A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2)

by Q. T. Ruby

  “Will you still be coming with me to the premiere? To London?” He sounds a bit panicked.

  “Of course. I’ll only be gone a couple of days.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, you’ll stay at my house, right? You know where the spare key is.”

  “Yeah, thank you. I’d love to.” It’ll be weird without you there.

  “It’s probably a mess; I haven’t been there in a while.”

  “I’ll just push the pizza boxes and Chinese containers to the side.”

  His laugh is drowned out by the noise in the background. “Sorry to cut this short, but our car’s arrived—hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go.”

  I giggle. “Okay. Have fun—well, not too much, Hot Dwarf.”

  “Hot Dwarf!” He sniggers. “No worries, Snow White. This is hardly fun. I’ll fill you in when I see you.”

  Hmmm, what’s that mean? “Sounds good. Safe travels today.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you later. Love you, Claire.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I head out to L.A. in the morning and arrive on the front step of Dan’s house early in the afternoon. Using the hidden key, I unlock the door and step inside to find that it’s not that bad. I mean, clothes are thrown about, and there are some very rancid dishes rotting in the sink, but it’s mostly okay. I’m actually kind of grateful for the mess. It gives me something to do while I’m here, because this solitude only amplifies his absence. As I’m washing dishes, I’m wondering what exactly I’m scrubbing off the plates—tomato sauce? Bacon grease? Leftover takeout? God, all he does is eat out. Poor guy. And then it hits me—his Christmas present! I giggle, knowing exactly what I’m going to give him.

  My meetings go well, and that night while lying on his sofa, I’m flicking through the channels to see Dan’s on another talk show. I pause a moment and decide that since I’m only a few days from seeing him, I’m not going to watch his TV interviews anymore. It’s just not worth the mental turbulence and the endless paranoia that result in seeing him and Sophie together on TV. Instead, I’m going to focus on his phone calls and texts, because, really, his words are all that matters.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Stand up; let me see,” Bridget says.

  I stand as instructed, wondering if Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother abracadabra-ed just as amazing of a dress as my Fairy Slutmothers found me: an elegant, yet ever-so-slutty, emerald green column dress with a seriously high slit up the side. The slightly shimmery fabric is cool against my skin, and since it’s strapless, I’ll need a coat or something because winter in New York is damn cold.

  “You are stunning,” Camille says, beaming at me. “Bridget, I have to hand it to you, I had my doubts, but this is perfect on her.”

  Bridget, standing next to Camille, tips her head side-to-side, inspecting the final look. “I really have a knack for this stuff, don’t I?”

  I look in the mirror and gasp. I almost don’t recognize myself with the heavy makeup and my hair swept elegantly and flowing to one side, and the dress that skates down my silhouette hugging me in all the right spots. “Yeah, you do.”

  With one final check in the mirror, and wishes for good luck, the Fairy Slutmothers wave me off. Sitting in the car that Dan ordered for me, my stomach flutters. I’m nervous to go to a premiere since, well, I’ve never been to one. I’m nervous to see Dan, too, since I haven’t seen him in weeks, and that always makes me a little crazy. But mostly, I’m excited to see him—to finally lay my eyes on him, lay my hands on him, and bask in his soap and shaving cream scent. Time is stuck in slow motion, traffic is heavy, and the space between us isn’t shrinking quickly enough.

  We’d gone back and forth on the details of arriving together or even just seeing the film together, but it simply wasn’t going to work out. He’d be so involved in walking the red carpet with the cast, and Len felt my presence would detract from the movie itself, so we decided I’d meet him at the club for the after party. And, wow, what a club it is.

  I enter through the front, after passing through security, and I’m bowled over by the twinkling lights, scores of candles, and huge floral centerpieces on tables loaded with food. Waiters are passing appetizers to the still-small group, and a huge, circular bar dominates the center of the space. It’s dim, but there’s enough light to see other faces, especially those of the string quartet that’s playing on one side of the room. The cast hasn’t arrived yet, but the buzz in the air suggests that they’ll be arriving in mere moments. I’m not sure who anyone is, and admittedly I feel a little out of place, but my heart thumps in anticipation of seeing Mr. Beautiful.

