be my answer. Tomorrow, we’ll be leaving all this.
“All right, I’m going to make dinner,” Gina says. “Feel free to play, Blaire. You’ve got a lovely voice.”
Her compliment gives me a small boost of confidence. “Thanks.”
I realize Natalie had walked closer, playing with a few keys on the piano with one hand, her alien drink in the other. “Hey. Cool performance.” A dimple hits her cheeks.
“What are you drinking?” I ask her, eyeing her glass curiously.
“Celery and apples,” she answers proudly. “Oh, and lemon.”
“But… Why?”
She rolls her eyes at my face. “It’s supposed to help me concentrate better.” She waves a hand at me. “It’s not that bad.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then she bursts out, “Markus was cheating on me.” Ryan finally told her. I’m glad she finally knows. Indignant, she continues, “Ryan threatened him. That’s why Markus stopped contacting me.”
“I’m sorry, Nat.”
“It’s fine.” She put up a brave face, but I know she’s hurting.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“Yes. Maybe. I… I confronted him earlier. Of course, he didn’t really have an excuse.” She sits down on the piano bench, right next to me. “I can’t believe I was so blind. Even getting mad at Ry for all that.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say gently.
<
br /> “I know, but… I honestly thought there was something there between us.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Speaking of Ry, don’t think I missed what happened earlier. Are you two…?”
“No. We’re actually leaving early tomorrow,” I admit.
Alarmed, she protests, “So soon? I thought you were getting along fine.”
“We are.”
“Right,” she muses. “I hope he didn’t say anything.” She starts to get worked up.
“Look, me and Ryan… We have a complicated relationship.”
She snorts. “You think?” She shifts so she faces me straight on, her determination reminding me a little of Ryan. “I get it. But if I know my brother, this isn’t as temporary as you think.” Something blooms in my chest, hopeful and fragile. Maybe she’s right—all this needs is another chance.
I find Ryan later, on the phone, tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it with one hand. For a moment, I just stand in front of the door, staring.
“Still working on it. A lot to do, yeah.” He sees me and stops. “I’ll cross that bridge when it happens.”
Not wanting to intrude, I turn to leave.
“Blaire, wait.”
I turn back. It’s a small wonder when his lips pull up in a smile.
That… Doesn’t happen. Not with me. But just now, it did.
He nods at me, and I enter, a little hesitant.
His eyes are thoughtful as he takes my hand and pulls me close. I see my hand enclosed in his and an odd sensation pulls at my chest. As he puts his phone down, I realize I don’t know how to act with him like this. It’s new to me. But… I could get used to this. To not butting heads all the time.
And maybe this is new, but it’s snowballing into something, and I can’t do a thing to stop it.
“Your mom said dinner’s ready,” I say, and my voice comes out timid. His touch sends a thrill coursing through me.
On top of an oak table, he takes a slip of thick, cream-colored envelope, a glitter-gold gloss to it. Some sort of invitation? He passes it to me. “Gala invite.”
I pull out the invitation. The time and date are printed in fancy, cursive lettering.
“That’s soon,” I note. It’s only next week.
Here it is—the proof that none of this is really real. We’re putting on an act, and for his promo, we’ll be convincing. Believable.
“It’s for the charity I’m supporting,” he says, completely unfazed. “You can invite a friend if you want.” Gretchen, maybe. She’d love it.
“Thanks,” I reply quietly. But I can’t help but feel how he seems to be slipping from my fingers. I realize with a pang that for a moment, I had almost forgotten. How reckless of me. The invitation, heavy in my hands, is simply a reminder of this front.
“Ready?” Ryan asks me, slipping on a cap, as if it has a hope of hiding who he is. I can’t believe we’re leaving already. Somehow, it all feels like a dream.
I nod in answer, feeling like the moment I step outside their home, I’m leaving the bubble I’ve kept myself in for the past week or so. Another plane ride and then I’m home. It will only be a few hours, but the nerves are still there. I wasn’t able to sleep much last night.
As soon as I see the crowd has gathered outside, my body seems to lock up.
When Ryan squeezes my hand, I tear my gaze away from all the craziness outside to meet his. I take a deep breath. “You must want a real break after this. What do you plan to do after?”
“After?” he echoes blankly.
I frown, considering his response. “After the album launches,” I explain.
We walk past the cameras flashing, his arm around my shoulder, shielding me from their view. Protecting me.
We reach the sidewalk, waiting for his car. “Travel more,” he finally answers, a corner of his lip tilting up. “Hopefully with someone.”
My heart sinks. “Oh,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow.
“Blaire—” His phone rings again before he can continue. He mutters something under his breath before taking the call. “George. No,” he answers tersely. “We can discuss that later. Yeah, I’ve got one, but—” He pauses, as if catching himself. “—send it to her. She’ll sort it out.”
