Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

FORTY-NINE

FORTY-NINE

Natalie

I wake up in a stupor as Easton eases out of my grip. Moaning due to the arrival of a rapidly progressive champagne hangover, I blindly reach for the bottle next to the bed.

Gulping down the lukewarm water, I pray it does the trick as memorable pieces of our private party last night come back to me. As promised, we dined like kings on succulent crab and chocolates before having a private jam session. After washing myself clean of crab debris, I joined Easton in front of the adobe-styled fireplace just as he lit the match. Cushions and pillows surrounding him for support, he pulled me to sit between his spread legs while situating my newly purchased drum in my lap. Using his skilled hands, he guided mine, which held the sticks in an effort to help me grasp the basics.

Easton kept the champagne flowing, which in turn prematurely ended my lesson when I lost all semblance of rhythm. By the time we polished off the second bottle, an overly animated version of Easton made his first appearance—a version I quickly decided was a favorite. By the time we uncorked the third, we were exchanging sloppy words and kisses, consuming the last drop on the roof of our villa. Feeling no pain, tangled together in a large chaise lounge, we stargazed while conjuring up more immediate plans for our future.

Easton’s demand for a longer honeymoon in a more exotic place had us chattering in excitement, the sky above us feeling like our only limit as we discussed the possibilities of where and when.

Sometime after, I passed out only to wake up dangling in my husband’s arms as he carried me to bed. During the night, we’d stirred at the same time and reached for each other in the dark. It was as if our bodies were aware of our need for the other before our senses kicked in. When they did, we collided into motion, hands exploring, tongues dueling as we made love until dawn crept into our room. A mental snapshot of Easton hovering above me, bathed in the blue morning light flits in just as he calls for me to wake up from somewhere in the villa. I groan in reply and move to sit, head screaming.

It’s the muffled sound of Joel’s voice that has me coming to, just before a door slams. Easton’s curses precede him before he stalks back into our bedroom.

“What’s going on?” I groan as the thumping reminder of the amount of champagne we ingested continues to batter me.

“Baby, get dressed,” Easton orders, the alarm in his tone putting me on guard.

“What is it? What did Joel say?” Tightening the knot on my resort-provided terry cloth robe, I walk over to my suitcase and fish out my last clean pair of panties. I slide them on and turn to see Easton pulling on a pair of jeans as the reality of today’s dreaded task sets in.

We’re set to jet out of Sedona later this afternoon on separate planes with the intent to explain ourselves to our parents. The night we got married—with both of us knowing full well marriage licenses become a matter of public record as soon as they’re filed—we begged the officiant to wait until the very last minute in an attempt to buy us some time.

Knowing the threat the outside world poses to us, and along with turning off our phones, Easton instructed Joel not to update us if the news broke. We both banked on the slight chance we would be able to reach our parents before we made headlines. “Easton, tell me. How bad is it? What did Joel say?”

He hastily pulls on a T-shirt, expression full of dread, just as yelling ensues outside the door. “He’s here .”

The question of who is answered when my father’s voice booms in reply to Joel’s. All the blood drains from my face as our honeymoon bubble bursts in the same instant.

“Oh my God,” I cup my mouth in horror, the impact of what’s happening jerking me into full consciousness.

“Fuck,” Easton mutters. “How in the hell did he find us?”

“He’s a seasoned journalist and very resourceful, but if he knows, that means we made headlines and—”

“—my parents know too,” Easton finishes, his venom meant for his suspect. “That motherfucker, I knew he wouldn’t sit on our certificate.”

“We could have been outed at the concert,” I say, fairly certain someone might have seen or captured our overindulgent lip-lock on the side of the stage. Anyone with footage like that would be granted a substantial payday for it.

Panicked tears threaten as I imagine my father laying witness to his worst nightmare while I scan our destroyed room, knowing the rest of the villa is in similar shape. We’d opted out of maid service to remain in our cocoon, and because we did, the state of our temporary home is damning. Forgoing a useless attempt to clean up, I rush to a nearby floor-to-ceiling mirror. Frantically running my fingers through my sex-tousled hair, I spot several unmistakable love bites on my neck and chest. Pulling my robe tighter, Joel’s voice comes in more clearly on the other side of the front door. “Sir, please, calm down.”

“Open the fucking door! Natalie!” My father’s reply elevates my panic into a full-on attack.

Don’t shut down.

Even as I imagined the wrath we were both sure to face at some point today, I never once thought it would be in this setting. Easton’s return gaze tells me he didn’t either. I’d hoped to deal with my father privately, at home, without Easton present. Panic rears its ugly head, paralyzing me as Joel and my father argue outside—their voices becoming more aggressive. Turning back to the mirror, I continue to try and wrestle my appearance.

“Beauty, look at me,” Easton commands in a level tone from where he stands a few feet away, and I lift my eyes to focus on his reflection. “No, look at me .”

Glancing over to where he stands, I find no trace of fear before giving him a firm nod. We silently exchange assurances in our decision to live permanently on this side of the glass. This is our reality now. We made it this way.

Unified, position clear, Easton heads for the door, and I trail him a few feet behind. When Easton opens it, I instantly catch my father’s eyes as they blaze down Easton’s frame over Joel’s shoulder, his features twisted in undeniable fury.

