22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Noah
" Y ou're out of your mind, Noah, if you think I'm going to share a bedroom with you," she screamed at me. Sweet Stella was no longer sweet. However, she still made me hard. This Stella was, as she kept telling everyone around her, out of fucks.
"Sweet, we have to keep the pretense up. We have cleaners, we have people who may come and go, we can't—"
"Lots of couples have separate bedrooms," she countered, her arms crossed, fury written all over her face.
She'd been pissed that I had moved her out of the condo because she would have wanted to pack her own things. I didn't know why anyone would want to pack and unpack their own shit, but I did tell her that she could knock herself out on the unpacking.
She was enraged that her father had called and announced that the engagement party would be at the Hunt mansion the following Saturday.
She was angry as hell about how the gardeners had messed up her tea roses by pruning them all wrong.
And because I was confident that she must be starting a period (the hell with being a sexist pig), she was furious that the pH of the swimming pool was not right. The fucking pH! Who had pH strips with them to check that? No one except neurotic women like formerly Sweet Stella.
I was enamored with the woman I met months ago with revenge on my mind, and now I was even more smitten with this outta fucks version of Stella as well. She had a spine. She was sassy. She was strong. She also hated my ass.
"I can sleep in the guest room," I finally gave in.
"Good."
"But we pretend we're sharing the master," I added.
"What the fuck ever." She all but stormed out of the living room when I called out to her.
"Sweet—"
"And stop calling me that. I have a name. Stella. Use it." Her back was turned to me.
"Sweet," I persisted, "what can I do to make you less angry with me?"
She turned around her eyes wet and blazing fire. "You can take me back in time and never have met me," she said.
There were other things I would do if I got my hands on a time machine, none of them would be not meeting Stella.
"I can't change the past. I can only make your present palatable and, hopefully, improve your future," I told her somberly.
"What do you want from me, Noah?"
She sounded so tired that it broke my heart. If I told her what I really wanted, she'd knee my balls and run like the hounds of hell were after her.
"Nothing from you, Sweet, but I want to give you something," I explained. "I know there's no fixing us, but—"
"There is no us, you asshole."
She never swore the entire time we were dating, but now, F-bombs and curses tumbled out of her like cherry blossoms in spring. This was because of me. A wonderful, soft woman had become hard and angry. How could I make up for any of this?
"Stella, we probably have to live together for a good six months—"
"No. We can break up in two months. That's—"
"Not believable. We have to get through the elections so people will lose interest in your father and, consequentially, you."
Her shoulders slumped. "Why is all this happening to me? I've never hurt anyone. I keep to myself. I don't court the media. I stay out of everyone's way. What have I done to deserve this? Deserve you?"
I wanted to reach out and hold her, comfort her, but I was the evil that had spun her life out of control. I didn't get to make her feel better about it.
"You did nothing," I assured her. "You fell in love with a bad man who knew how to get to you."
She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. "I knew everything about you when we met, Stella. I knew what music you liked, what books you read, what shoes you liked to buy, whether you preferred whole or 2% milk, everything."
She glared at me, disbelief and pain written on her face.
"Was anything between us real?" she asked, the fight leaving her.
"Most everything," I admitted, "except my reason for meeting you. I hadn't expected a sweet and beautiful woman. I thought you'd be arrogant and spoiled, dabbling at Savannah Lace with your father's money."
"I thought you knew Nina."
I wanted so much to touch her. Hold her. God! It killed me to see how I'd hurt her.
"I do, and I know she'd never work with you if you were a dilettante. But to do what I had to do, I had to believe you were someone I could use without remorse."
She gave out a harsh laugh. "Use being the operative word."
"Stella, I don't even know how to apologize."
"That's okay, Noah, because I swear to God, I wouldn't know how to forgive you."
After that, she stormed away. I heard her shut the master bedroom with a loud slam. I ran both hands over my face, feeling enormously exhausted by the day's events.
My phone rang, and I almost didn't answer it when I saw the caller was Luna. But I had a feeling Stella had probably turned her phone off again .
