Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Astrid
I stopped in my tracks, frozen to the spot, not sure I'd ever be able to move again. If you'd asked me a moment ago, I wouldn't have thought I was capable of another adrenaline rush after all the excitement of the day.
But this? The nerves rushing around inside me rivaled anything I'd felt all day.
Only it was different.
Because this was Tristan—Tristan—standing feet away, my mask ripped off and torn to shreds, my anonymity gone forever.
I might as well have been naked out here on this February evening, all my emotions bared to him, the entirety of my humiliating past exposed for him to know and see and dissect.
He knew everything now. Everything.
Moving toward me like I was a wild animal, cautious, hesitant, he opened his mouth to speak. "Astrid," he said softly, my real name falling from his lips like a reverent prayer.
"What—what are you doing here?" I somehow managed to say, my voice coming out in a squeak.
Was there any chance in hell that he didn't know that his mystery woman and Astrid Stratton were one and the same? Maybe he'd just shown up at my show for some mysterious reason and wanted to chat about the good old days at St. Lucius.
Hope filled me like a balloon, but just as quickly it burst and came crashing down, slamming into me with a force I didn't know was possible.
I was wearing the dress. The dress. The very same gown he'd helped take off that night.
Of course he knew.
A chill sliced through my veins, my legs incapable of moving, let alone walking.
"Astrid," he said again when he reached me, standing in front of me, his eyes burning into me like he could see straight into the depths of my soul. "I am so sorry. So fucking sorry."
I stepped backward, stumbling a little in my shock. Those were the last words I expected to hear from him.
Faster than I could blink, his hands reached out to steady me, grabbing onto me, then sweeping me up into his arms like I weighed nothing.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
"What are you doing?" I gasped, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Not because I wanted to. Just pure survival reflex.
A truck barreled in right then, headlights lighting up the space, and I realized he'd swept me right out of the danger zone and straight into the safety of his strong body, his strides long and sure as he carried me quickly out of the loading area, away from the sudden chaos.
He didn't stop at the sidewalk though. He kept going, striding around the corner of the building, through a battered metal door marked STAFF ONLY, shouldering it open without hesitation.
What was happening to me right now?
I looked around at what looked like an unused backstage hallway, cases of water bottles against one wall, plus a bunch of folding chairs stacked in neat rows.
Setting me down carefully, he eyed me for a moment, probably making sure I wouldn't fall in these sky-high heels. Which I didn't. Thank you very much.
"Sorry I had to grab you like that," he said, his voice low and ragged. "Are you okay?"
Was I okay?
Hell no. Not even close.
His gaze darted around my face, which had to be ghostly pale, and then he grabbed two chairs, setting one behind me and gesturing for me to take a seat, before doing the same in the chair across from me.
I stared at him in the dim lighting, something about the set-up very similar to a movie or show where someone was about to get interrogated in a back room.
Despite the hammering of my heart, I realized I wasn't scared of him in that way. Even though he'd been the brains behind the biggest humiliation of my life, I instinctively knew I was at least physically safe at the moment.
My heart though? My emotions? My mental health?
They were sure to take the beating of a lifetime.
"I know you're busy," he began, his eyes still boring into me, "and you probably have someplace to be right now. But... but... I just had to see you."
With one last gasp of hope that he hadn't put it all together, I found my voice. "Why?"
Cringing, I waited for his answer as he leaned forward, a look on his face I'd never seen before, not in high school and not recently.
It was concern, regret, and pure agony all rolled into one.
Oh, he definitely knew. And that was the absolute end of my delusion.
He broke eye contact briefly, glancing down at the concrete floor, before his intense gaze swept my features. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he sighed deeply, like he carried all the world's problems on his shoulders.
And then he said something I would have never expected.
"Why haven't you slapped me yet?" he rasped. "Why haven't you told me to fuck off and get the hell out of here?"
"What?" I gasped.
I mean, he was right.
"Was this whole thing a way of getting back at me?" he asked before I could think of a response. "Not that I blame you," he quickly added. "I fucking deserve it. All of it. But there's one thing you need to know."
Was he going to tell me how sorry he was again? I had to find my voice. And quickly.
