47. Elouise
Elouise
I want to believe him. He sounds genuine. And as much as I don’t like admitting it, his story is believable, even if it makes him sound like an idiot. Because honestly, I could see my brother doing the same thing. Only our mom would never have just let it go .
Or would she?
Before my parents left town, Mom did make me promise to talk to Beckett.
And the more I think about that the more I wonder if she didn’t get this whole backstory the day of The Incident.
Which just makes me want to kick myself.
If Beckett is really telling the truth, did I spend the whole week hiding at Maddie’s suffering through a broken heart for no reason at all.
No, not no reason. No matter the truth, I was still put into the horribly humiliating situation of having “his wife” introduce herself to me in front of my entire family.
When we reach an empty row, Beckett gestures for me to go ahead, and I shuffle through until we’re almost to the other side. I want easy access to an aisle out of here if I decide to run .
We haven’t spoken since he bought the tickets. He just stood by silently while I created a small sign letting people know that the rest of the seats tonight were free.
I took my sweet time, so by the time we settle into our seats there’s only a few moments before the play begins.
Beckett turns in his seat, but right on time, the lights dim and the play starts, silencing him.
As the lights lift for intermission, I realize that I haven’t paid attention to a single line delivered by the young actors.
My thoughts were already a mess and then five minutes in Beckett draped an arm over my shoulders.
My first reaction was to tense against him, but he didn’t pull away.
He waited for me to relax, then he started to lightly skim his fingers through the ends of my hair, sending tingles up and down my spine and thoroughly squashing any bit of concentration I had left.
My mind just can’t settle on an answer. I want Beckett.
I want to be with him, see what this pull between us could turn into.
But I don’t want to be that woman who believes every lie her man tells her.
We’ve barely even dated, and this is already the second time I’ve suspected he was in another relationship.
Sure, the first time was me jumping to the wrong conclusion when I saw him with his cousin and nephew, but this whole wife thing is a different ball game.
And it’s not about him being married before.
I don’t care about that. Lots of marriages fail, at least this shows that he’s willing to try. But…
I shift to face Beckett, causing his posture to instantly straighten, “I’d like to see it.”
The look on his face is stuck somewhere between puzzlement and humor as he glances down to his lap.
I use the back of my hand to smack into his chest, “Not that, you idiot. The divorce papers. ”
“Ah,” his humor slips away.
Beckett removes his arm from my shoulders to dig out his phone and tap through his emails to find the right one.
With his selection made, he sets the phone in my hand.
I’ve never seen a divorce decree before, but when I zoom in the names and dates are easy enough to read. But I read through twice just to be sure.
Handing the phone back, I ask the question I need answered most, “Do you still love her?”
A guilty look crosses his face even as he shakes his head, “No, I don’t.” When I narrow my eyes, he sighs, “The relationship we had was never… healthy.”
I just give him a look, silently suggesting he continue.
He drags a hand down his face. “We were that couple. The on-again-off-again will-they-won’t-they pair. We eventually did, when we shouldn’t have, and the marriage lasted less than two years.”
“Why’d you marry her?” I can’t help myself from asking.
He shrugs. The stupid man shrugs. “It seemed like the right thing to do. We were mid-30’s, too old to keep doing the back-and-forth. She wanted to live together, I said we should be married first, she said okay, and then I found myself married.”
I snort out a laugh, “That all sounds awfully passive of you.”
The side of his mouth tips up, “There’s a reason I strive to be in control now.”
His hand over my mouth.
His dirty words in my ear.
“Are you gonna be quiet for me?”
No. Nope. Not going there. Not right now.
“So, you’re not in love with her anymore.” I state, and he shakes his head. “And you don’t want to get back together.”
“Fuck no.”
“Then why was she at your parent’s house? Does she still want you?”
He’s shaking his head before I even finish my question. “Kira doesn’t love me anymore than I love her. But she does love money. ”
“Money?” I repeat, like the idea of Beckett having a lot of money is ridiculous.
He huffs out a bitter laugh, “The irony is, her dad insisted we sign a prenup.”
My eyebrows raise, “She’s rich?”
“Not her, her dad. He was worth, I dunno, millions, and I was just starting my business. Guess he worried I’d use her to funnel all his money into my own business.
Who knows? But the result was an iron clad agreement where we’d keep our finances separate for the first ten years.
” Beckett’s smile gradually grows to a grin.
“Best decision we ever made, though Kira would argue otherwise.”
I tilt my head, thinking back through all our interactions. The times he said “my company”, how he laughed when I asked if he had a job, spending a small fortune on these damn play tickets.
“I take it your company did well?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder, “After selling off the Chicago branch, I’m worth more than Kira’s father. And that doesn’t seem to be sitting well with her.”
Millions.
I feel my mouth pop open. He’d said that other guy was worth millions.
It doesn’t matter.
I repeat to myself. Twice.
It doesn’t matter that he’s actually loaded. Like, stupid loaded. Because I don’t need his money. I don’t want his money. I just want to be with someone I can trust. And that means no more secrets. For either of us.
“I recognized her,” I blurt out.
It’s Beckett’s turn to look confused, “Kira?”
I nod, “Yeah.” I’m already regretting bringing this up.
I don’t know why it seems so much worse now, knowing what she became for him.
Even if he doesn’t love her anymore, or ever, if I’m supposed to believe that.
“From your parent’s house actually.” I nearly laugh, realizing it’s the truth. “She was at that Christmas party.”
I see when he remembers the moment I’m talking about. The moment that meant so much to me at the time. The moment his future wife ruined.
“Aw, hell.” He grips one of my hands in both of his. “I’m so fucking sorry, Smoky. For all of it.”
The sincerity in his voice weaves its way between my ribs and ties itself around my heart.
He means every word, and it’s suddenly hard to swallow.
One hand lets go, moving to cup the back of my head.
Beckett pulls me in closer, pressing his lips to my forehead, his words whispering over my skin, “I’m sorry.”
I don’t have an answer for him, not yet. And when the lights dim, letting us know intermission is almost over, I’m thankful for the reprieve.
Applause fills the auditorium as all the actors step onto the stage for a bow, and I lift my head from its place on Beckett’s shoulder.
The second half of the play was even more stressful than the first, because I believe him. His explanation. His apology. All of it.
And now I need to decide what to do next. Should I just accept his apology and move forward. Or should I just end this here? I don’t want to stop seeing Beckett, but that’s kinda the whole point. If I felt this bad after only a couple weeks, how much worse would it feel if I were with him longer?
As the clapping dies down, I lead us out of the row of seats. Following the crowd out.
I know Beckett’s right behind me because his palm presses into my lower back, infusing heat straight into my blood. And I can’t think with him this close. And I certainly can’t be trusted to make a good decision if I walk into that dark parking lot with him at my side.
I need distance from his overwhelming presence, so I have room to think .
“I have to pee!” I immediately cringe at my exclamation, but it works and Beckett pauses. “Stay here.”
Not waiting for his confirmation, I step away, slicing a path through the crowd toward the restrooms.
Then, without looking back, I let the flow of people guide my steps until I’m walking out the main doors in a sea of bodies.