She nodded. “I feel like that kind of thing works for people like us.”
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he sat back in his chair and watched her. “People like us?”
“You know—people who don’t have the time or availability for anything more.” She picked up a shrimp by its tail and took a bite.
“Have you ever been close to getting married?” he asked, curious to know more about her relationship history. She had briefly told him she’d never been married or had kids, but he didn’t have any sense of what her love life had looked like.
“No, not exactly. And that’s for the best. I’m not a big believer in marriage.”
“No?”
“Are you? After yours coming apart?”
“Yes, I think I still am. At least, I like the idea of finding that one partner and making it work for the long haul.”
“So, she wasn’t your ‘one’ as the song goes?”
She was referring to Rogue’s biggest hit, “You’re My One.” Gavin had written it for the band’s second album and it was the reason for the success they still enjoyed today. The song was a celebration of the sort of grand, fairy-tale kind of love Martin told Gavin he and Sophie had. That desperate, all-encompassing love was a romantic ideal, which was likely why so many fans had become obsessed with the song. “You’re My One” glorified that rare kind of love. It was also the exact opposite of how he would have described his love for Celia. Theirs had been a practical, inevitable match. It was one he would never regret because it gave him his sons, but it wasn’t something he would aspire to again. So, while Celia hadn’t been his version of what that song described, he did want to find it, find his one. But he felt protective over that realization—and over Celia—and didn’t want to share it with Lainey. Though he didn’t think Lainey had any malicious intentions, his relationship with Celia wasn’t something he would offer up for examination to her. It wasn’t fair to Celia and the life they had had.
“Do you like Rogue?” he asked, pivoting the conversation. He could see she understood what he was doing and was glad that she had no problem going along with it.
“I do, in fact. I’ve even been to a few shows.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Hasn’t everyone?”
“I love thinking that you were out there. That’s really cool.” He realized he could have a similar experience, what with her being an actress. “I still need to catch up on your films.”
She cringed. “No, don’t. It’s better for us if you just know me as I am with you, not on screen.”
“And what are you with me, Lainey?” He wanted to know whether they had a chance at anything more than this lovely, brief time together.
But now she was the one to deflect. “Do you think I could take your picture before you go?” she asked.
“Only if I can take yours,” he said and saw her hesitate. “Lainey, I won’t share it with anyone. You look especially beautiful right now, with the sunlight on your shoulders.”
Relenting, she allowed him to take one photo with his phone. It came out exactly how he wanted, showing her relaxed and natural. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes intense and mesmerizing as she stared back at him.
They finished lunch and cleared their dishes to the kitchen. Lainey had to leave soon to meet a reporter at the Four Seasons Biltmore for an interview, but she had been serious about taking his photograph before he left. She disappeared into another room to find her camera, and he studied her home. It felt good, like she had made a life there. But it also felt solitary. There weren’t any family photographs or other signs of connections.
“I got it,” Lainey said, returning with a complicated looking camera.
“Clothes on or off?” he asked.
She smirked. “On. This time.”
He liked the sound of that. “What should I do?”
“Stand there, where the shadows are coming in.”
Doing as he was told, he stood still, facing her. He had posed for countless photo shoots with the band over the years, but he felt self-conscious about posing for her. It must have showed, because she asked him if he had any pictures of his kids on his phone. When he said yes, she told him to look at them. He scrolled through the most recent photos he had. They included one where the three boys brought their arms together to show off the temporary tattoos Martin had let them have, a shot of Donal helping to make pancakes and pretending the batter was snot dripping from his nose, and a picture of Colm and Sean huddled together as they played some video game on their phones.
“Perfect,” Lainey said, her camera clicking.
Martin kept scrolling and came upon the picture he had just taken of Lainey. He got lost in it for a moment, wondering when he might see her again. He wanted to see her again.
“Okay, I think that’s it,” she said. “Your face changed a bit at the end there.” She went to him and saw the photo he had pulled up. “Why—”
He covered her mouth with his, kissing her like he had wanted to the moment he saw her poke her head outside the front door when he’d arrived. Taking his time, he kissed her in all the ways he wanted to have her: chastely, deeply, slowly, anxiously. He kept his hands in her hair or on her cheek, wanting to draw this out. Wanting to savor every second.
Finally, she pulled away, burying her face into his neck. “I like the way you kiss me,” she said and he smiled. “And I’ve kissed a lot of men.”
He laughed and looked down at her curiously. She met his eyes and smiled.
“Hazard of the job,” she explained. “I’m forever being dramatically kissed on film.”
“Ah, I see. You said you’re filming again soon?”
“Yes, on with the third installment of the superhero franchise. I’m obligated for one more after this. Then I’ll get my freedom back to do something more meaningful.”
“And what might that be?”
“I’m not sure. But definitely something small. Something character-driven.”
It was time to dispose of this chatter and get to what he really wanted to know. “Do I get to see you again?” he asked.
