Chapter 14
Charlie managed to keep himself from texting Laura for three whole days after their wedding reception. He had a good excuse—the production company needed to prep for a shoot in Chile. They left the morning after Carmen opened.
Before the party, he’d been hoping to leave the country as a married man—not just on paper, but for real. That wasn’t going to happen now. He knew it in his bones that Laura would never truly open up to him. She would let him do anything he wanted with her body. He could coax a million orgasms from her, but the only way he would ever make her cry was because he made her body feel good.
When he gave in and tapped a few words out on his phone—Lola invited me over for dinner. Is it okay if I come?—he felt like a damned chump. He was a beggar for her attention. Even though he’d told himself that he didn’t care that she’d left before he woke up the morning after the reception, that it was better that she didn’t see him as he was falling apart, it had been like a boulder sitting on his chest to find her side of the bed cold.
She’d wanted to leave so badly that she hadn’t woken him up for a ride home. Another motherfucker had seen her in that dress, just fucked and soft like morning. He couldn’t fucking stand it.
And it had been all his fault. He didn’t know why he had let her see his frustrations the way he had. It was as though he was addicted to her and she was indifferent to him.
The production budget spreadsheets in front of him blurred together. He’d been producing unscripted television for so long that he could set up a budget in his sleep. But, for the past three days, he’d been having trouble concentrating on the most basic tasks.
Maybe he should hit the gym before he headed over to Laura’s place. She hadn’t responded to his text—he jumped every time his phone lit up—but he had to see her. He’d held out for as long as he could, and he was done.
He just had to make it for another forty-five minutes or so. He could do this.
The next time his phone buzzed, he snatched it up, sure it was a text from Laura. No dice. It was an e-mail notification. The article from Ocean Drive was ready, and Phil had agreed to give them a first look after he and Laura agreed to have a photographer at his house. Charlie only had to chase the guy out of the master bedroom once.
He pulled up the article and scanned through. It was mostly about the Miami City Ballet, and he’d nearly waxed poetic about Laura and her dancing. His chest filled with pride. He didn’t even try to resist flipping through the pictures.
His wife was gorgeous. She’d worn this red dress, which was almost a longer version of her costume for the show. It skated over her curves like a lover. When he saw himself, he paused. No one looking at that picture would doubt that that man loved that woman. She was inscrutable, but he wore everything in the way he gazed at her, the way he gripped her waist. Just looking at the photos had him remembering the way she’d smelled that day.
He was in love with Laura, and he’d done nothing to stop it. The floor beneath him seemed to give way to new ground. Years and years of trying to become a responsible adult were all wasted because he’d crashed headlong into love with a woman who didn’t want him. He’d been crazy to think that they could make a real go of it. Even though his tenacity had given him a very nice life—now in a legitimate business, he couldn’t treat his personal life that way.
He couldn’t just decide he wanted to be with Laura and have her fall in love with him. Tired of looking at himself mooning over a woman who wouldn’t let herself love him back and the orgasms he could give her, he switched back to the article. About three-fourths of the way through, Phil mentioned the tapes and the aftermath. He also had the balls to mention his estrangement from his father. Most articles mentioned the former, but left out the latter. The salacious details always took precedence.
And, in the next paragraph, there was an actual quote from his father:
My son has always gone his own way. We’ve had our differences, but I’m glad to see that he’s turned his life around. Maybe he’s more like me than I ever thought—it took the love of his mother to really focus me. Perhaps his marriage—settling down—will bring him into the family fold. There’s a spot in New York for him whenever he decides he’s ready.
It was patronizing and awful, his father’s specialties, but that’s not what bothered him about the statement. None of it was true. He’d been focused for years now—on building his production company, keeping a low profile, feeling like he had something to offer. Laura had nothing to do with that. If anything, she’d knocked him off his game.
He should be travelling, scouting locations, coming up with concepts for new shows. He’d felt a modicum of peace when he was on planes and sleeping in hotels more often than not. This last couple of months with Laura were anything but settled. He’d been obsessive, jealous, and he’d smothered her.
But she couldn’t travel with him—like Carla and Jonah did. She had a life here, and maybe in New York someday soon. She might believe that she’d hit a dead end in her career that it was close to over. But, the way she’d been dancing lately, there was no way it was true.
The idea of losing her had him wanting to call his father and find out if that cryptic offer to work for him in New York was true. If it was, he could just go with Laura. He’d be miserable, not being in charge of his own life, but he could deal with it if he was with her.
She had years left. And he wanted that for her. But he needed to get back to being himself. He might not have ever completely fit the image of careless international playboy, but he had to get his feet back off the ground soon.
