Love You Always (Buttercup Hill #5)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

E lla

I take the stairs two at a time. My legs burn from the hour-plus I put in at the gym and I should probably calm down, take a breath, not jump to conclusions.

But I know the car that’s parked in my fiancé’s guest spot beneath his building. I also know the woman who drives it.

I reach the top of the stairs and let out a deep sigh. It’s a moment when I’m acutely aware of a before and an after.

And also a choice.

Callum gave me a key to his San Francisco house so I could “come crawl in bed” with him when I’m in town. Even though I’ve been mostly staying with Tatum, I’ve spent a few nights here. Guess he wasn’t planning on seeing me tonight.

The implicit understanding in his invitation was that he’d be in bed alone, and on all the other times when I’d finished up at a movie premiere or publicity event, there he’d be, clad in silky boxer briefs, his broad chest naked and muscled from hours at the gym. All of those times, I’d appreciated his attention to detail—from the time he spent honing his physical form into something anatomy professors could have used for a lesson, to the time he spent perfecting guitar solos in between tours.

I can turn back around and pretend that the press junket went late instead of ending early, allowing me to slip through his front door unannounced. Or I can confront my fate, even if I already hate that it’s been changed without my permission.

It’s not like turning around will undo the transgression if he’s in bed with another woman. It will just keep me from knowing about it for a little longer. But I’ve never been one to run away from my life, so I grab the doorknob.

Before I wedge it open, I hear the sounds of what can only be described as frantic, desperate humping on the eve of the apocalypse. How else to explain the guttural panting and moaning that makes what they’re doing sound like both ecstasy and pain?

Flinging the door wide, I find the lights on and clothing strewn all over the white carpet. Callum is such a neat-freak, prone to unbuttoning his shirts and hanging pants over a chair even in the heat of passion, that for a moment I convince myself the man grunting his way through an orgasm must not be the man I’m planning to marry in a few months. Through the fog of my revulsion and anger, I can’t help but note that Callum has never made me feel something so good that I sounded like that. Is it weird that I feel offended?

I’ve never been at a loss for words until this moment. Nope, scratch that. The words are here. “Callum, seriously. What the fuck?”

The grunting stops. The sheets flutter around, body parts untangle, and two surprised faces stare at me beneath just-fucked hair. Callum squints at me because he’s nearsighted.

Jenny, Callum’s tour manager, blinks long eyelashes that look like mini awnings that I can see from across the room. Her hair clip is askew, red lipstick smeared around her mouth, pale skin streaked with pink blotches in the shape of Callum’s fingers.

She’s normally the one who calls to tell me Callum has last-minute plans and can’t see me. I suspected she was covering for some tour bunny. Guess I should have looked closer to home.

And the worst thing about the whole situation is that I convinced myself that I could be satisfied with a marriage of convenience. I told myself I didn’t need real love as long as I stayed focused on the child I want to adopt. But this feels awful. Even if the tabloids haven’t discovered him cheating yet, I’ll always be worried about people finding out. Worried it will make my reputation look even worse. Worried it will jeopardize the adoption.

Worried I can’t go through with a magazine-perfect dream wedding four months from now. How can I pretend it’s a festive, happy event instead of a farce? Even I’m not that good of an actor.