“You’re seeing me now.”
“You’re about to leave.”
“Maybe we can catch up on this sometime, then?” She wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him deeply.
The way she said it, he wasn’t sure if she wanted to connect again physically, or if she was open to more. But when they parted, she clarified by saying she would get in touch if her schedule allowed it. No promises. No clear intentions.
Martin drove the two hours back to L.A. feeling both elated and disappointed by his time with Lainey. It had been a wonderful afternoon with an amazing woman. But he was left certain that it would amount to nothing more than that.
PART THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Martin had been standing in his walk-in closet for twenty minutes, overwhelmed by his task. He was home in Dublin with three days before Celia was due to return with the boys. Knowing he wouldn’t be welcome to stay there once they were back, he’d set out to pack some of his things. But the space he’d been in countless times before now appeared completely new to him. The shelves displayed his neatly folded and color-sorted T-shirts, jeans, pants, and sweaters. Glass paneled drawers held socks, undershirts, and underwear. Suits, jackets, and button-down shirts were hanging from wooden hangers. Staggered shoe racks kept everything from dress shoes to Converse tidy. There was order to it all. But he had had no part in creating that. Celia had organized it all, just as she had taken care of every other part of their lives. Instead of throwing things into the suitcases he had pulled out for this purpose, he stood frozen, thinking of how dramatically things had changed—all starting when Ashley came into his world.
The more he rehashed his “friendship” with Ashley, the more he realized how wrong it had been. Celia was right—he had cheated on her. Sure, the sex part came after Celia threw him out, but he had betrayed his marriage long before that wit
h the other intimacies he’d had with Ashley.
Ashley was still sending him suggestive texts and commenting on the various tabloid stories he’d starred in. He’d been tempted to call her after Lainey left the night they’d all gone out to Musso and Frank. She would have dropped everything and flown down to L.A. The only thing that stopped him was the realization that what he was after was the ego boost she would provide. Well, that, and the uninhibited sex. But it was clear to him that his primary attraction to Ashley was the way she built him up. It had been irresistible, in fact. Because he was weak and ripe for it after years in a passionless and disconnected marriage. He supposed there were a legion of married men out there who justified their indiscretions the way he did. That only made it more pathetic. In his effort to escape from what he had characterized as a mundane existence, he had done the most clichéd thing—cheat his way out of his marriage instead of face its problems head-on.
And Celia was the one who had to suffer for it. She had spent years as his partner. Maybe not in the way he would have liked, but in the way that truly mattered since she was the one who created a life and home for their children. And yet, he still had no desire to try to repair his marriage. What he did want was to repair his relationship with the mother of his children. He wanted to be on good terms with her so they could continue to raise their children together. His first opportunity to work toward that would be when she and the boys returned from France.
Taking a deep breath, Martin grabbed a stack of T-shirts and threw it into his open suitcase. It was time to move forward. With purpose. No more flailing and indulging in casual sexual encounters just because he could. It was actually a good thing that Lainey had ditched him. He should focus on being on his own. On being a father. Jumping into dating anyone, let alone one of the world’s most famous actresses, was a bad idea.
That’s what he told himself. Even as a part of him couldn’t stop from holding out a sliver of hope that he’d see Lainey again.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The sound of a car slowing to a stop in front of the house made Martin’s chest tighten with anticipation and dread. He hadn’t seen or spoken with Celia in depth since that phone call when he boldly told her he wanted to work out custody. Since then, the tabloids had detailed his tryst with the groupie in Dublin, the rumors of a botched gay hookup in San Francisco, and the public makeout session with Lainey in L.A. Those stories wouldn’t help him in trying to have a civil relationship with Celia.
Going outside to force the awkward meeting, Martin was shocked by Celia’s appearance. She was thin as a rail, wore a short skirt and tight top, and had a full face of makeup. Before he could fully absorb these differences, the boys ran toward him.
They cried out bon jour and piled on him with hugs and smiles. Martin fell to his knees and clutched them to him, and the relief he felt to have them close warmed him from the inside out.
“Ah, boys, I’m thrilled to see you.”
“Da, you’ll never believe it,” Colm said conspiratorially, “but Donal has a girlfriend. A French girlfriend.”
“Shut your gob!” Donal said quickly.
Martin laughed and patted Donal on the back. “It’s okay, lad. A French girlfriend is nothing to be shy about.”
Donal looked at him and there was relief in his half-smile. The kid was getting closer to ten years old and was bound to be growing more curious about girls and the reaction he had when thinking about them. It made Martin all the more resolved to stay in his boys’ lives as much as possible. They needed him as much as he needed them.
“Well, if you’re here,” Celia said, “you could make yourself useful and help with the bags.”
Martin looked up at her and was struck again by her changed appearance. After all these years of a conservative style, it was jarring to see her this way. It occurred to him that she had dressed and done her makeup for him. If so, that would mean she wasn’t necessarily ready to end things. Or, was she just trying to taunt him with what he would be missing?