  After checking my coat, I get a drink and scan the room, amazed that this is real—it’s beyond lavish and classy, yet just as I’d expect from Hollywood folk. There’s a sudden flurry of excitement near the front door. I turn to look. Businessmen begin arriving in quick succession. They must be the moneymen; the ones who pay for that on-screen magic.

  An eternity seems to pass. I’m tempted to check my phone tucked in my purse, but don’t. He’ll be here, I remind myself. Someone taps on my shoulder and my heart leaps. I turn. It’s Ian Glammer. Oh shit.

  “Hi, Claire,” he says, scoping me out from head to toe in his ever-creepy way. “I’d buy you a drink, but looks like you already have one.” He clanks his drink with mine. “Waiting for your man, huh?”

  “Why are you here? You don’t like him, so why come?” I scan the room, looking for a way to escape, but find none.

  He leans in and whispers, “It’s called networking.” He steps closer even though I step back. “Plus, I usually get lucky at these things, or should I say, I have a lot of luck to give. Want some?” His head tips back with laughter.

  I turn to go anywhere else, but he grabs my arm.

  “Always running away. Interesting. You like the hard-to-get angle, huh? You make Dan chase you around the bedroom—wait. Get it? Dan Chase you around the bedroom?” He laughs at his own lame joke.

  “Amusing.” I twist out of his grasp.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just making conversation.” He rolls his eyes.

  I’ve never been around someone so slimy and just plain creepy. Thankfully, there are flashes of lights and a bustling commotion at the front door. I use the distraction to slip away through the crowd that’s quickly thickening. There are so many people standing between me and the front entrance that I stand on tiptoe to see who’s coming in.

  Mia and Ethan—Dan’s co-stars—enter, looking incredible. Obviously, only outrageously beautiful people are allowed in Hollywood. After many more clicks and flashes, in walks Sophie, who is the very definition of drop-dead gorgeous. My head starts to make comparisons, but I stop myself. Don’t ruin tonight with your insecurities, Claire.

  And then . . . the brightest flashes and loudest clicks go off. Anyone looking in that direction is momentarily blinded as Mr. Beautiful glides in smooth, smiling, and heart-stopping. Or maybe that’s just my heart because the air leaves my chest and my knees weaken, but I catch myself before they buckle. I ogle his every move. He’s shaking the hands of various people: women, men, and the suits. He hugs a few, too. Sophie turns back to whisper in his ear, and he laughs.

  Bitch.

  The four of them separate out to say hello to everyone. There are pats on the back and drinks handed out, but I notice that between the handshakes and congratulations, Dan’s eyes dart about, scanning the room. Maybe it’s presumptuous, but I’m hoping he’s looking for me. I want to throw my arms up and wave him down, shout his name even, but that would be weird, so I just keep my eyes on him, willing him to look my way.

  Over here!

  This way.

  More to the left . . . more . . .

  And then—Yes!

  Our eyes lock, and my heart leaps and dances when his smile, already
bright and wide, grows brighter and wider still. He cuts through outstretched hands, bypassing them, and makes a beeline for me. Me! I’m ready to break into a run to close this distance, but I keep my cool and walk forward, hoping I don’t trip. Finally, I’m face to face with Mr. Beautiful, and without a word, he removes the drink from my hand and gives our glasses to a passing waiter, before wrapping me up in his arms. The soap and shaving cream scent possesses me—my Dan is here, finally! I don’t want to let go.

  “You are fucking beautiful, my love,” he whispers in my ear.

  Surely beams of light are bursting from my every pore. “As are you,” I whisper back.

  Placing his hands on my cheeks, he pulls me into a sweet kiss and then leans back to look at me. “God, I’ve missed you. I couldn’t wait to get here. The night was dragging.”

