by Lucy Score
Kate joined her on the porch and flopped down in one of the wicker chairs. “Okay, there is literally no food here, and since we left in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to call the grocery service. I can leave you here and go into town, or I can call them now.”
For once, food didn’t sound remotely good to Waverly, but some time alone to think did. “If you don’t mind going into town, that would be great. Just start with some basics until we know how long we’re going to be on lockdown.”
Kate nodded and rose. “Cool. I’ll stop at that tiki bar place on the way back and bring home dinner.”
“Kate?” Waverly stopped her. “Thanks for being awesome. You don’t know what it means for me to be able to count on you like this.”
“I love your face, too.” Kate threw her a grin and a mock salute before heading back into the house.
Waverly dragged herself to her feet and plodded inside.
The main living space was a towering two-stories with glass from floor to ceiling, taking advantage of the ocean views. There were two wings each with a bedroom downstairs and a master upstairs.
Waverly slowly made her way up the concrete staircase to her room. With her last ounce of energy, she opened the storm shutters and pushed open the terrace doors. She grabbed towels from the bathroom, tossed them on the bed, and let herself collapse.
It was just a flesh wound. But there were other, worse implications that would come out of the events of today. Rehab? She snorted into a pillow. The studio didn’t care what a ding her reputation would take or how the lie would hurt her still healing parents. After all, a splashy comeback from rehab would only up her pull at the box office and make her other role as Hollywood’s party princess more sellable.
If she were to think about how she got herself into this mess, she could pinpoint the exact second she’d set off down this path. When Xavier Saint had walked out on her.
It had been a different wound then, five long years ago. A knife instead of a bullet. She’d been utterly helpless at the deranged hands of a serial killer and again when the only man she’d ever loved had told her she was damaged, toxic. She’d made a vow to herself that she would never again be helpless, never again be vulnerable.
She would never let herself be dependent on someone else for safety or love.
And that’s what it had been, she thought, fingering the medallion she wore around her neck. A gift from a lover. Even though she loathed the man who gave it to her, she couldn’t bear to part with it. A lucky charm, a superstition. And as long as no one knew what hung on that long chain, dangling between her breasts, what harm could it do?
She would never understand why Xavier left. Not after watching the footage of her brutal attack. It had taken her months before she felt strong enough to face the visual evidence of the night that had cost Waverly her heart and very nearly her life. The screams, the headlights, the knife.
And then Xavier, tenderly curling over her, blocking out the rest of the world so he could whisper his love for her over and over into her ear. He had killed for her, and then he had held her as if she were fragile glass. Tears and pleas slipping from him, gently, reverently. She remembered everything from that night.
He had loved her, and he had left her. That was all there would be to their story. She would never forgive him for conning her into opening up to him, to giving him her heart, only to destroy that fragile trust, that delicate confidence.
Her mother had been right about so many things, even in the depths of her alcoholism. Chasing happiness and love only lead to heartache. The real satisfaction in life came from pride in her successes. No one could take that away from her. She was in control of her effort and her outcomes. There would be no going back to helpless and vulnerable.
No matter how many times she dreamed that she was still in Xavier’s arms only to wake alone. Nearly every night. But she shouldn’t be thinking of Xavier now. She needed to be thinking of Dante.
How ironic, she thought. That neither of the men who had changed the course of her life was hers.
About the Author
Lucy Score is the author of the Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestseller Pretend You’re Mine. She grew up in a literary family who insisted that the dinner table was for reading and earned a degree in journalism. She writes full-time from the Pennsylvania home she and Mr. Lucy share with their obnoxious cat, Cleo. When not spending hours crafting heartbreaker heroes and kick-ass heroines, Lucy can be found on the couch, in the kitchen, or at the gym. She hopes to someday write from a sailboat, or oceanfront condo, or tropical island with reliable WIFI.
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Other Books by Lucy
Undercover Love
Pretend You’re Mine
No More Secrets (Blue Moon Book 1)
Fall into Temptations (Blue Moon Book 2)
The Last Second Chance (Blue Moon Book 3)