Falling deeper into love with Laura would get in the way of that. It was a blessing that she didn’t let him all the way in. Somewhere inside, he wanted his father’s approval. He was man enough to admit that. But, he wasn’t about to give up the life he loved for a woman who didn’t want him.
* * * *
Laura’s grandfather hadn’t said anything when she’d asked him to draw up divorce papers. Not even when she’d barely been able to get the words out, and some tears had leaked down her face. Knowing what she knew now about how his marriage to Lola had ended made her feel a modicum less of shame about asking for the divorce.
She hadn’t thought it would be so hard to do it. After all, she was the one who’d wanted the annulment in the first place. Wanted to erase even the idea that they’d ever been married at all. So, it didn’t make sense that she felt as though a knife was plunging through her skin looking at a legal document, one that would end a marriage that had barely even existed.
It didn’t help matters that she’d known she was going to have to do this as soon as she left Charlie’s house the morning after the reception. As she’d waited on his doorstep in the humid air for a car, she’d had second thoughts. She could have cancelled and crawled back into bed with him. Could have talked about what had happened the night before.
Maybe she should have opened up to him, told him why she was scared to be in love with anyone—much less a man who made her feel like she was on fire in a way nothing had in years.
Instead, she stuck to what she knew—routine, rehearsal, repeat. It felt comforting and awful all at the same time. She could push Charlie out of her mind when she was busy. But, as soon as she stopped, he was right there. And it was just another reason why they couldn’t work in the long term.
It wasn’t until she read the final version of the article in Ocean Drive that she realized the extent of Charlie’s success. In just five years, his production company had gone from nothing to supplying six different television networks with original programming.
She’d known that he’d won an Emmy with a cooking show, but she hadn’t realized that he wasn’t just the money behind that show. He was hands-on with everything he did. The people he worked with practically worshipped him. She’d thought Carla liked him because Jonah liked him. And Jonah liked him because they’d been friends for a very long time. She’d believed that her cousin had overlooked The Single Guy and the whole seedy tape thing because of their job. But it wasn’t like that. Every time she learned something new about Charlie, she felt shamed by the way she’d treated him after finding out about the marriage.
Even though the decision to end their marriage was the only one that made sense, she wasn’t sure she could do it if she just went to him alone. Lola had invited him to dinner. Her grandfather/lawyer would also be there. She was sure her grandmother was thinking it was a double date. But her family were going to be there as a safety valve to make sure she went through with it.
When she had refused to tell Charlie that she wanted more from him than sex, his hurt had shown up in his gaze. It had twisted their wild chemistry together into something almost ugly. And she wouldn’t hurt him again and again. In the back of the car leaving his house, when it was too late to turn back and crawl into bed with him, she’d realized the truth—she wasn’t just afraid of turning into her empty shell of a mother, she was actually broken. She’d practiced not feeling anything for so long that she had no choice but to reject her connection with Charlie.
If she couldn’t tell him how she felt about him, she didn’t deserve him.
Lola was making arepas for dinner—one of the top five things she shouldn’t be eating less than a week before the season started. And she was too nervous to put any food in her stomach anyway. When her grandfather showed up and kissed Lola on the mouth, it was weird. But their relationship or whatever it was grew less weird by the day. Her grandparents seemed happy, and that was all that mattered. Even if they’d tried to destroy each other in the past, they had this easy way around each other that couldn’t be denied. They hadn’t discussed the fact that he’d cheated on her grandmother. That was mostly because Laura had enough issues with her own crumbling marriage.
Even though she was adjusting to the idea of her grandparents dating each other, she’d exiled herself to the living room to avoid observing any PDA, just to be safe.
When the door chime rang, signaling Charlie’s arrival, she jumped off the couch and ran to the door. She should have let Lola answer it because Charlie looked amazing. He was freshly showered, and his hair was still wet. He wore one of his designer suits—the kind that she would have thought were slick and sleazy if they weren’t on him. His white shirt showed off his tan, and was unbuttoned enough that she could see his chest hair.
The urge to touch him was overwhelming. She could almost feel the press of his body against hers as she repressed the desire to hug him. Her lips burned from the desire to kiss him. And his gaze seemed to eat her up in the same way she was living again because he was here.
It had only been a few days, but her body craved his like a drug.
She stood, holding the door open, for too damned long. He didn’t say anything, and it seemed to her that he was as affected by seeing her again as she was seeing him. It wouldn’t make it any easier to tell him that they were going to be over before they planned to be knowing that he still wanted her even though she’d refused to give him what he really needed.
With a great deal of difficulty, she broke his gaze and motioned him inside.
“Come in.”
He nodded and entered as she moved back. The vestibule of the condo was narrow, and she didn’t move back far enough for him not to graze her breast with his arm. Or she could have moved further away, but she was too much of an addict to care.
