4. Damsel in Distress
Ipush through the front door of the cabin, two paper bags filled with groceries in my arms. The first thing I see is Faye bent over the TV, her wedding gown sprawled behind her, fiddling with the antennae above the screen. The set is on, displaying only a mass of black and white squiggly lines.
A headache threatens to split my head in two.
“What are you doing?”
She looks back at me, her eyes wide and frantic. “I need the TV to work. Can you fix it?”
I dump the groceries on the couch, my headache compounding. Why is it so damn difficult to get this woman to listen?
“I told you,” I snarl, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to start watching news about your wedding just yet.”
Her shoulders are trembling. “Well, Kevin thought I should. Apparently, my dad is giving a press conference.”
That surprises me. I would have expected any member of her family to at least try to track her down before speaking to the press.
“Doesn’t mean you have to watch it, though,” I point out.
Her shoulders are trembling, this time with what looks like barely suppressed anger. “I needto know what they’re saying about me.”
My own irritation is mounting. “Now I’ve got to understand why you’re this obsessed with what a bunch of strangers think about you.”
She stomps her foot. “Those strangers are my fans. The ones that like my music. They are the reason I have a career. I can’t just keep calm when I don’t know what they think of me.”
I can’t hold back a smirk. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. The impressionable women you sing to are going to love you no matter what.”
Faye lets out an actual growl. I raise my brow. Where does she get the gall to act annoyed?
“I’m not helping you fix the TV.” My initial reason still stands. But now there’s a current of anger flowing through me, one that is desperate to seek retribution for how badly she’s getting on my nerves. “So, when you’re done failing at that, you can come get some food and go to bed.”
Bed. The pain in my head winds up a notch. I hadn’t even thought of that yet. My cabin has only a single bedroom, and I’m not the biggest fan of sleeping on the couch for a girl I don’t care much about.
“Fine,” she spits through gritted teeth. Turning back to the TV, she fiddles with it some more. I roll my eyes, torn between exasperation at her bull-headedness and amusement at the fact that this ditzy little princess actually thinks she knows enough about archaic TVs to get them to work.
Just then, the black and white blurry lines vanish, only to be replaced by a clear-cut image of a reporter on the E! station.
No way.
She turns back to me, not hiding her disdain. “I don’t know what your problem with me is, but your assumptions are wrong. I was dirt poor until I was eighteen. We lived in project housing and the only reason we’re comfortable now is because I worked my ass off. So, yeah, I know how to handle a TV from a previous century.”
How is it possible to dislike someone and be impressed by them at the same time?
I wasright, I think as she reaches for the remote, I’m going to regret this. I am regretting it already, but not for the reasons I thought earlier. I assumed Faye Strummer was going to be the epitome of a spoiled brat, ordering me around and complaining about the lack of dairy and gluten-free options in the cabin. I even prepared myself for that kind of behavior during the long ride over.
What I didn’t expect was the strong-willed young woman doing anything other than playing the role of the shallow girl I pegged her to be.
Alsodid not expect that holding her for a few seconds would cause me to combust.
I think back to the moment in front of the cabin and berate myself. I got turned on real fast. Before meeting her, everything about Faye downright irritated me. And now, even the sight of her in a wedding gown is oddly alluring.
How the hell am I supposed to go the next few days locked in this tiny cabin with her without losing my mind?
I have not figured out an answer to that question when Faye unmutes the TV and the reporter’s voice resounds through the room.
“. . . think this means for Faye Strummer in terms of her career?”
This is a bad idea. Yet, I can’t help perking up and focusing on the screen. Faye, on the other hand, goes rigid as she stares at the immaculate, synthetic broadcasters, their artificial cheer grating at me.
“No one can predict anything yet.” The cameras flash to another news anchor, a pink-haired man with a drawling Texan accent. “But what we do know is that this is the greatest pop scandal of the year. Imagine good ol’ Faye Strummer actually being the one to set X ablaze tonight.”
