by Nikki Wild
It felt like the memory of how I’d ruined a perfect moment was choking me. For so long, I had believed that true intimacy was for other people. I had coveted it, certainly, but I’d never actually thought it would fall into my lap the way it had with Liz up there. And then I’d sullied it, just the way I sullied everything else. How stupid I’d been, to think I could be the person Liz needed me to be—the person that my kid was going to need me to be. When it came down to it, I was a selfish, spoiled brat, and for that I had no one to blame for myself.
I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat, still feeling the burn of the last drink of my whiskey I’d taken. I was going to be a father, and all I knew was that I was woefully unprepared to meet that challenge. Tessa blathered on about some meeting she was having with another news network, and I was wondering whether I really wanted to let this whole thing go once the publicity stunt was over.
At this point… did it matter?
The whiskey in my hand felt so heavy, like a burden I was just itching to cast aside, and yet part of me wanted to keep holding onto it, to feel it scorch my throat again as it carried me into the sweet oblivion of intoxication—a land where my actions were barely my own and I couldn’t be blamed for being a complete and utter fool. But the longer I thought of Liz, the more the aftertaste of that whiskey turned sour on my tongue.
Maybe there’s a chance that I could be better, if I actually tried for once, I thought, setting the tumbler of Jack down on the table. Tessa was still prattling on, despite my rather obvious inattention. If I didn’t pull back at the last minute, maybe I could actually be worthy of something. Something good.
But was there even any truth to that? After the way that I’d behaved all these years, was there any turning back now? Or was this my one and only chance to become something more than just a drunken sex hound that only ever felt a connection when he got some barely legal groupie into his bed? The question tore at my insides, at the very fiber of my being, as I contemplated the crossroads I sat at.
“Earth to Julian,” Tessa called, eyebrows raised as she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry,” I muttered, frowning as I pushed her hand away. “I guess I’m a little distracted, is all.”
“Well, you’d better focus,” she said, shaking her head as she started digging through her purse. “If this plan our ours doesn’t go the way we want it to, then your career is over—and this time, I won’t be able to do you any favors. We’ll be done, and I’ll be looking for a client that has some actual promise.”
“We have a contract,” I reminded her. The way she tutted me right after made me want to flip the table over.
“One that I have the power to break, should you insist on reneging on your duties. Really, Jules, you should know this. Or didn’t you read the terms all the way through—”
“Can you spend a second of your life not being a bitch?” I snapped, my voice a hissing whisper so as not to draw the attention of the other patrons. “For Christ’s sake, Tess, I am so tired of hearing about how my career is in constant peril! Can’t I just sit alone for once and make a decision about my life that doesn’t involve money—or you being a right cunt?”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, blinking as she tried to process my words. “You need to remember who the hell you’re talking to, Bastille—I discovered you!”
Her voice was rising to levels I wasn’t comfortable with, drawing stares from the men and women enjoying their dinner at other tables. She was going to cause a scene, if I let her—make sure someone recognized who I was and get a video on their phone.
No. That wasn’t going to happen. For once, Tessa was not going to get her away. Even if it meant conceding this battle in order to win the war.
“Forget it,” I said, shaking my head as I stood up from the table. I threw down enough cash for my bill plus a tip before I turned away from her and started heading for the elevators. “I’ve had a shit night. I’m going to bed.”
I could feel Tessa’s gaze practically burning holes into the back of my jacket as I left her there, seething, and without any outlet for it. Good, I thought. Let her feel what it’s like to be trapped in a situation where someone else has all the control.
I smashed my thumb into the call button for the elevator, wondering through a whiskey buzz about how I was going to convince Liz to even let me into the suite. There was only one real answer—and it was exactly what she deserved.
You have some apologizing to do, I thought as the elevator doors opened in front of me. I took a deep breath before boarding, feeling a lot like I was descending into hell, and this was my personal hand basket. A hell of a lot.
Elizabeth
“I can’t believe he did that,” Jen said over the phone. “How could he think that killing the mood like that would make things better? You don’t bring up some business deal after you’ve just gotten done getting busy!”
“I didn’t say I slept with him!” I protested.
“I’m sure you just sat his in hotel room and played scrabble, right?” Jen replied, laughing.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. Jen always knew how to take the worst things and turn them into something to laugh about—it was why she was so good at cheering me up when my life took a turn for the worst.
“I just don’t know if I want to be doing this anymore,” I said, sighing as I laid back down on the king-sized bed that Julian and I had shared barely two hours before. “I thought maybe we could make this work…”
“So does that mean that you’re starting to actually like Julian?” she asked, “You didn’t seem too happy the last time we talked… What’s changed?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, staring up at the ceiling as I tried to find a way to put it into words. “It’s like the more time I actually spend around him—private time, not time surrounded by his fans or hounded by his manager—the less of an asshole he is. But aside from all that… after what he said to me, I just feel so used. You know? Like these moments we share, where he does and says these sweet things… like they’re not real.”
