Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

FIFTY-EIGHT “Outside”

FIFTY-EIGHT

“Outside”

Stained

Natalie

M y parents exit the limo, eyes slightly splotched but sporting matching smiles. Mom and I did our best to repair the damage done to our makeup with the emergency kit the glam squad gifted us for our clutches. I watch them ascend the carpeted stairs surrounded by waiting paparazzi and give myself a little extra time to gather my emotions.

Glancing out of the window now while they pose at the top of the entrance of the hotel for a few pictures, I prepare myself for the long hours ahead. Even with the relief of knowing my relationship with my father is reparable, for the next few hours I’ll still have to play my part in the life I used to comfortably exist in—a life before I fell in love with Easton Crowne.

Urgency continues to build for me to shift my focus on the consistently aching part beating inside me—every one of the beats filled with longing to get back to its owner. Unclasping my clutch, I check my phone to see he hasn’t replied to my earlier text, and my heart cracks a little. He’s purposefully not answering me. More punishment. Briefly, I try to imagine where he is right now in his universe and what he’s thinking.

A soft knock on the limo window has me snapping to attention to see Jonathan—looking handsome in a fitted tux—standing just on the other side of the door. Opening it, he bends down and scans the cabin of the limo before sweeping me with his gaze.

“You plan on depriving the public of this view all night?”

“No, I was just . . .”

“Stalling,” he finishes for me, eyes roaming my face before confirming my upset. Before I was shunned from the paper, Jonathan and I became acquainted enough for me to be aware Rosie’s crush assessment of him was close. Jonathan is private, but shy would be a more accurate word to describe him rather than aloof . In our short time as work colleagues—close to bordering friendship—he gathered enough about me to be aware of where my head is at. If anything, the headlines I’m positive he’s read that speculate my marriage is a nonexistent farce have undoubtedly added to the sympathy in his gaze.

“Quite the dramatic entrance you planned,” he quips, rubbing beneath my eye with his thumb and then showing me a smudge of mascara I missed before offering his hand. Scattered chatter of the photographers engulfs us when I take his offered hand, exiting the limo, plastering a smile in place.

Jonathan eyes me as we turn toward the waiting chaos. “For God’s sake, Debbie Downer, straighten your shoulders because you’re rocking that fucking dress.”

Following orders, I toss them back as he shifts to guide me toward the stairs, placing his hand on the small of my back. I glance over at him just as he leans in, sporting a devilish grin. “I was hoping for a more masculine, mascara-smeared Cinderella to save me from looking stag and pathetic. But you’ll have to do.”

Releasing a strangled laugh, I shake my head at his candor as the flashes continue to fire off while he escorts me up the stairs.

An hour into the gala, pride sneaks into me as I, along with several others, watch my parents dance. Dad smiles down at Mom as they sway on the floor, his eyes filled with intimate amusement at whatever she said. The look he’s gracing her with is a telltale sign of a man who knows the details of the woman he’s holding because of the time he’s spent memorizing her. I know this because my husband looks at me much the same way. Immersed in the other in those few seconds, they seem completely unaware they’re being admired by those surrounding them.

How could I have been so fucking blind?

Maybe their story and beginning wasn’t as much of a fairytale as what I perceived in those emails—or perhaps it was. Just because I’m not privy to the details of their beginning doesn’t make it any less substantial.

No matter how they started, they’ve solidified their lives together for nearly a quarter of a century, and blind to it, I didn’t have enough faith in them to keep my curiosity from harming something they hold sacred. A marriage I’m sure they fought for over the years to keep together.

Remorse consumes me as they continue to dance surrounded by friends, colleagues, and Speak employees. As I watch, I wonder if I would have been satisfied if I had witnessed them in this capacity, just after discovering the emails.

Can I even regret what I did now?

Yes, but only for the hurt it caused.

Regret Easton? Never.

