Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  We continue on like that every day for the next two weeks. It’s class, then sex, then sleep, then sex, then class, then sex, sex, sex.

  It’s safe to say I’m kind of addicted.

  I catch scant little sign of Summer. She still isn’t taking my phone calls. She ignores me completely whenever our paths cross on campus.

  The whole time with James, however, I’m acutely aware of the exact date of my upcoming appointment. The one where I find out what’s really wrong with me.

  At three PM the day of, my phone buzzes with a reminder.

  Time to see the doctor.

  I start for the hospital.

  ***

  Half an hour in the waiting room turns into one hour, then two, then three. The receptionist apologizes multiple times, saying they’re really running busy.

  I shrug it off, but I can’t entirely mask my discomfort. I hate being here any longer than necessary.

  Finally, it’s my turn. I’m brought into the office to meet Dr. Robinson.

  The temperature drops the minute he steps into the room. I know, just from his solemn expression, that he does not have good news.

  “Your tests results came back,” he tells me without preamble. “It’s as I suspected. I’m sorry to say, Celeste, but the scans found a growth.”

  A “growth.” A soft euphemism for a tumor. An even softer one for cancer.

  In the span of a single conversation, I become The Girl with Cancer. Again.

  I know the drill. I’ve been through it twice already. Weeks of chemotherapy and feeling awful. Constant monitoring, consistent testing. A life defined by hospital visits and appointments and hiding my symptoms once more.

  My mind kind of goes blank as the doctor talks. I nod and murmur in agreement at appropriate places.

  Inside, I feel absolutely hollow.

  Suddenly my ears perk up. “Good news?” I repeat.

  “Yes.” Dr. Robinson smiles in a sympathetic way. God, how I hate when people look at me like that. I have to suck it up and bear it in the hospital, but past that? I’m at my limit. “We found the tumor fairly early. With treatment and proper therapy, you’ll be able to live a pain-free life.”

  “And… the prognosis?” I ask.

  “That depends on your response to treatment,” the doctor hedges.

  I look him straight in the eye. “I’m not a little girl, doc. I know the odds can’t be good. This is the third time. What are my chances of survival?”

  “It’s really too early—“

  “Please,” I make my voice hushed. “I need to know.”

  He exhales. “At this point? No better than half.”

  ***

  I’ve always been a glass-is-half-full sort of girl. On my way out, I picked up a quarter from the floor. The entire walk back to James’ apartment, I’ve been turning it over in my palm. Feeling one side, then the next.

  Fifty-fifty. Flip a coin, choose your fate. Heads you live, tails you die.

  I flick the quarter up in the air. It goes spinning high. I catch it and cradle it in my hand, then slap it against my wrist.

  Heads, or tails, I wonder.

  Then, without looking, I let it drop into the storm drain.

  The doc said the sooner we begin treatment the better. I agreed. If I’m going to feel miserable, I might as well start now.

  The first chemo session is this weekend. There’s no question—I’ll have to move out of James’s apartment before then. Now is the time to cut all ties.

  The doctor’s appointment was just the wake-up call I needed after last night. I can’t go falling for a man, breaking all my rules, and then—whoops, it’s tails –dying on him.

  I’d much rather go at it alone.

  That means Summer has until Friday to talk to me. If she doesn’t—and I hate doing this—but if not, I’ll have no choice but to go to the building manager.

  I hope things don’t degrade to that.

  I head straight for James’s place after the hospital visit.

  I’m not going to sulk and despair. I’m going to go on about my business as if nothing’s wrong. I’ll hide the sickness as long as possible.

  If I die, it’ll be like getting struck by a bus. But I’ll leave James long before then.

  He won’t get hurt.

  I enter the apartment lobby. I still feel out-of-place in such a splendid building. I mean, I can fake like I belong. But deep down I’m a small town type of girl, and this sort of luxury is entirely unknown to me.

  As is the way James looks at me after he kisses me.

  What! Where did that thought come from?

  I shake my head to dispel the image as I climb in the elevator. I start the detachment process from James. I can’t get lost in made-up, fairy tale fantasies.

  I arrive in his loft. “Hello?” I call out. I wait for an answer, but none comes.

  I guess I’m alone for now.

  I’m making myself a quick snack in the kitchen when I hear a shuffling noise from the second level.

  I look up. “James?” I ask. “Is that you?”

  “No,” a sultry, unpleasant female voice answers me. “It is not.”

  My stomach sinks as Angela emerges from the bedroom. I suppress a groan.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “James said you’re not allowed inside. I heard him revoke the privilege.”

  “Oh, pah pah,” she mocks, sliding one hand along the railing as she descends the steps. One bejeweled hand. There are so many rings covering her fingers that I’m surprised her skinny arms have the strength to support them.

  She’s wearing a black dress, sleek and tight and strapless. Her hair is done up in elaborate, shining curls. Her lipstick, a deep, deep red, makes her look very much like a vampire. Coupled with the dark mascara around her eyes and the long, black, obviously fake lashes, she presents a formidable figure.

  But I’m not intimidated. I know the story behind all her gaudy wealth. I know how she used James to prop herself up. I’ve dealt with women like her before. The ones who are so insecure in their beauty they go to extraordinary heights to emphasize every single feminine feature they have.