“Yes, of course,” he said and went to fetch the bags.
She and the boys went inside while he gathered their things and had a quick word with the car service driver. Back inside, he could hear the boys raiding the refrigerator and commenting happily on finding all the snacks Martin had purchased in preparation for their return. He knew some of their favorites and seemed to have guessed well with others.
Celia had gone upstairs and Martin was wondering if he should follow her when she called out for him to do exactly that.
He found her in the bedroom, standing outside the open closet doors.
“What happened to your things?” she asked.
Following her gaze to his mostly empty side of the closet, he was again confused by what she thought was happening with them.
“I, em, I packed some things. I didn’t expect you’d want me staying after—well, you know.”
She turned to him with furrowed brows. “You said we weren’t over. You said this was about having some space.”
Her memory was excellent. He had told her those things after she’d found Ashley’s texts and wanted him out. At the time, he’d meant it. He hadn’t been willing to give up, not when he hadn’t even processed what it was that he wanted at that point. It was only later, after he’d slept with Ashley and realized she wasn’t the reason for leaving his marriage that he knew the problem went much deeper. The problem wasn’t that he wanted to fuck other women. It was that he wanted to be free to figure out who he really was without being marginalized and demeaned every step of the way—and just not by Celia, but also by his bandmates and other friends. For a brief time, he thought Ashley would be the one to give him encouragement and support, but then he saw the manipulation she was employing. She liked toying with him, got a kick out of leading him around by his dick and watching the chaos that ensued. Only, she hadn’t anticipated that he’d come to a point in his life where he was tired of playing the fool, tired of being dictated to. She had been dumbfounded by the fact that he’d turned her into a one-night stand, pleading with him to keep their “good thing” going. But there was no way he could view her as a good thing, not after seeing her for who she really was.
“Well, Martin?” Celia was, understandably, losing patience.
“Why are you so thin? And what’s with the costume?” he asked instead of answering her first question. He wanted to know what she really thought was happening between them before he opened his mouth and possibly said something stupid.
“Costume?” She looked down at her skirt, smoothing it self-consciously.
“You don’t look like yourself.”
Emitting a scoff, she rolled her eyes as well for good measure. “That sounds familiar. Didn’t I tell you the very same thing?”
She had, of course, when he came home with a sleeve of tattoos and piercings. And he had dismissed her shock as silly, petty. He’d claimed the changes weren’t anything she should worry about. Of course, that wasn’t the truth. He just hadn’t really realized it at the time.
“Ay, you did.” He left it at that.
“I just thought . . . I thought you’d like it.”
So she had done it for him. He couldn’t understand why. Why would she want to please him after what he had done?
“You’re fine as yourself. You’ve always been fine to me, Cee,” he said gently.
She nodded but didn’t meet his eyes, her cheeks flushing from embarrassment. He flashed on the memory of when they were first dating all those years ago. He’d fallen quickly for her simple beauty and assured manner. She had almost immediately behaved as if they were a committed couple, and he’d gone along with it, carried away by a sense of inevitability. He had believed her when she withheld intimacy out of piety. She would only have sex with him if they were married. It seemed so logical and natural at the time to go ahead and get married. Afterward, he quickly found that her lack of desire was physical, rather than religious. It wasn’t much later that the band achiev
ed worldwide fame and instead of lauding that, Celia downplayed Martin’s role. The disparaging remarks—sometimes veiled, sometimes not—carried on as the years went by. The lack of intimacy combined with the lack of respect ate away at their connection. What bound them together was their children.
“Will you put your things back?” she asked.
“How can that possibly be what you want? After everything?”
Her eyes filled with tears and she inhaled a shaky breath. “I want my husband. I want my family. I’ll do what I have to to keep it.”
It was nearly incomprehensible to him that she was trying to salvage things. He didn’t deserve this. Worse, he didn’t want it.
“I, em, I appreciate that. I really do. And I want you to know that I am so sorry for hurting you. Honestly. I never wanted that.”
She took a step toward him. “It’s okay. We can fix this. I know I told you we were broken. But I think if we turn to God, if we pray for His grace, we can mend this.”
Though he wanted to take a step backward, he forced himself to stay put. “I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. I have a church-sponsored program for us. It’s designed for couples like us who have gone astray from God’s path.” When she saw him hesitate, she added with a laugh, “I promise, there will only be a little studying. Even you can manage it.”
Those last five words were so indicative of what his marriage had become. The superiority she laughingly lorded over him, always under the pretense that she knew what was best for him. He couldn’t play along and be the beleaguered but affable husband any longer. He couldn’t.
“I don’t want to be married, Celia,” he told her.
It was a harsh statement. A declaration he believed but immediately regretted for its bluntness. He should have found a way to soften this truth.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said quickly. “You had your fun. You got to see what it’s like, but now it’s time to come home, Marty. You just have to meet me halfway.”
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