"Wait," I said. "There's one thing you need to know actually."
"What's that?"
Every part of his body tensed up, like he was bracing himself for my response, and he leaned forward even more.
Staring him dead in the eye, I inhaled deeply, then said the words that had been on the tip of my tongue ever since I'd dug out the ID in his wallet. "I will never forgive you."
He flinched, like he'd received a physical blow.
"What you did," I spit out, "was totally and completely unforgivable."
Yes, I'd finally gotten over the shock, anger bubbling up inside me, righteous, glorious anger, all those never-forgotten feelings of an overweight teenage girl rising up inside me with the force of a soul-shattering tsunami.
His eyes closed as he leaned back, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath, his lips clamping together, the intense emotion of the moment written all over his face.
Everything was unmasked now, all of our secrets laid out before us, our souls naked to each other, raw, exposed, real.
When he opened his eyes again, the pain I saw there took my breath away. Why was he in so much pain? I was the one who'd been hurt here. It made no sense and frankly ticked me off.
"You can apologize until you're blue in the face," I said, barely recognizing my own voice or the steel in it, "but it means nothing to me."
His lips still compressed, he nodded slowly, soaking in the venom of my words. "I get that," he finally said. "I really do."
Why did everything out of his mouth sound like it was leading to a but? There was no possible but in this situation.
"But?" I asked.
The barest hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. "You're so damn smart to sense that's what I wanted to say."
Nice try with the flattery, buddy. But I was currently immune to any charm coming from this man.
"Because," he continued, his face turning deadly serious again, "there is a but. Kind of. Whatever you want to call it, there's something I desperately need to tell you."
What on earth was he talking about?
My phone chose that inopportune time to ring, and I glanced down to see it was Katie calling. I didn't hesitate to pick up, wondering if there was a fire I had to put out somewhere, even though all fires should have been put out at this point.
"Katie?" I answered. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes!" Her voice was breathless. "More than okay!"
Tristan's eyes were intent on my face, the room so quiet, I was sure he could hear Katie's voice. I almost gave him a glance, a what the heck is happening glance, but then I remembered I was in the middle of telling him how much I despised him. So I didn't.
"What do you mean?" I asked her.
"I mean," she squealed, "you're going viral. Your collection is blowing up all over social media! The not sorry tag is trending everywhere!"
"What?" I gasped, not quite believing my ears.
"And as if that wasn't enough," she gushed, "you are not going to believe who I just heard from."
"Who? Who?"
Ignoring the fact that I just sounded like an owl, Katie screeched in my ear. "Nordstrom!"
"Nordstrom?" I repeated.
"Nordstrom! And they want to talk. They're asking for your line sheet and samples by tomorrow. They said the show 'felt like a moment.' Their words, not mine!"
I sat back, stunned, the air catching in my throat.
A moment.
Holy shit. I had dreamed of having a moment. I could hardly believe it.
"I know I'll see you in a little bit at the party, but I couldn't wait to tell you," she said in the stunned silence that followed.
"Oh, my God, Katie, we did it. Thank you so much."
"No, my friend. You did it. I was just along for the ride."
"Well, as I've said a million times, I couldn't have done it without you."
"Ahh, stop. I'll see you soon, and we'll toast each other."
We said our goodbyes, the giddiness in my heart fighting with the anger of before, the emotions churning and twirling like oil and water in the same bottle, unable to mix.
Glancing back at Tristan, returning to my new reality, the silence hung between us, loud, deafening, the air weighted with heaviness, despite the leaping my heart was currently doing from the big news.
He hadn't moved an inch. Still sitting in the chair, on edge, watching me like he was trying to read every emotion in my body.
"That sounded like big news," he said quietly.
"It was." I couldn't stop my smile. We were talking about Nordstrom! "That was the sound of my career hopefully doing a one-eighty."
He nodded, a soft smile lighting up his face. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thank you." Why did he have to be so handsome? And be such a good actor that I almost believed him?
My phone buzzed again, and I glanced down to see an excited text from Annalise, followed by one from Aria, both of them full of exclamation points and links to social media. They also told me to get to the party already.