“You said you had a few genuine moments with him,” Jen said around a mouthful of something that couldn’t be healthy for her. “Did he seem like that kind of person to you?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.” A thought occurred to me. I sat up in bed. “Jen… you know Julian’s tattoos, right?”
I could hear the smirk in her tone. “I know of them.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you know what they mean?”
“Um… well, there’s a lot of speculation,” she admitted. I could hear her balling up a paper wrapper. She’d finished her first course. “It’s kind of a special interest area for his fans, actually. There’re a lot of them who think it’s just your typical symbolism, or that he just liked the way the art looked, but plenty more of us think there’s a deeper meaning to it all. The pattern can’t be random. It has to be something way more personal.”
I could feel my heart in my throat. “You mean no one knows for sure? He’s never explained—not even in an interview, or to one of his groupies during pillow talk?”
Jen laughed. “No, never. Not that he hasn’t been asked, but he’s the kind of guy who likes to keep an air of mystery about him. Wait…” I practically heard the tumblers in her brain click into place. “Wait, did Julian tell you what his tattoos mean?”
I hesitated, trying to think of how to answer that question. He’d told me what they meant in confidence, and apparently, that much hadn’t been a lie. That floored me a little, to be honest. After things had gone sideways between us, I’d just figured it was another line, something to make me feel special so I’d trust him.
Now I knew for sure that wasn’t the case. Jen was the expert, after all. If he’d ever divulged the secrets of what his tattoos meant, she would have known about it.
And I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. It should
have been a relief, really, to know I hadn’t been lied to on the matter—but that just made it even more difficult to discern what Julian’s goal was. Where did the lies end the truth begin with him? The pattern can’t be random, Jen had said of his tattoos. If that went for all aspects of Julian’s life, then what the hell was I missing here?
Thankfully, I never did have to come up with an answer, because someone started knocking on the door to the suite.
“Everything all right?” Jen asked me.
“I think so,” I replied. “Someone’s here. I’ll talk to you later.”
I set my phone down on the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom and through the empty living area, peeking through the peephole to see who was out there.
Julian was standing outside, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet. I slowly turned the knob on the door and opened it just a crack—just enough to peek out and get a better look at my so-called husband.
“Don’t you have a key?” I asked him, my tone as flat and emotionless as I could make it. I didn’t want him to know that I’d cried for almost an hour after he left, or that I was still pissed at him. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of any kind of reaction to his bullshit.
“I do,” he conceded, “but since you were mad at me when I left, I thought I’d knock first—seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“Not sure you’re one to talk about being gentlemanly, Julian,” I said. “What do you want?”
“A chance to make an apology,” he replied, offering a slight smile. I hated how cute he looked, how just the sight of him reminded me of how he’d felt inside of me.
“So,” I said, trying not to let my voice soften, “apologize.”
“I can’t come inside?” he asked, his smile going a bit wider in an attempt to charm me into opening the door. This was exactly why I didn’t trust him.
“Maybe,” I said. “If I like your apology.”
Julian let out a soft sight, hanging his head dramatically before his expression grew slightly more serious.
“Everything happening here is new to me. The baby, this marriage, whatever this relationship is between us… I know it’s not traditional. I’m used to focusing purely on my career, and you deserve more than that. Whatever happens between us, I promise I’ll do right by you and our child…”
I watched him for a few moments in silence, doing my best to keep my face free of expression. I wanted him to torture himself a bit with wondering whether I was going to let him off the hook or not.
“I suppose I can let you back in,” I said after he’d put on the cutest pout I’d ever seen on a man. I turned away from the crack in the door, determined not to let him see me smile as I opened it enough to let him through.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked as he stepped inside, giving me a cautious smile as I closed the door behind him.
“No one ever said you were forgiven,” I warned. “All I said was that I’d let you in. You’re nowhere near being forgiven yet. Not until you explain what the hell you want from me.”
Julian paused, turning his gaze down toward the floor, his eyebrows knitting together. There was something in that look that broke my heart, as though he were trying to find the words to express something that dug deep into his soul.
“That’s… that’s fair,” he murmured, and once again that rakish mask dropped from his face. “Even though I’ve tried to do right by you, I haven’t been honest, have I? Not where it counts. And that’s the true problem here, isn’t it? You don’t feel like you know me. Like you can trust me.”
I didn’t reply. There was no need. Julian obviously knew what was wrong. Maybe he’d known from the start. That didn’t mean he could stop himself from making things worse. It didn’t mean that, when it came down to it, he had the wherewithal to help himself.
And that possibility frightened me in a way that was almost worse than all the others. If he wasn’t pulling a con on me—if he was sincere—but it turned out that the issue was willpower, rather than intent…
That told me he wasn’t especially good at curbing his nature. And that made me wonder… what, exactly, was the nature of Julian Bastille? There seemed to be two separate men in there who were completely at odds.
