Chapter 31
THE HEAT IS off in my apartment and I’m on the couch, duvet draped around me like a tent, watching Friends with a bag of Hershey’s Kisses.
Part of me wanted to finally find out what the Friends-fuss was all about, but I can’t focus at all.
My thoughts keep drifting to tonight’s interview.
There’s still a sting in my eyes from the massive crying fit that unleashed after I closed the apartment door behind me earlier.
Thank goodness I managed to hold back my tears under the watchful eyes of all those people at the bar.
They were all under the impression that Rudy and I were a couple, too.
You might describe our usual behaviour at the bar as affectionate, but that would be the understatement of the year.
Could he be involved with someone on the other side of the country? Someone he doesn’t want knowing about his New York girlfriend?
No. Rudy would never. He wouldn’t have introduced me to his parents if that were the case. Fedde never introduced me to his parents.
Maybe he’s ashamed of me? I feel pretty good about the way I look, but I’m hardly a Victoria’s Secret model.
Popping another chocolate into my mouth, I keep my eyes on the TV, but without really registering any of the images on the screen.
I wonder what models are like when they’re lovesick.
Devouring an entire bag of Hershey’s Kisses would be a kiss of death for their careers, right?
On the other hand, how many models even get dumped in the first place? It’s probably not that many.
I fantasize about what it would be like to never get pushed aside. To have a guy who’s proud of the fact that I’m his girlfriend . . .
My thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock on my door. I look up, startled. The duvet slips off of my head and a stream of cold air rushes into my improvised tent.
Emma? Rudy’s voice sounds cautious through the wood. Emma, can I please come in for a minute?
I feel the urge to take any chocolates I have left and chuck them one by one at his head, but that would honestly be a waste.
Emma? I hear again.
I angrily cross my arms and ignore him. I’m not interested in talking to that jerk. He’ll leave eventually. As I pull the duvet back over my head, my Hershey’s Kisses tumble to the ground.
Shit, I groan. Just what I needed.
Emma, you know I can hear you, right? Rudy says, sounding slightly frustrated. Will you please let me explain? It’s not what you think.
That last part makes me glance over at the door hesitantly.
It’s not what I think?
I’m desperate for all of this to be a misunderstanding. For his explanation to let us just pick up where we left off. To find out he’s not ashamed of me and doesn’t mind being seen in public together.
Please? There’s a hint of desperation in his voice now.
With a heavy sigh, I fling off the duvet and stuff my feet into the slippers waiting for me by the couch. Dear God, it’s cold. It takes me a moment to jiggle all the locks open—locks I added in fear of Kidney Karl and all the other sketchy characters living in the building—and then I open the door.
Rudy’s standing in front of me, wispy tufts of hair peeking out from under his wool hat. He’s still wearing his scarf and there’s snow clinging to his coat. He looks relieved until concern quickly rolls over his face.
Shit. Have you been crying? he asks.
No, my face is just naturally red and puffy. You’ve never noticed? I say with a heavy dose of sarcasm, as I turn away to sit back down on the couch.
He removes his hat and walks into the room, his gaze shifting from the TV to the little chocolates scattered across the floor.
I thought you didn’t like sitcoms, he says, nodding at the TV that’s still playing Friends.
I don’t, I grumble.
My sharp tone makes him flinch. A silence falls between us and I feel no desire to fill it with a monologue on snow crystals or functioning radiators. He wrings his hands with an almost pleading expression on his face.
I’m so sorry, Emma, he whispers. I never meant to hurt you.
Why did you, then?
I refuse to take it easy on him. Even when Jerry pulled up that picture of the two of us together, he flat-out denied our relationship. Or former relationship, rather.
Rudy bites his lip and swallows hard.
This is exactly what Agnes warned me about, I continue, shaking my head.
Rudy still looks remorseful, but there’s something bewildered in his expression.
Agnes? What did she tell you?
That fame does a bit of a number on people. She said she used to date Mick Jagger and—
Rudy starts to laugh. And you believed her?
he asks, sounding gob-smacked. Emma, that woman is completely out to lunch.
Last week she had a love child with Leonardo DiCaprio and the week before she was telling everyone about her passionate fling with Brad Pitt.
Please don’t believe a single word she says.
I blink. That does sound more logical than the thought that Agnes once slept with one of the world’s greatest rockstars. Though it would explain her rickety hips.
Why did you lie about us, then? I ask. I still don’t get it.
When he lets out a long exhale, his usual confidence is nowhere to be found.
I should have told you a long time ago. I didn’t mean to blindside you, he says, but I kept putting it off. I wasn’t expecting those kinds of questions from Jerry, and I didn’t know that picture even existed.
Tell me what? My voice is shaky. I have a bad feeling about this. Where is this conversation going?
He looks down for a beat, before meeting my eyes again.
My manager strongly suggested that it’s easier from a marketing perspective if I don’t have a girlfriend for at least the next six months, he explains.
What?!
As my heart hammers away in my chest, I glare at him in offence. This might not be as awful as finding out he has a family somewhere who can’t find out what he’s been up to, but the outcome is the same.
Are you breaking up with me? The words catch in my throat and I feel the tears I finally got under control burn at my eyelids again.