“Well, she was going to set the whole world talking anyway,” the first reporter says with an unkind little chuckle. “It was revealed only last week that Alexander McQueen spent a year working on her wedding dress. Everyone was dying to see that.”
Faye’s shoulders are heaving as she breathes hard. I look over at her, feeling the first stirrings of compassion. Everything about her drives me insane, but I’m starting to understand why this is so difficult for her. Nothing an entertainment channel says has the potential to ruin a hockey player’s livelihood, but it’s quite different for a musician. Being a singer who has spent her whole career singing about love and then running from her own wedding isn’t helping her brand at all.
The female reporter straightens up a second later, looking excited. “Well, well, well! News reaching us right now is that Faye’s father and manager, Dave Strummer, is ready to dial in and give us the scoop.”
“We heard he’s been making a lot of statements over at other news channels,” the pink-haired man adds. “But I’m not ready to believe anything until I hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Looks like we’re going to have that opportunity.”
The screen splits in two, and Dave Strummer comes into view. My eyes narrow as they settle on him. He looks nothing like her, with graying black hair and a pouchy face, but that’s not the only surprise. I’m almost astonished by how relaxed he appears. His lips are fixed in a thin line, and tension marks adorn his forehead, but that’s about it.
I think of my own father, how much of a fucking mess he would be if my sister suddenly disappeared and didn’t leave word of where she was going. This man looks inconvenienced at best, like he’s only concerned about the management side of things and has not spared a single thought to the fact that he’s missing a daughter.
I glance at Faye. Her face is a mask of worry, and her fingers are slightly trembling. “C’mon, Dad,” she mutters under her breath. She doesn’t seem to notice that her father looks way too composed for the situation at hand.
“Nice to meet you, Dave,” the female reporter chirps, smiling at him. “Let’s cut right to the chase. How’s Faye?”
Dave pauses. A long pause. And then he states in a cool, poised manner, “She’s good. A little embarrassed though, what with all of the commotion she caused today.”
I raise my brows. Faye gives a sudden jerk but remains silent.
“Can you tell us more about that?” the man presses. “Why did she run away?”
Dave’s lips grow even thinner. “She didn’t run away.”
My brows go even higher as I look at the runaway bride in front of me.
“My daughter can be a bit of a romantic.” He gives off a chuckle that sounds so obviously fake that I’m surprised the news anchors don’t react. “She’s been planning this wedding for years, and the whole world has been along for the ride. But a few things went down this morning that made her believe it was wise to put it off for a while.”
“A . . . while?” Faye mutters, her voice thick with disbelief.
I’m even more confused as I look back at the screen. Whyin all the universe is her father saying any of this? Sure, the cheating fiancé might make her look pathetic, but it would ensure that her fans remained solidly on her side. Surely that’s the point of his business?
“What things?” the female reporter asks.
Dave gives another, even faker laugh. “For one, our photographer’s flight got canceled.”
Faye is trembling again. “No, no, no.”
“Ouch,” the male reporter says. “Now, I get that. Because ifmy photographer got delayed at my wedding, I would totally call it off. But I’m certain there was a backup or two somewhere in that massive venue.”
Dave frowns. “Yes, but Faye has long dreamed to work with that particular photographer, so she wasn’t happy about that. There were other things, too. The aisle was lined with roses and not lilies. Oversight from our wedding planner. And her chief bridesmaid got a huge stain on her dress. Faye was determined to walk down the aisle with her sister, and that kind of hampered things.”
The reporters are silent. From their expressions, I can tell they are thinking the same thing: Bullshit.
“I guess, we can say a lot of things went wrong,” Dave says after the awkward pause. “But look, you don’t know my daughter. There’s only so much you can actually know hearing her sing and go on a couple of interviews. Only I understand how much she loves love, how she’s been looking forward to this day her whole life. Her wedding has to be perfect.”
Do his words ring painfully untrue and detached to everyone else too?
The pink-haired guy gives an awkward chuckle. “Well, I guess the celebrities who flew in from around the world to attend the wedding might take some solace in that.”