My phone buzzes repeatedly in my purse, and I ignore it, knowing Easton has to be prepping for his show. Everyone else can wait. Grabbing a glass of passing champagne, I toss it back, determined to get some enjoyment out of the night I’d planned down to the last detail for months. When Jonathan’s eyes catch mine from across the dance floor, his expression bleak as he lifts his cell phone up, I realize he’s the one texting.

Frowning, I set the glass down on a linen-covered high top and pull my phone out to see the link Jonathan sent. Clicking on it, I sway in shock and fear when a damning picture of Jonathan and me out front of the gala pops up. Bracing myself on the high top, I take note of every incriminating detail—his hand on the small of my back, face inches from mine, not to mention the smile we’re sharing. Every point of focus condemning even before I scan the scathing headline.

Is the newly Crowne d media heiress already stepping out? An inside source reveals why being the wife of a rock star isn’t a fit for Hearst Media’s princess.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck .

Rushing toward the balcony doors adjacent to the ballroom, I feel the weight of the implication of the picture hit me as I continually study it. Jonathan and I look smitten. Dread circulates through me when another notification banner shows two missed calls from EC . I immediately hit it, dialing him back while I glance around, thankful no one is in clear earshot. He answers on the first ring. The call seconds start to tick by without a word spoken from him as I jump right in.

“Easton,” I breathe. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I thought you were getting ready to go on stage.” I swallow as fear threatens to steal my words. “If you saw that picture—”

“Are you with him?” The accusation in his voice rips through my chest. His simmering anger last night has now turned to fury. “Answer me!” he growls.

“No, Easton . . . no,” I whisper. “How could you possibly believe that?”

“Have you forgotten, jealousy is new for me, and me and the green guy are not fucking getting along well at all.”

“Please don’t believe it,” I rasp.

“Looks pretty fucking believable,” he fires off, voice loaded.

“You know better than to play into headlines. I’ll admit, it’s a damning picture—”

“He’s touching you, and you’re fucking smiling at him. Is that part not true?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think.” I hear the distinct swish of liquid in a bottle and pause. “Are you drunk?”

“Working on it,” he snaps.

“Well, it’s not going to help anything and will only add to your paranoia. I’m not with him, or anyone else for that matter. You know that. You’re just angry and have every right to be, but the only man I want is berating me on the phone right now. I miss you every minute of every day. I was upset and trying to gather my wits in the limo, and Jonathan spotted me hiding. He lured me out and cracked a joke to comfort me before escorting me in. That’s all that was.”

“You’re mine to comfort! Those are my goddamn lips, lips meant to smile for me in that way. That’s my body, a body not meant for anyone else to touch!”

“Stop it,” I defend. “I shouldn’t even have to say this, but Easton, he’s gay.”

“How convenient.”

“We promised we wouldn’t let this happen.”

“We promised a fucking lot, Natalie, but I seem to be the only one keeping them.”

“Easton, I know I haven’t been fair to you.” I manage to keep my voice even as I glance into the ballroom, thankful both my parents are distracted. “I was also tearful in that limo because Dad and I . . . we’re finally talking again. He apologized to me on the way here.”

Silence.

In the ballroom, Dad cracks a megawatt grin, Mom at his side as they chat with a crowd of people. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve glimpsed from him since before Sedona. With the sight of that, I see the possibility of renewed normalcy.

“There’s a plane touching down in twenty minutes. I want you on it.”

“What?”

“Come to me, Beauty. I’m asking you to come to me.”

“That sounded more like an order,” I fire.

“So, I guess we’re only taking them from Daddy, then?”

“Stop it. Stop it. You know I can’t come to you tonight. If I do, it will ruin every bit of progress we just made.”

He barks out a laugh full of sarcasm. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Easton, you know full well my future rests at the paper and in my relationship with my father. I thought you might be happy about the fact we’re talking, just a little, for my sake.”

“You altered your future when you took my ring and my fucking last name.”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that? Easton, I’m fucking exhausted. My life has been a literal circus since we’ve been apart because I’m trying so hard to get back to you. You might not see it, but that’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re exhausted because you’re living two lives. But while you’re fixing your place with him, we’re breaking. You’re breaking me. Come to me, right now.”