  The fake, power-hungry, manipulative bitches.

  “Do you think,” she says at the bottom, “that just because you’ve fucked my husband once or twice you have a right to crawl into this apartment, like some disgusting roach, and start prancing around in my place?” She laughs a rich, sarcastic laugh.

  I glare at her, feeling my anger rising and trying my best to suppress it. Getting into a cat fight with James’s wife is not what I need at the moment. Still, I’m not just going to stay here and take her insults.

  “Your boobs look nice,” I tell her sweetly. “How much did James pay to get them done? Ten, fifteen grand? Something like that?” I smile through gritted teeth. “The surgeon did a marvelous job making you look attractive. Too bad that wasn’t enough for your ex-husband.”

  Her back stiffens. She turns on me. “You dare…”

  “Oh yes,” I cut in, stepping right into her personal space. “I dare.”

  We stare at each other for a long, icy moment. Then she glances down at my clothes, and scoffs a laugh.

  “Look who’s talking,” she says. “You barely look like you have a figure under there.”

  I smile back. “James seems to think different.”

  “The man will stick his dick into anything with two legs,” she tells me. “Sweetie, I hate to break your heart, but you’re just the flavor of the month. Quite soon, he’ll get bored with you…” She crosses her arms beneath her breasts, emphasizing her sizeable cleavage, “and come to me. I mean, look at yourself.” She touches my hair. “Your split ends. Your clothes. Do you know how impoverished you look?” She tosses her head. “Do you think you have anything over me? I mean, really.”

  “I have an invitation to be inside,” I tell her in the most innocent voice possible, “while you, quite clearly, are trespassing.”

  “Hah!” sh
e laughs it off. “You think that will last longer than a week? James will come to his senses and realize that I’m the woman for him. And when he does? It’s bye-bye to poor little you. So enjoy it while it lasts.”

  She lowers herself onto the massive leather couch.

  I open my mouth to inform her she’s sitting right where James and I fucked last night.

  Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance. The front door bursts open. James storms inside.

  “My darling!” Angela exclaims, coming to her feet. “How I’ve longed to see you.”

  “You,” James says, staring daggers at his ex, “have no right being inside.” He sees me, and his eyes widen. “Shit, Celeste. You were here alone with her?”

  I walk up to James and hook an arm through his. “It’s okay, baby,” I say, giving him a kiss. “Angela and I had a nice chat. We’ve become quite close.”

  She stares at me, outraged.

  “Hah,” James laughs. “I doubt that. Angela—dammit, what the hell are you doing here? We’ve been through this before. You are not welcome.” He points to the open door. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  “Oh James, sweetheart, don’t be so rash,” she says. “Don’t you want to know why I came?”

  James shakes his head. “Angela, whatever the hell you’re up to, I don’t care. You need to leave. Now. If you show up again, so help me God, I’ll be forced to get a restraining order. You’re pushing the limits of my generosity.”

  She ignores his words completely and struts toward us, swaying her hips.

  “But today’s such a big day, silly,” she tells him, reaching behind her dress for the zipper. She pulls it down and lets the skin-tight fabric flutter to the floor.

  She steps right out of it, in nothing but black lace panties and a matching bra.

  A stab of envy punches me in the gut. Her body is flawless. She takes better care of it than I do mine.

  “Today marks the eighth anniversary of your first published work,” she purrs. She stops in front of us. I grip James’s arm tighter, protectively.

  He’s my man, bitch! I want to scream at her.

  “I thought we could celebrate,” she continues. “The way we used to.” She glances at me. “Send the whore away. I’m your present, baby. Tonight…” She tosses her hair back. “…I want you to ravish me.”

  James stands still. I can see the temptation in his eyes. What man wouldn’t be?

  For a frightening moment, I think he’s going to tell me to go.

  But then he breaks away from us both and turns his back. “Put your dress on,” he says gruffly. “Do not enter my home uninvited again.”

  “But baby…”

  “I said NOW, Angela!” he roars.

  She jumps back, shocked. My heart starts hammering.

  Suddenly her features twist in an expression of rage.

  “Fine,” she screams. “Fine, you want your slut? Have her! See what I think, James. See if I care.” She rips her dress from the ground shoves her legs through. She pushes by him.

  “See you in court,” she spits, just before slamming the door.

  A deafening silence follows.

  “Christ,” James mutters. “Can you believe that? The woman found another way to let herself in. I swear to God, your friend Summer might have the right idea changing the locks.”

  I scoff. “Don’t tell her that.”

  He looks at me. “I’m surprised you two didn’t claw each other’s eyes out.”

  “Trust me,” I say. “We came close.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” he tells me. “How long were you two in here together?”

  “Not long,” I assure him. “Maybe ten minutes. She was upstairs when I came in. I don’t notice her right away. Where’d she get the key?”

  “She still has one,” James says. He shakes his head. “Fuck, Celeste, I’m sorry. I do not want you to deal with her.”

  “You shouldn’t have to, either,” I tell him earnestly. “Get that restraining order. Make it a crime for her to return.”

