Fall Into Me (A British Rockstar Romance)

by Nikki Wild

  12

  Julian

  I wonder if a day could go by that I don’t shove my foot right into my howling screamer, I wondered as I sat in a corner booth in the hotel restaurant, shades on and a tumbler of Jack in my hand. This was the first drink I’d touched since my dinner with Liz…

  After she kicked me out of the bedroom, I threw on my clothes and headed downstairs for a bit of fresh air. Or at least, that was what I’d fooled myself into believing. The reality was I’d headed straight for the bar. It really didn’t take much for me to give up, did it? I’d proved that time and time again. All I would ever be was a grade-A fuck up. What was the use in fighting it?

  “Thought I might find you here. You look like you’ve been better,” Tessa said as she sat down across from me. I immediately took a drink. To deal with her, I was going to need something to take the edge off. “What happened?”

  I snorted. “Unless you can spin it into yet another money-grubbing scheme, why the hell would you care?”

  This succubus actually had the gall to look wounded. “How can you ask me something like that?” she asked. “After everything we’ve been through, after all I done, how could you think that I don’t care about you?”

  She moved to place her hand upon mine across the table. I pulled away and sat back, shaking my head.

  “She’s pissed, Tessa,” I said, turning my gaze elsewhere. I didn’t want to entertain any crocodile tears. “Haven’t even been married for more than a month, and my wife already hates me. Is there an award for ‘worst husband of the year’? Because I’m fairly sure I’ve earned it.”

  Out of my periphery, I saw Tessa roll her eyes. Typical—she wanted to know every last detail of my life, pulled the “but I care” card, and then ended up ridiculing me all the same. It was never any different with her. It was never any different with anyone.

  “Oh, relax,” she said, her tone scathing. “It’s not like she’s really your wife. Your marriage is bullshit, just like the Elvis impersonator who married you.”

  Maybe, technically speaking, Tessa was right. Maybe Liz wasn’t really my wife—at least, not in any way that involved actually being in love. But the more time I spent with her, the more I felt like maybe we could have something real. Of course, I’d just cocked that all up, hadn’t I, going on about our ruse right after we’d shared something so intimate with one another.

  That’s not how you ask a girl to move in with you, you twat, I told myself as the whiskey warmed my guts. You don’t make her feel like she’s just another set piece in your oh-so-glamorous life. And you certainly don’t dress it up as a charade that will come crashing down as you’ve got your money’s worth!

  “You just need to keep Little Miss Vegas in line long enough for this plan of ours to pay off,” Tessa continued, though I was hardly paying her much mind. I had so much more to think about than some stupid scheme to get me on the cover of the New York Times or the National Enquirer. Liz, and how badly I’d screwed up with her, was the only thing I currently found worth thinking about.

  I thought about the way Elizabeth’s eyes had refused to even meet mine as I’d left the room, how she’d covered her face with her hands just so she wouldn’t have to look at me. I thought of how violently she’d torn herself from me, like she couldn’t even stand for me to touch her. Was this shame tightening my throat, making me grind my teeth this way? It had been so damned long since I’d been truly ashamed of anything that the sensation was utterly alien to me. I’d spent so long floating in and out of sobriety that even the word had all but left my vocabulary.

  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, 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.

  13

  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.