“I can’t.”

Another long damning silence.

“Then I know my place. Nowhere .”

“That’s not true. You promised me I wouldn’t have to—”

“Don’t act like it’s me who’s made it otherwise,” he retorts unforgivingly.

“It is right now,” I say. “I just told you. He’s coming around.”

“For you , Natalie, not me .”

“I know you’re upset, but it can’t be tonight. This night is monumental for him.”

“For him. For him. For him . Where is my fucking wife in all this?”

“I’m here, Easton.”

“Exactly. You’re there and playing right into his agenda and letting him win.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Tell that to your fucking father!”

The price for my parents’ momentary peace fumes on the end of the line, his patience gone, an ultimatum currently taking its place. The longer the silence lingers, the harsher the exhales sound between us. “I don’t want to fight.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he scoffs. “I’m in this alone.”

“That’s not true. We agreed to give it some time. We’ve done this before.”

“Circumstances are a little fucking different now, don’t you think?”

“Of course. You think I haven’t agonized every second we’ve been apart?”

“Yet I’m sitting here forty-four fucking days later, a wifeless man. Actions, Natalie, get on the plane.”

“I can’t. Tonight, I can’t. I’ll come to you—”

“This is a joke,” he declares. “We’ve become the joke the media is fucking making us out to be. A shotgun wedding, yet no marriage to speak of. Very rock and roll and so fucking cliché. I can’t keep defending what doesn’t exist!”

“Since when do you give a shit about what the media says or even read headlines?” I retort, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Since I was forced to see my wife being comforted by another man!”

“You’re not fighting fair. Maybe I didn’t explain the importance of tonight, but it’s the—”

“You were saying goodbye to me at the villa, weren’t you?” He rasps out.

“No, Easton, God, no—”

“Then get on that plane.”

“If I do it this way, he’ll never accept us.”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

“But I do. Easton, please don’t do this,” I beg. “You’re the love of my life, and I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make it work other than to see this through. Just give me—”

“You’re fucking backpedaling. Taking the easy way out. Catering to him isn’t working. Can’t you see that by now?” His tone goes acidic as my stomach roils.

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Didn’t I love you the way you needed me to?” His voice cracks on the words, his pained breaths cutting through me. “It was so effortless for me . . .”

“I’m coming to you, I swear. Please just give me a little more—”

“Please don’t choose him,” he rasps out just as a pounding on a door sounds from his side of the line.

“I won’t choose, ever, so please don’t make me,” I beg. “He hasn’t even given his toast yet.”

“We never even lived in the same fucking place,” he whispers as his name is muffled in a shout from the other side of the door, “not even one day.” It’s then I know he’s not listening to me anymore because he’s stopped believing me. That knowledge sets the first nail against our coffin as I scramble to figure out a way to keep him from hammering it in. It’s his next words that have my heart thrashing wildly.

“You came to Seattle for me . You found me , married me, you meant it,” he utters brokenly as I crack wide open.

“I’m not denying that. Easton, our fathers nearly came to blows. Your mother could have had a stroke . . . Jesus, my father’s face, I can never forget the devastation. I’m so close—”

“No, Beauty, no, you aren’t,” his tortured voice rips me to shreds. “You’re ending us. We’re everything that matters. Please,” he begs hoarsely, “come to me.”

My tears fall rapidly as I search for the right words to stop the bleeding. I can’t blame him for his anger or his thin patience, but I can blame him for the timing.

“Easton. When I got home, things were much worse than I led you to believe. I lost my des—”

“The fuck?!” His outburst breaks through my confession, his hoarse voice incredulous when he speaks again. “You fucking drew up divorce papers?”

“What?”

A ping sounds on my phone, and I eye it to see an email notification from my father’s law firm. “Eas—”

A guttural roar sounds along with a crash before the line goes dead.