Joel stands as a human shield in the doorway, a wall between Easton and Dad as they stare off for the first time. That is until Dad’s eyes catch mine.

“Daddy,” I croak, feeling the crippling impact of the hurt and rage in his stare as Joel’s shoulders go rigid in preparation.

“Joel, let him through,” Easton says, opening the door further in invitation for my father.

“Easton,” Joel objects as Easton shakes his head and cuts through it.

“Let him through,” Easton says more firmly.

Joel glances back at him warily but relents. “I’ll be right outside.”

Easton nods, and Joel steps aside as my father’s scowl returns to Easton before he strides into the room and stops, his arctic gaze zeroing in on the bed behind my shoulder before he surveys the villa. I take in the view as he does—empty champagne bottles everywhere, clothes that were discarded in haste to get naked exactly where we left them. A slew of used room service trays cover the table and kitchen island. Dad stops between the living and dining room, chest heaving, seeming to try and collect himself while casting his gaze out the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio. His gritted first words are meant for me. “Please, put some fucking clothes on.”

His scathing order covers every inch of my exposed skin as he keeps his back to me. I make a mad dash to our room and pull on some shorts and a T-shirt before racing back to the living room. As I do, I glance over at Easton, who stands a few feet away, his expression like granite, posture guarded, which means he’s already on the defensive. Even so, I know he’s determined to keep his temper in check to try and reason with my dad—which gives me a ray of hope.

The longest minute of my life passes before Dad finally turns and shoots daggers directly at Easton. “Who the fuck does this? What respectable man does this?”

“Daddy, I’m just as much to blame,” I start as Easton speaks up.

“Your approval was never coming,” Easton relays in an even tone. “There was no way around that. But I do have respect for you, sir, and it comes from how you raised her, her core beliefs, and the incredible woman she is. Respect aside, the truth of the matter is, we both know you don’t want to know me.”

“You knew,” he clips out accusingly. “You both knew, and you did this, knowing .”

“Daddy,” I speak up in an attempt to gain his attention, and he swivels his head in my direction, his expression filled with something I never thought I’d see directed at me in my lifetime— revulsion.

“How long?” he rasps out. “How fucking long has this been going on?”

“Four months,” I admit with a shaky voice.

“How?”

“The archives,” I confess, “I was looking up old articles for the thirtieth edition and found emails between you and Stella, and so I—”

He takes a step toward me, cocking his head. “You what? ”

“I know it was wrong, but I got . . . immersed in your love story with her, and I . . .” How can I possibly explain this to him now ? No part of his current disposition indicates he’s capable of an ounce of understanding, but I press on as my worst nightmare unfolds. “I didn’t want to ask you about it because I know when it ended . . . y-you got hurt.” I catch his flinch as though every word of my confession is a physical blow. “You never told me about your relationship with her . . . I-I contacted Easton—”

“And started a goddamn fling with the one human being on earth I would forbid you to see?”

“Far from a fucking fling,” Easton defends in a clipped tone, “never was. That was the problem.”

Dad’s features distort in indignation as he turns to address Easton. “You’re walking a very fucking thin line, considering,” my father warns, his tone deadly.

“I understand you’re pissed, but please don’t come at me that way,” Easton grits out. “I’m trying here.”

“Daddy, I’m just as much to blame, more so even than him.”

Tension rolls throughout the room, and I can physically feel Easton begin to battle his temper as he speaks up. “At least give us a chance to explain ourselves. I don’t expect your understanding.”

“You better not expect my goddamned acceptance either!” Dad roars, upturning a nearby tray which crash lands on the floor. Broken dishes shatter while water runs in rivulets away from my newly-scattered, glass-embedded pink roses.

Never in my life have I seen my father lash out physically in anger, not like this . Trepidation fills me as he pins me with his glare. “I won’t fucking accept this, Natalie!” His eyes dart to Easton and back to me. “Is that why you married him?”

“No,” I speak up, finding strength in the truth. “Just the opposite. The night I married him was the first and only time since he and I met that I allowed myself to be with him without a single thought of you. I married him because he understands me. Because being with him makes me happy. Because I love him with every fiber of my being. Every minute we were together before this weekend, it was thoughts of you, of how you would feel, that kept—”

“But they didn’t stop you,” Dad rages. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

“Daddy, I tried. I tried so hard, but Easton and I, we,” I shake my head as hot tears fill my eyes and my vision blurs. “I know you know what this feels like—”

“Don’t you dare!” Dad roars, and I jump back.

“Please stop screaming at my wife,” Easton bristles, nostrils flaring, voice dangerously low, “you’re scaring her.”

“ Your wife,” Dad snarls, before immediately stalking toward him, posture threatening. “ Your wife!”

“Daddy!” I cry out in fear as Easton lifts his chin, eyes darkening, posture tensing. In that moment, I don’t even recognize my father until he stops a few feet away, hands fisted just as a lethal warning slices through the commotion.

“Take another threatening step toward my son, Butler, and I’ll fucking end you.” The entirety of the room fills with a dangerous air as the three of us collectively turn toward the front door of the villa, and all eyes land on Reid Crowne.