How had this happened? None of her previous lovers had ever felt this essential before. She’d never been this connected to anyone. Maybe it was because he was exactly the wrong guy for her that she couldn’t leave well enough alone.
She wasn’t expecting him to lean over and kiss her cheek after she’d closed the door and turned back to him. It was an awkward, chaste thing that made her pulse speed up just the same.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t want you to leave the other night. Not before we talked.”
She hung her head in regret. Couldn’t meet his gaze because it would mean that he’d probably see something that gave him hope. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
His posture stiffened, and he put both hands in his pockets. They stood there for two beats, four. Until Lola stormed in to save them.
“Why are you standing in the doorway?” Lola wore a colorful apron, and her lipstick was only slightly askew. She’d probably paid enough attention to the food that dinner wasn’t burnt. “Dinner is ready.”
Charlie put his hand on the lower back as she led him into the dining area. They sat on one side of the table, opposite her grandparents. Lola talked about everything and nothing while Laura picked at her food, and Charlie demolished his. It was as though her grandmother sensed that they had so much to say to each other that they couldn’t put anything into words.
Or her grandmother was just giddy because she’d fallen in love again. Probably the latter given the number of times she and Charlie got incidentally caught up in the game of footsie played by the septuagenarian couple across from them.
It stabbed Laura in the gut every time one of them got their feet grazed in the sock-laden crossfire. She’d never expected to have that kind of connection with anyone, and it seemed to come out of nowhere. Her parents didn’t share looks that said more than a thousand texts. They didn’t have their own intimacies. But she and Charlie were starting to have that.
And it was better if it stopped now than when he asked her to give up dancing to follow him around the world. It had to be tonight so that she wouldn’t be tempted to call him on the phone when he was travelling next, just to hear him talk about his day.
When everyone—except for Laura—finished their food, she and Charlie got up to clear the table.
“Were you not hungry?” Charlie asked as she scraped her food into the trash.
“I want a divorce.” The plate he was holding dropped into the sink with a clatter, and shattered a wineglass. When he went to grab the dish, she pulled on his arm. “You’ll cut yourself.”
He rounded on her, and she expected to see something in his gaze other than resignation, but that was the only thing there. “Why do you care?”
Couldn’t he see that she was doing this because she cared about him? She wanted him to have the kind of life that he wanted, and she wanted him to find the sort of woman who could give him that life. It wasn’t her, and she would not ever allow herself to be that kind of woman. She couldn’t give up everything that made her separate from her mom—ballet—to follow Charlie around the world.
“I do care about you, Charlie.”
He ripped his hand away from her, and it felt like more of a loss than it should have been. “Funny way of showing it.”
“You don’t want me.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, afraid to look at him for fear that she would take it all back despite this being the best thing for both of them.
She’d apparently said the wrong thing because he backed her up against the counter, crowding her, filling her nose with his scent and her visual field with his body.
“Did it feel like I didn’t want you three nights ago?” He pressed his lower body against hers, and she could have groaned at how he was still half-hard and ready. “Does it feel like I don’t want you now?”
She couldn’t give in to him. One moment, she’d felt the strength of her convictions, and she’d been ready to end this before either of them really got hurt. Now, she wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and ride him to the kitchen floor. The only reason she didn’t was because they weren’t alone.
This was how powerful his hold was over her, and this was exactly why getting any more involved with him could destroy them both. She was dangerously close to falling in love with him. She might already be more than halfway there.
He grabbed the sides of her face, and lowered his mouth to hers. The way his gaze had pierced her a moment ago, she would have expected him to ravage her mouth, leaving her lips bruised and searing her skin to his. Instead, it felt as though he was drinking her in. Like he was saying goodbye with his mouth.
Maybe he was having as much trouble with words as she was, but his lips against hers were a benediction. Their tongues dancing, the grip of his hands on her hips, how tightly she grasped his shoulders. It was all so desperate, sad and moving that she wasn’t surprised when tears slipped down her cheeks. He must have tasted them because he deepened the kiss for a moment, and she could barely stifle a sob into his mouth.
He was killing her without even trying. People had already been hurt—maybe her even more than him. She wanted him, and couldn’t have him leave doubting exactly how much. He was breath and light and hope.
And she was throwing it all away for a career. What kind of fool did that make her?
Abruptly, too abruptly, he pulled away and grabbed a pair of kitchen tongs. She found a plastic bag under the sink and cleaned up the broken wineglass in silence. It took a long time, way too long.
This simple domestic task, probably being performed across the world by different couples felt heavy and meaningful. Every time he brushed against her or she him, sparks that felt like home skipped across her skin.
Every time he moved away, she tried to remind herself that hope was what got her caught up in something she couldn’t control. Hope and tequila.