And I don’t know how it happens, but something niggles in the back of my mind. His blank stare when I asked him what’s next. Still working on it, he said last time. He meant his album. All the dates. The absence of the press before. His casual acceptance of it, despite this being his idea all along.
His call ends, and he turns to me, probably preparing some sort of explanation to make me feel better.
“Ryan.” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t waver. “There is no promo, is there?”
His reaction tells me all I need to know—stunned surprise. And gut-punching remorse.
Another game of his. Another roundabout way of trying to provoke me. I thought at the very least, we’d grown to trust each other.
“That’s right,” he finally answers, his steady gaze making my heart ache.
Why am I surprised? By now, I should be used to this.
Dumbfounded, “Why?” is the only thing I can think to ask.
I watch as frustration flickers in his expression. Fire licks his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s with all the ferocity and determination I’ve come to expect from him. “Because I’d finally met the woman who, all this time, has been pushing herself away, for reasons I don’t understand. Because for the first time in years, I heard her laugh, and I heard her music, and for some damn reason, I can’t get her out of my head—that’s why, Blaire.”
I close my eyes, taking it all in. He’s saying all the things I wished I heard him say many years ago. Maybe then, it wouldn’t have felt like this. But when I look at him again, I see the man who decided to get me a plane ticket in a heartbeat just so I could see cherry blossoms. Who spent his time to visit a sick kid in the hospital, someone who adored his music as much, if not more, than I did. Pain stabs at my chest.
“So you lied,” I say flatly. My voice cracks, the battle-hardened armor I donned whenever I’m with him tearing apart. And it hurts, casting a taint on the best week I’ve ever had. “You like the thrill of the chase.”
“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be here,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Is it because you felt sorry for me? Is that it?”
I wish I had asked him why he acted that way that night years ago. Like he actually enjoyed my company. Like I was more than his best friend’s sister that he wanted to humor for one night because he felt sorry for her.
He could’ve told me, but he chose not to. A bittersweet smile touches my lips. Because maybe if he’d shown me half the kindness he did these past few weeks six years ago, maybe we could’ve been more.
My heart squeezes in my chest, but I force the next words out. “I’ll call a cab to the airport.”
I can’t possibly stay.
“Blaire. Wait.” His pained expression tugs at my heart.
I don’t look at him as I make the call. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop all this time. I knew it would end eventually. I just thought I was prepared for it.
Chapter 21
Ryan
It must be her hair.
It stands out from afar. She dyed streaks of it in a ridiculous bright red shade. I wonder if she knows it. Or maybe she does, and she just can’t find it in her to care. I decide that I like it.
And her eyes. Those chocolate brown eyes, staring up at mine. No hint of deception, or that blind, adoring look, usually coupled with grating sweetness. None of it.
We’re stuck in the line waiting to buy some ice cream. She looks a little impatient. I had struck a conversation with the girl in front, so I must’ve been slowing the line down. Once the girl leaves, Blaire throws me a dirty look, her eyes daring. No one’s looked at me that way in years. I almost laugh.
“Are you going to smile like that at every girl you se
e?” Her lips are upturned in a scowl.
My lips quirk up at her response. “You talking to me now?” I ask.
Realizing what she’s doing, she looks away. “No.”
She seems to be trying her damnedest to forget that night on her birthday. Irritation crawls up my spine. I don’t want her to forget it.
“Didn’t know you were watching me, Red,” I test the word on my lips, liking the way it matches her apple-red hair. Somehow, it suits her fiery spirit. Heat creeps up her cheeks, the tell-tale sign of her embarrassment. I like that, too.
She touches the ends, as if she’s only now aware of its color.
“Nice hair,” I drawl. “Auditioning for The Little Mermaid?”
Those eyes flare, a startling honey from the glint of the sun, and a retort on her lips. Taller than her by a head, but she still fights with fire. I can’t keep the smile from my lips. “Well! Better a Disney princess then.”
I decide I don’t want those stars in her eyes. I don’t want her to see me the way other women do. What better way to do it than to spark her temper? “You going to keep that around for Halloween?”
Her lips tremble. Damn. I don’t want to make her cry. “I like it,” I add.
She pays for her strawberry ice cream and turns away, but not before letting out a single word. Barely more than a whisper, but I hear it. “Liar.”
“Who is that?” my friend, Nathan, asks, coming up behind me, tossing the soccer ball up and catching it with a hand. He watches her walk away with a bit of admiration. I step aside, walking away from the line. I’m not even here for the damn ice cream. I turn him around, hands on his shoulders.
“No one,” I answer quickly.