  He smiles sadly. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?” I persist. “I saw you with her twice. It’s clear the two of you despise each other. Her about-face just now made that clear.”

  “I don’t… despise her,” James tells me. “I feel bad for her, really. She’s manipulative, but it comes from a deep insecurity.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much,” I say.

  “When we split,” he explains, “like the very month of, she got it in her head that she’ll convince me to take her back.” He makes a displeased sound deep in his throat. “She only wants to do it so she can have the satisfaction of leaving again, but next time, on her own terms. I was the one who called things off first.”

  “Smart of you,” I say.

  He shrugs, then glances toward the kitchen. “I guess. Enough about her. I’m starving. How about you? You want something to eat?”

  “I could do with a good meal, yeah.” I tell him. It might be the last I keep down.

  Once chemo starts—and I’ve experienced this before—not only will my appetite wither away to nothing, but most food will taste like ash.

  “I’m no cook, though,” he admits. “Are you?”

  “James Landon.” I put my hands on my hips. “Are you asking me to cook for you? That seems like a very ‘wifely’ duty for me. Far outside the realm of our agreement.”

  He laughs. “No, no.”

  “And I’m a horrible chef, by the way,” I add. “I even manage to screw up scrambled eggs.”

  He reaches for his cell. “So take out?”

  “Take out it is,” I confirm.

  37.

  We have dinner and surprise, surprise, I have… fun.

  I’ve had male friends before. But they were never guys I fucked. Spending so much time with a man who I have slept with makes the experience entirely new.

  Toward the end, though, a bit of melancholy sets in. As James puts the plates away and we chat in between generous goblets of wine, I think, This is an illusion. This is all so fake.

  I have no future with James. Hell, I barely have a future with myself. Just like the doctor said: fifty-fifty odds.

  If I survive, great. And if I don’t? Well, it’s been a hell of a run.

  James picks up the shift in mood. “Hey, Celeste,” he asks, “are you all right? You look a little glum there.”

  I shake my head quickly and plaster on a fake smile. “Not glum,” I say. “Contemplative.”

  “Oh?” James leans forward. “What of?”

  I screw my face up. “Nothing significant.”

  “Come now,” he coaxes. “You’re an intelligent girl. Tell me what’s on your mind. I’m sure it’ll be fascinating.”

  I look at him, waiting for his face to break out in a grin that shows me he’s just teasing… but the moment doesn’t come. He just watches me, rapt and curious.

  I feel my heart breaking from its self-imposed cage and expanding. It takes over all my senses.

  He really does care, I think in wonder.

  “Celeste.” James draws out my name as one long sound. “Tell me what’s behind those clever, beautiful eyes of yours.”

  I blink at him. “You think,” I say softly, “my eyes are beautiful?”

  James smiles and takes my hand. “I think every part of you is beautiful. From the moment I saw you on my yacht, I thought you might be special.”

  Alarm ripples through me. “Special?” I whisper.

  James tightens his grip on my hand. “Yes. The special girl I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

  The room spins. For a second, I see double. Next comes a hollow ringing in my ears, and a horrible sensation of falling. Back, back, back…

  “Celeste!” James’s voice breaks through. “Celeste, are you okay?”

  I come to myself. I’m on the floor. James is at my side.

  I fell?

  There’s a piercing pain above my right ear.

&nbs
p; “What happened?”

  “You tumbled off your seat. Your eyes went blank. You blacked out for a moment.” James’s voice is fast and urgent. “What’s going on with you, Celeste?”

  “It’s nothing,” I shake my head. “You just… overwhelmed me. That’s all.”

  “Like hell I did,” he growls. He grips me tighter. “You’re going to tell me what they told you at the hospital. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your aversions. Are you sick?”

  “No,” I lie.

  He searches my face. I feel the scrutiny behind his eyes.

  Then he turns back and slams his fist against the floor. “That’s not true!” he exclaims. “Dammit, Celeste! Why don’t you trust me? I’m here for you. I want to know.”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” I insist.

  “Liar!” James surges up. I watch him pace across the large, empty floor.

  “You’re not like the others,” he tells me. “Celeste, when I’m with you, I feel different. I feel protective. I become aggressive. I feel like I need to stop any bad thing that can happen to you. But if you don’t tell me what’s wrong—“ he points at me,” –then how the hell am I supposed to help you? Tell me that, Celeste. Tell me how.”

  “You’re not,” I say. “You’re not supposed to help me, James. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “And when you needed a place to stay? Who did you call then?”

  “That’s different!”

  “The fuck it is,” he growls. “Celeste, I don’t think you’ve noticed, but hey, guess what? I care about what happens to you. I care about what you go through. I’ve had a hell of a time admitting it to myself, but it’s true. And I don’t know what it is—I fucking don’t—but you’re the first woman in years to make me feel that way.”

  My insides seize up. That type of admission, from James? I didn’t think it’d be possible. Everything I know about him points to his being a massive playboy.

  “You’re serious?” I whisper.

  “Yes,” he says. “Very.”

  “I can’t…” I shake my head. “I can’t stay.” I stand up. I’m shaky, but I manage to do it.