"Luna," I greeted her.
"You sad sack of shit," she began.
I had told Nina to talk to Luna and Aurora so we could portray our relationship as authentic. We didn't need speculation that we were making it up to protect against the fallout, no matter how true that was.
"Well, hello to you, too." I walked out of the house. It was early evening, and Stella's garden was beautiful. I sat on a comfortable bench by a small waterfall.
"How is Stella? We saw the interview. This is some bullshit, Noah."
"Stella is fine, Luna. She's resting right now."
"How could you?" Luna bellowed.
I had no answer for that, so I let her lay into me. I understood her need to defend her friend's honor.
"Tell Stella to call Aurora and me 'cause we're fucking freaking out." She didn't wait for my response and hung up.
I went up to the closed bedroom door and knocked.
"Come in." Her voice was faint.
I opened the door, and my heart, which was already in tatters, broke some more. She was in bed, under the summer duvet. Her eyes were swollen. She had been crying. Sobbing, more like it, and had fallen asleep that way.
"Hey." I couldn't help myself and, even though I had no rights, sat next to her.
I stroked her hair off her face, and she let me, probably because she was still half asleep.
"Baby, Luna and Aurora want you to call them."
"Don't wanna." She sounded like a sullen, tired child, after an epic tantrum.
"You hungry? Thirsty?"
She sniffled. "We got vodka? Wine?"
I chuckled. "You want to get good and drunk, Sweet?"
"Don't call me that."
Like I said, no rights . "Okay." I touched her cheek, and to my horror, tears rolled down her face. I wiped them, feeling like slime, which I was.
"I want to go to sleep and not wake up," she whimpered. "I just don't want to wake up anymore."
Fuck this. I settled into her bed, leaning against the headboard, and pulled her into my arms.
"Don't say that, Stella. You have so much to live for, Sweet. So much. Don't let me take that away from you."
"I have nothing." Her voice was ragged with pain. "Nothing. I don't know who I am anymore."
"You're the sweetest, warmest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. You're kind and generous. Loving and—"
"Foolish. So fuckin' foolish, Noah."
I kissed her hair. "No, you're loving. I am the fool. I am the heartless asshole who didn't take care of you."
"When will it stop hurting?" she asked forlornly, her face buried in my neck, her tears making my T-shirt damp.
I didn't know how to answer that question. "How can I make it hurt less, baby? Tell me, and I'll do it."
"Make me stop loving you," she pleaded.
I didn't deserve it. I really didn't. But there was nothing I could do about the feeling of euphoria that surged through me at her words. If she loved me, I had a chance. If she loved me, I could get her back. If she loved me, I would win her, keep her, take care of her because, motherfucking hell, I loved this woman.
"How about I convince you of my love instead?" I asked, taking a chance.
"I don't want you."
I stroked her hair. I understood. I'd fucked it up but good. How could we ever be intimate again without her worrying about cameras and how I'd use them against her? How could we get past my betrayal?
"That's okay. I want you enough for both of us."
She pulled away then, and looked at me with swollen eyes. Misery on her face. "What's this new game you're playin' at?"
I touched her cheek and let her see what I couldn't hide anymore. My sorrow. My grief.
"I'm done playin', Sweet. I just want to hold you, give you some peace."
She shook her head. "I'm too broken, Noah. My father. My brothers. You. All the people I ever trusted in my life turned against me. I've got nothing left to give. My heart is too broken to take in anything."
In the past few months, I saw Stella become a shell of the woman she used to be, and now, up close, I could see the damage I wrought upon her.
"Yes, you do. I know you do," I desperately tried to convince her.
She got out of bed, her shoulders slumped. "Three months. That's it."
"That's what, Sweet?"
She walked to the bathroom and didn't turn around. "We do this for three months, and then I move to someplace else. I build a new life."
I wanted to tell her that three months wouldn't be enough—a lifetime wouldn't be—but she was past listening. The vulnerability she'd shown me just a few moments ago was gone.
I dropped my face in my hands, and waited for the onslaught of emotions to pass.