Chapter Thirty-Two
Broken chord: a chord in which the notes are played successively rather than all at once
Charlie
Two hours later, I raise my hand to knock at the door to our hotel room. I hesitate, considering my options. But I don’t have a choice. I didn’t bring my key card to the wedding or the reception. I don’t have pockets, and it seemed silly to carry a purse. Especially when Damian had his key in his pocket.
What if he’s not here?
The unwelcome thought flits through my mind. I guess if he doesn’t answer I can go use the phone by the elevator to call security to come let me into my room.
I hope he answers, though. The last two hours have been excruciating. Once Sam let on who I was, more people started recognizing me. I did my best to pretend like everything is fine, even though I really just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and cry.
But everyone wanted to talk to me, find out where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing since this summer. I mostly gave out generic nonanswers—my specialty. Everyone’s curiosity makes it clear that my months of blissful anonymity are over. I have no idea what this will mean for continuing my degree. At this point, all I care about is what it will mean for Damian and me.
Straightening my spine, I knock three times. Not too softly, but not demanding entry either.
And I wait.
After a few seconds that stretch from here to eternity, the door cracks open, and Damian’s face appears. He blinks at me a few times.
I swallow and smooth my hands down my skirt, a nervous habit that I force myself to stop, clenching my hands into fists at my side. “The reception is winding down. Jonathan and Gabby have left. I wondered if after two hours you’re ready to talk to me.”
He props the door open with his shoulder and crosses his arms. He’s not wearing his glasses, so his red-rimmed eyes are extra obvious. “I’m not sure what else there is to say.” His voice is gruff, hoarse.
“I thought you might want to ask questions.” I came up with this plan between dodging questions from well-meaning acquaintances and self-serving opportunists looking to sell me out to the tabloids in exchange for more coverage. I also hid amongst the wedding party. Jonathan, Gabby, and Lauren, plus Jonathan and Gabby’s siblings, made for an effective smokescreen when the questions got to be too much. They also allowed me to formulate what to do to try to fix this.
Damian raises an eyebrow.
“Can I come in, at least? Or would you rather do this in the hall where anyone can interrupt us?” I let out a nervous laugh.
As though to prove my point, laughter and talking comes from the direction of the elevators. He looks me over, his expression dark and unreadable, then steps back and pushes the door open in silent invitation.
Okay, invitation might be overstating it, since he’s obviously still upset. Would his reaction have been this bad if I’d gotten to tell him on my own terms? Not that it matters now. This reality is the one I have to deal with. What-ifs have never done me any good.
Damian stands in front of the door, his arms still crossed, staring at me and not saying anything.
Nerves zing through me, and it’s not the good kind like I get before a performance. My hands are clammy and trembling, and I twist my fingers together in an effort to control them.
“Can I sit?”
“If you like.”
I pull out the heavy armchair in front of the desk and turn it to face him. Smoothing my skirt under me, I sit and fold my hands in my lap. Raising my chin, I give him my best professional face. “So. You said earlier that you don’t feel like you know me. I would argue that you know me better than everyone here except maybe Jonathan, and that’s only because we’ve known each other for years. But how I feel about it isn’t the point right now. Your feelings are.” I swallow hard. “Ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer as fully and completely as I can.”
He snorts.
“I will,” I insist quietly.
“And what’s the point of that?”
My mouth opens, working briefly before I come out with words. “To help you feel like you know me. Because you do. But you want more details. So I’ll give you all the details you want.”
He studies me for a moment, and hope swells inside me. I don’t really like answering questions, but I’ll do it. For Damian, I’ll answer any question, no matter how painful the answer. He has to see that I’m serious about this.
But he lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “I can just Google you if I want details, can’t I? What difference does it make? And I don’t know if you could give a complete answer anyway. You’re too used to holding back and deflecting. I didn’t realize that’s what you were doing before, but looking back, I see it. Everywhere. Every interaction was full of deflection.” He waves a hand at me, encompassing my entire person. “Even now, you’re putting on that face, the closed one you get when you’re forced into talking about something you don’t like.”
“I don’t know—”
He gives me a sad smile. “Yes, you do. I’m sure you’ve had years of media training, and it’s second nature now. But me? I don’t have that kind of need to hide and deflect and hold back. I’ve been all in from the beginning. To find out it was one-sided? That I invested everything, and you’ve only invested, what? Maybe fifty percent? Less?” He shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Charlie. I can’t do this anymore.”
“No, Damian. Please.” I stand up, taking a step toward him. “It’s not like that. I’m just as invested as you are. You have to believe me.”
He closes his eyes and turns his face away, taking another deep breath. “Believing you is too risky, Charlie. Being with you is too risky. For me.”
My heart freezes in my chest. It’s a lump of ice, painful and cold, and with each beat, it cracks. And cracks. And cracks. Soon, it’ll shatter into a million pieces.
If I’m too risky for Damian, then I can’t be here when that happens. I won’t shatter in front of someone who doesn’t care enough about me to listen. To let me try to make this right.
I manage to suck in a breath, wheezy and harsh. But I swallow, closing my eyes for a second, willing myself to stay calm enough not to scream or sob or break. I won’t break. Not here. Not yet.
When I open my eyes, Damian’s solemn face stares back at me. I give him a small nod. “Okay. I’ll pack my things, then. I already upgraded our tickets home to first class, but I’ll …” I give him my best impression of a smile and wave a hand in the air. “Never mind that.”
Turning, I unplug my charger from the bedside table first, and when I turn back around, he’s moved out of the way, standing in the corner by the TV, giving me free movement around the room to gather my things. That small act of heartless courtesy almost makes me start sobbing. But I blink back my tears and swallow down the wail that wants to wrench free of my throat.
Quietly, calmly, I gather my clothes and pack them in my suitcase, then move into the bathroom, pack everything there, and gently press my toiletries case into my suitcase as well. The whole process only takes about ten minutes.
Zipping my small suitcase, I stand it on end and pull out the handle before picking up my garment bag and draping it over my arm.
Damian has his glasses on now, and he’s standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets.
I give him another smile. “Goodbye, Damian.” I’m proud of myself for how calm, how steady my voice sounds. Turning to the door, I pull it open and pause, taking a breath.
All hope that he’d stop me dies as the door closes hard behind me. The only thing missing is the sound of the bolt clicking into place.
I’m sure he’ll wait a few minutes before doing that. He’s nothing if not polite. Even as he devastates me.
But I’m still not in a safe place. I need to get away. Away from here. From prying eyes and ears. I head for the elevators and pull out my phone. I’ll hire a car and head for the airport. Change my flight and head back to Spokane tonight. Or call my assistant and have her get my plane ready.
That.
That’s what I’ll do. No reason not to use it now. The story that I’m out of hiding will hit the internet tonight if it hasn’t already.
My ability to hide in plain sight is over.
Time to face whatever my next steps need to be. But first I need to have a good cry and put myself back together.