No! he shouts, caught off guard by my question. No, of course not. I don’t want to lose you. Shaking his head, he steps closer to me and sweeps a stray curl from my face.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. This new explanation for Rudy’s public stance on our relationship is honestly not much better than the old one.
I told my manager Sheila I wouldn’t be breaking up with you.
As a compromise, she suggested I keep our relationship under the radar so people can’t take pictures of us.
She said it’s a good move for any band with a male lead singer to let potential fans believe that he’s available, he explains.
Just for six months. That’s how long she thinks it’ll take us to make it big. His eyes light up at the thought.
There’s a knot in my stomach as I drop my gaze. So, I need to keep a low profile for half a year.
No more skating together, no more drinks. His future fans need to believe he’s single. He needs to fit right into their not-so-innocent fantasies and make them seem a lot more attainable without a five-foot-three obstacle standing in their way. Our relationship can only exist behind closed doors.
So we can’t be seen together? I ask quietly.
It’s just temporary, he emphasizes, noticing the doubt in my eyes. It’ll be over before we know it.
But what if it takes you longer to make it big?
Rudy’s gaze turns uncertain as my eyes flood with tears.
It’s only an estimate, I continue. It could just as easily take a year.
Emma . . . he says quietly, begging me with his eyes. Please . . .
We go quiet as we stare at each other. I think about Fedde and all the promises he made.
Just one more month . . . Everything will be over by then and I’ll be able to introduce you to my parents . . . In just a month I’ll be yours and yours alone.
Rudy catches the exact moment I make up my mind. His eyes become teary and he’s shaking his head in denial, like the movement might be able to undo my decision.
Nerves rage through me as my blood creates a buzzing sound in my ears. No, I say resolutely. No. I won’t be anyone’s dirty little secret again.
Rudy has trouble swallowing as a tear rolls down his cheek. His chest is heaving and a sob escapes from his throat. And then he seems to process the words I just spoke. A furrow appears on his brow.
What do you mean, ‘again?’ he says, perplexed.
Dropping my gaze, I feel blood rush to my cheeks.
Every time I remember that period of my life, I’m reminded of a version of myself that I’m far from proud of.
I heave a shaky sigh and wipe the tears from my face, still staring at a spot on the ground.
I don’t want to see the look on his face while I tell him this.
I had an affair with a married man, I mutter so quietly that I hope he didn’t hear me.
Despite myself, I quickly glance at his face to see disbelief written all over it.
What? he whispers, his voice shocked. You? That’s not the kind of thing you would do, right?
I had no clue at first, I explain. I would never knowingly get involved with someone who’s in a relationship.
We met at a grocery store. I was trying to reach a package of rice on a high shelf just as he was walking by, so he gave me a hand.
Then we got to talking and . . . we just had this instant connection.
One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was hopelessly in love.
At that last part, Rudy’s jaw stiffens and he crosses his arms.
One day I saw him downtown with another woman, so I walked up to say hi, but he was acting really stand-offish. The woman—his wife—was giving me weird looks, like she couldn’t figure out what I wanted from him. I just ended up leaving. I didn’t understand why he was acting so cold.
I give my shoulders a helpless shrug. Rudy’s stunned expression has transformed into a look of compassion.
He messaged me later on about wanting to talk and explain, I continue. He said he was so in love with me. That he and his wife were in the process of getting a divorce and that we couldn’t be seen together until that was all wrapped up.
As I take a deep breath, I use my sleeve to wipe away the last of my tears.
I should have realized he was lying to me.
I fucking saw him downtown with his wife and they seemed perfectly happy together.
I should have known. But I just ignored every rational thought because I didn’t want to lose him.
So I became his dirty little secret. I was in love with him and I accepted every single one of the excuses he used to string me along.
There were issues with the sale of the house, his wife was refusing to sign the divorce papers, .
. . You name it, he said it. And I gobbled it all up.
I kick a stray piece of chocolate while I think back to how little self-respect I had in those days.
In the end, I spotted them together on one of the city beaches, all cozied up and laughing over a bottle of wine. That’s when I realized there was no divorce. That he was just a classic cheater who was lying to me and his wife. I broke it off and that was the end of it.
Rudy’s looking at me with sadness in his eyes. Emma, you know this is a really different situation, right? Everything he did to you is revolting, but I . . . I . . . He bites his lip as he breathes out a shaky sigh.
I interrupt him softly. I just can’t do it, Rudy. Not again. I don’t want to be in a relationship that’s bound by the four walls of our apartment. I’m sorry, but if that’s one of the requirements, this needs to end here.
I try to keep my voice steady and sure, ignore my shaky hands, and choke down the lump in my throat.
Part of me hopes he’ll refuse to go along with this part of the plan.
That he’ll tell Sheila to kiss his ass—figuratively, of course.
That this isn’t what he wants either. That he’ll realize he’s good enough without all the marketing tricks.
But he doesn’t. He looks right at me, his beautiful eyes full of sadness, disappointment, and a swirl of other emotions.
I’m so sorry. I really am, he whispers. He lingers for a moment, like he’s hoping against hope that I will be the one to change my mind.
Something deep inside me wants to abandon my principles, to say that I can handle half a year of keeping our relationship out of the public eye. That laying in his arms at night is enough for now. That I don’t want to lose him.
But I keep my lips pressed tightly together. A year ago, I would have said all of those things—but not now. I know my own worth, and it’s more than Rudy is willing to give.