  “I know what you mean. I couldn’t wait for you to finally get here, too. I was lonely.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Liar! You had company,” I tease, nodding my head in the direction of his co-stars.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Hardly company. So are you all packed? Leaving on the four a.m. flight, remember?”

  “Yeah, I’m packed. Just have to pick up my suitcase from my apartment. So will we sleep at my place before, or just go directly to the airport from here?”

  “Sleep? Uh, well, let’s see . . . I haven’t seen you in weeks, you’re oozing sex in that dress, and I pretty much want to spend these next eight hours before our flight fucking you literally into tomorrow.”

  “Eight hours? That’s some wishful thinking there, fifteen-minute man.”

  He laughs and kisses me again. We haven’t stopped holding onto each other. “Are you nervous about meeting my family?” he says, pulling back.

  “I’m okay, actually. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Well, I’m nervous. I’m having regrets.”

  My heart sinks, and I step back. “You are? Why?”

  He sighs dramatically and grabs my hands. “Because . . . my sisters are . . . well, let’s just say they’re looking forward to showing you my childhood photos. They said they made a fucking album or something, so it’ll probably be quite entertaining for you.” He rolls his eyes.

  Giggling, I stroke his cheek. “I’m really happy to be spending Christmas with you.”

  He smiles at me, and we’re back in our bubble, basking in one another, when Len interrupts us, reminding me that we’re in the middle of a sea of people, all of whom want Dan’s attention, too. Len introduces Dan and me to some people. There’s polite chitchat amongst everyone when Ethan, Dan’s castmate, joins in.

  “Hi, Claire. Not sure you remember me. I’m Ethan. Worked with Dan on this one.” He offers his hand and we shake.

  “Of course I remember. Congratulations on the movie. I hope promo was smooth.”

  “Yeah, it was fine. It’s nice seeing you again. Dan couldn’t wait to meet up with you tonight.” He gives me a quick wink.

  I’m shocked. “How do you know that? Dan said something?”

  Dan interrupts us. “Claire, Len wants me to say hello to a few people. I’ll be right back.”

  I nod. “All right.” I turn back to Ethan as Dan leaves.

  Ethan continues. “He couldn’t stop telling me about seeing you tonight . . . like, the entire time we were on promo.” Ethan seems amused.

  I’m speechless and smiling, and my cheeks are hot. “Really? I just figured he would be too busy to think about much other than promotion.”

  Ethan shakes his head. “Nah. Promo is busy, but it’s oddly lonely. It’s weird. Like all these people are excited to see you and talk to you, but you don’t really know anyone, and a lot of it is fake, you know?”

  I nod, letting it sink in.

  “Anyway, Dan says you’re a musician. What do you play?”

  I’m in the middle of answering when someone taps Ethan on the shoulder, and he politely excuses himself. I resume gawking at Mr. Beautiful, who is across the crowded room at the bar, chatting with suits, but keeping an eye on me, too. He winks, and I realize watching him from a distance, as he schmoozes in a perfectly fitted suit, is my new favorite hobby. I’m happily drinking in his deliciousness when there’s a tap at my shoulder. I turn to see Sophie standing there with a smart-ass smirk on her face. Ruiner.

  “Hi, Claire.”

  Be polite. You’re in a room full of people Dan knows. Keep it about business. “Hi, Sophie. Congratulations on the movie. Things seemed to go well.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s getting raves,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glancing around like the Queen herself. “So did Dan invite you tonight?”

  “No, I invited myself.” Her face twitches slightly. “Yes, of course he did.”

  She purses her lips. “Are you dating again?”

  How doesn’t she know if Ethan knows? Maybe Dan’s kept it from her on purpose? I don’t want to say anymore than necessary, but it’s time to mark my territory. “Yes, we are.”

  “Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “How long has that been going on?”

  “A while. Why does it matter to you?”

  She pauses, her mouth curling into an evil grin. “Because he and I had a thing, and I wondered if he’s playing us.”