So instead of talking, I listened. And I watched him pace as he tried to explain, anxiously carding his fingers through his hair all the while.
“The truth about me, love… the truth is since I’ve been with you—since I’ve known about you being pregnant and about the marriage—I’ve felt like I have a chance to be more than I have been.” There was such hope in his gaze, in the upward inflection of his voice. “When I’m not being a twat, I mean. And whenever you’re around, I… I don’t feel like I’m alone anymore. I don’t feel quite so lost. I feel like I’m home. My publicist wants to turn this whole thing into a big fucking game until we can split badly so I can launch an album of breakup songs, but I don’t want to give this up so easily. Not without giving it a shot, at least. A real, honest-to-God try.”
I swallowed thickly. Looking into Julian’s eyes as he made his confession was bringing something up inside of me—something that I hadn’t expected to feel. I felt a sense of total clarity, a firmness of belief I’d thought was long gone, after all the walls he’d put up, all the masks he’d worn. But the way Julian was talking to me now, the things he was saying, the raw emotion with which he was saying them… it reminded me of how he’d sang to me back in the restaurant. I’d heard the same passionate tremor in his voice then, felt the same openness and vulnerability. When Julian Bastille sang, all his walls came down. Maybe that was the only time they ever did.
Except now… now they were tumbling down right in front of me, not in a chorus or a verse, but in the form of desperately constructed sentences, awkward word pairings, spur-of-the-moment choices in prose. This wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t well-thought-out, and it wasn’t guarded. Julian had just opened a door to himself, and had invited me in.
And the truth is… I wanted to make this work too. Maybe my life needed something to shake it up and get me out of my own rut.
Slowly, I took a step toward him. He stopped moving, lips still parted, but no further sounds coming out. I took another step, closing the remaining distance between us, and then reached out to grasp his hand.
“I… haven’t hated having you around,” I said, biting on my lip as I thought of something more meaningful to say. If I expected Julian to be open with me, then it had to be reciprocal. “In fact, when your manager isn’t around, you’re a whole different person, Julian. You’re a man I could see myself spending time with. I want to get to know the real you. I don’t know if we can make this work, but damnit, I’m your wife and I want to make this work too. So help me Elvis!”
The little laugh he gave was gut-wrenching. Like he had waited his whole life to hear someone say these words to him. Like no one had ever been interested in who he was, outside of who he could be for them. Was that why he was so reluctant to drop the act? Because every time he had tried, he’d been hurt?
“So,” he began, wetting his lips, “what you’re saying is… I might not be half-bad?”
“I think you’re more than just ‘not half-bad,’ Julian. The problem is I don’t know for sure. Not with the way things have gone between us so far. And given what’s at stake…” I glanced down at my stomach. It was still so surreal to me that there was a little life inside there, and that in a matter of months, it would start to show. “…I’m a little afraid to take a risk.”
That was what it boiled down to, in the end. Now that I’d said it out loud, the weight of those words came crashing down around me like a ton of bricks. I was the kind of girl who made lists and plans, for whom change was a terrifying concept. I always drove the speed limit. I always went with the tried and true method of confronting obstacles. I never chose the path less taken, but rather the one well-trod, where I could walk in the footsteps of others. I’d never once made a decis
ion by following my heart. I’d always trusted my head, and until now, I’d been absurdly proud of that fact.
Now I was starting to see that feeling something, even letting yourself get swept up in it, wasn’t a bad thing. Passion didn’t have to be a weakness. In fact, it could be a great strength. It could open the doors for so many more possibilities than you’d ever dreamed of. It could take your life from “right on schedule” and “good enough” to something beyond imagining—something wonderful.
Julian Bastille was my leap of faith. I understood why I’d married this man on our first night together. This was my act of rebellion. It was utterly insane, and this kind of madness couldn’t be solved with cold, unfeeling rationality. He made me feel alive.
“We both have a tremendous amount at stake here. Our reputations. The rest of our lives. Our happiness, even. And neither of us want to compromise what we’ve earned—I get that. And you know what? It’s okay. We shouldn’t have to give up everything we’ve worked for because we couldn’t live up to other people’s expectations of us. It’s the world that’s wrong here, not you and me.”
“But what does that mean for us?” he asked, searching my face. “How do we reconcile where we’re at with where we want to be?”
“We start by making the best of it, I think,” I answered, blowing out a long breath. “We know a few things right offhand: we’ve got reputations to protect; we’ve got careers that are important to us; we’re both looking for security; and we don’t hate each other.” This time, when he laughed, it wasn’t so hollow and heartbreaking. “Honestly, Julian, this… arrangement wasn’t the worst idea in the world. And if I’d met you without Tessa in the room? Maybe things would have gone differently. I sure as hell wouldn’t have had the same reservations about seeing it through.”