Dave’s frown deepens. “We are surrounded by a host of kind, supportive people who understand what we’re going through and want nothing more than to show up for us in any way they can. Right now, Ben and my daughter are devastated that they couldn’t get married today, but they know for sure that it’s going to happen soon.”
“Yeah, well,” the female reporter says, “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Strummer. Send our regards to Faye.”
The call disconnects, and both anchors focus on the audience.
“I know I said I’d only believe it when I heard it from her father,” Pink Hair says. “But . . . wow.”
“Yeah. If her dress suddenly caught fire or she fainted just before she walked down the aisle, I guess everyone would understand the sudden change of plans. But to abruptly stop a wedding that cost about half a million dollars just because you wanted lilies instead of roses and your dream photographer canceled? Kind of bratty, if you ask me.”
“X does not disagree,” Pink Hair says with barely suppressed glee. “It’s going wild. Here’s a post now.” The screen flashes with the message, “I’ve adored Faye since I was sixteen. Always thought of her as the perfect celeb musician. Didn’t know she’d turn out to be one of those stuck-up bitches who has no consideration for anyone but herself.”
“I sympathize with the writer,” the woman quips. “It’s been eight hours since the wedding was officially canceled, and Faye has still not released an official apology for how it went down.”
Pink Hair chuckles. “Don’t be mean. She’s probably still weeping about the flower situation.”
As both of them start to guffaw, I decide I’ve had enough. Crossing over the room, I switch the TV off. I expect her to argue, but she doesn’t. She merely stares down at her feet with red-rimmed eyes.
“So . . .” I say, after a few seconds of silence. “Any guesses as to why your dad just painted you out to be a spoiled flower-obsessed brat to the whole world?”
I still don’t care about the woman in front of me, but what just happened is quite intriguing.
Faye looks up at me, her eyes filled with pain and confusion. “It’s all a lie,” she says, her voice a mere whisper.
“Hard to believe, but I can tell.” The irony is that if I had not met Faye today, I would probably be guffawing right along with those reporters, certain that she was about the biggest brat in the world.
But her reason for fleeing from her wedding is absolutely justifiable, one that would have garnered a hint of sympathy, at least. Not whatever this is.
“No, you don’t understand.” She’s trembling from head to foot now. “It’s all a lie.”
I give her a blank look.
“It’s all a lie.” Her voice is getting even louder. “Everything. The stupid little songs I sang for Ben when I felt nothing. Everything I said in all of those interviews I gave. This whole, foolish wedding.”
My brows knot in confusion. “You’re not in love with We—Bran?”
“Ben,” she snaps. I feel a hint of irritation at the fact that she’s correcting me when her life is falling apart. She turns back to the TV, panting slightly. “And now my dad has gone online to make me seem like an idiot because he wants this wedding to happen, even though he knows that Ben is cheating. He wants me to suck it up for the team and keep living this sad little lie.”
I’ve never been more disoriented. What on Earth is going on? Has Faye Strummer been living a fake public life all of these years? Why?
Her panting has turned into deep, heaving breaths, and it sounds like she’s on the verge of a panic attack. “I want out.” She’s practically screaming now. “I want out of it all. My father lying, everyone hating me, those songs I sing without meaning them. I hate them. And I hate this stupid fucking wedding dress. I hated it from the moment I tried it on.”
I glance at the white monstrosity.
Now, there’s something we can agree on.
“I hate it, and I want out of it. NOW.”
As I watch, she reaches behind her, tugging something at the back of the dress, panting so heavily her entire face turns mottled red.
“What are you . . .?”
The dress slips off her bodice, hurtling downward. In the next second, it’s pooled around her feet.
I let my gaze trail slowly upward.
Her legs are a smooth expanse of unblemished, olive-toned skin that go on for miles, stopping at her hips. She’s wearing only a pair of lacy panties and a tight silk corset that does nothing to hide her abundant cleavage.
My throat closes up so tightly, I’m surprised I don’t collapse from the lack of air.
Now, I’m really starting to regret this.