  Playing us? My heart stops on a dime, and a dread-like plague spreads out from my belly. “You had a . . . thing?” I stammer.

  It’s clear by her smug grin that she’s gotten the reaction she was after. She nods and continues. “Which is why I’m wondering if he’s playing us, because obviously he didn’t tell you that we slept together.”

  The room shrinks and there is no air left to inhale. “You two slept together? You’re lying.” Please be lying. Please.

  Her wicked smile only grows. “Don’t believe me? Just take a look over at him.” I turn in what feels like slow motion in Dan’s direction. It’s a mere moment until he and I catch eyes. When his face falls and his eyes widen a fraction, I realize that understanding has settled in. He knows. He knows what she told me, because he’s nearly pushing people out of the way to get to me. No! She’s telling the truth!

  Go! I have to go, but my feet are rooted to the spot until I hear Sophie giggle, and in a singsong voice, she says, “Somebody’s in trouble.”

  I begin to plow through the crowd toward the front door and away from Dan. Go . . . go . . . go!

  I hear him calling my name. He’s getting closer, but I keep going. I need fresh air before I collapse to the ground. My arm is grabbed and I’m spun around.

  “Where are you going?”

  It’s Ian. I yank my arm away, but he’s got me tight.

  “Did your perfect boyfriend do something not so perfect? He’s upset the most beautiful woman in the room? Tsk, tsk. I’ll take you away, baby. Follow me.”

  He begins pulling me in a different direction, but I rip his fingers off my arms, shove him away, and bolt for the front entrance. Stepping outside, the frigid air smacks me in the face. Fuck, my coat! I can’t go back. The crowd on the sidewalk is thick, but I press on through.

  “Claire!” I hear behind me. Where do I go? Curb. Taxi. I squeeze through and stand on the edge of the curb, waving my arm desperately for a cab.

  A flurry of camera clicks sound behind me. I’m afraid to look. I can’t look at him. I wipe my face—my cheeks are entirely wet. Fuck! I’m crying in public! People scream Dan’s name.

  “Claire! Claire!” I hear again. His voice is urgent, but I cannot possibly speak to him.

  A cab pulls up. Thank God! I yank open the door just as my arm is tugged back.

  It’s Dan. We’re surrounded by cameras and people tugging at him. “Let go of me!” I twist.

  “Claire, please.”

  Flash! Flash!

  “Did y
ou do it?” I ask, hardly able to see him through the blur of tears and the flashes of light.

  With his face contorted with what must be guilt, he hesitates before he says, “Let’s go talk.”

  “That’s it?” I yank my arm from his grasp, dive into the cab, and slam the door. “Drive,” I practically yell at the cabbie.

  We’re halfway down the street when I gasp, realizing there’s not enough air to fill the space left by my heart, which lies shattered in a million shards on the floor of that club.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You okay, miss? Where can I bring you?”

  I can’t answer. I’m trying to catch my breath between sobs. I shake my head. “Just drive.” My phone starts ringing in my purse. I don’t answer it; I don’t even look at who’s calling.

  I can’t go to my apartment. I’m not ready to talk to anyone—not even Camille and Bridget. I’d get on a plane if I could. Shit, the plane! Fuck!

  We drive and drive for a good, long while when I finally tell the cabbie the address of my practice room.

  Once I arrive, the building is closed, of course, but my fancy birthday gift came with an exterior door key. Somehow I’ve held onto my clutch this whole time and dig out my keys. I can barely see the keyhole through my tears. My phone rings again. Actually, it’s not stopped ringing. I shut it down. Scrambling inside, I reach my practice room, flick on the overhead light, and sit in the gritty florescent brightness, trying to comprehend all that just happened, which seems impossible.

  How can I be reliving my wedding day when I wasn’t even getting married? But it’s all the same—the same incomprehension, the same stabbing pain, the same question: why? Why would he do this? Why would he fly back and forth to see me, invite me on location, on his tour, ask me to meet his family if he was sleeping with someone else? Why can’t I ever be enough for someone?