Chapter 26
“Where the hell did you two run off to last night?” Jeremy Levine paces our show-furnished living room. He’s shorter than I expect him to be, with all the power he yields at Optimax. Apparently, our stunt last night was worth enough to call the executive producer down from on high.
Kit and I sit next to each other on the tiny couch, hands folded in our laps. So close to touching, but not quite.
I think we can move on from the past that shaped us. His words won’t leave me. They’re too earnest, too full of hope. My stupid heart wants to wrap itself up in them, as if they can protect me from cruel twists of fate. It wants to believe he meant them with his whole heart. Even though I know how this ends, I find myself hoping against all hope that maybe we always were meant for each other. As if such a thing exists.
Kit subtly shifts next to me, just enough so our thighs barely touch. My eyes fall to where the heat of his leg sears into mine. I swallow.
Kit clears his throat. “The cameras got to be too much. We had to get away. I’m sorry for not simply telling that to your crew.”
“My crew is under orders to keep filming for the full day,” Jeremy fumes. His tie clip glints in the sunlight pouring in the windows as he makes another turn of the room. “They can’t put the cameras down, because it’s in their contract. Just like it’s in your contracts to be fully present while filming.”
Kit’s leg presses ever so slightly against mine. I clench my hands more tightly together and say as calmly as I can, “Being filmed for that many days a week and that many hours in a day is exhausting.”
“You think my crew isn’t just as exhausted?” Jeremy bends closer to me, to get in my face.
“Maybe they need a break too.” I clench my jaw and stare him down. I made a deal with myself a long time ago that I would never be beholden to a man, and damn it all to hell if I’m going to start now.
“They signed on for this, just like you did.” His face turns an alarming shade of red.
“I don’t know how you expect us to connect as a couple in any authentic way when—”
“You’re not the first couple to ever be on this show!” he booms, and—fuck me—I flinch. Kit’s leg presses hard into mine and his hand flies to rest on my knee. “We have been making this show for years now; we know how to match couples and have them connect on camera!”
“Mr. Levine,” Kit says in an even tone even I can’t decipher.
“And you,” he rounds on Kit. “My crew said this was likely your idea.”
“We both left.” I release my hands to massage my temples. Kit and I were so close to … something last night, and this blustering man in my living room is giving me a migraine.
“You told my showrunners that you knew each other before.” He’s in my face again, and it pisses me off. I curl my hands into fists in my lap. “Why should I believe that you’re not playing this up for your fifteen minutes of fame?”
“You will not call my wife a liar.” Kit’s demand booms in the small apartment living space. I bite my lip to hold in my gasp.
A shiver slides down my spine at the dark undercurrent in his calm request. I like it. Maybe too much. It’s all raw power and popping sparks of electricity that say mine. I shouldn’t like it, but my toes curl in my shoes anyway.
Kit wraps my fist in his warm grip. I relax my hand and mesh my fingers with his. He takes a deep breath and asks Jeremy, “How are we supposed to connect when the only time we have is in front of a camera crew?”
“We don’t pay you to connect off camera where no one can see what happened between you.”
“You don’t pay us at all,” I bite back. I still have to make money whether or not we’re filming, and right now, my designs for Fashion Week are my only hope.
Jeremy turns a shade of red that’s almost purple and opens his mouth, presumably to yell in my face again. Kit gives my hand a squeeze. “Mr. Levine, please do not yell in our home.”
Jeremy glares at him, then a disgusting grin slides across his face. “You mean the home that the show pays for.”
Kit huffs, looking away from the conversation, locking his eyes on the fridge in the kitchen, a tic in his jaw. His hand is an anchor. It’s the first time we’ve touched since holding hands in the Arts building yesterday, and it’s sending every piece of armor I put on afterward clattering to the floor.
“We will film you here as much as we need until a story appears,” Jeremy says with finality. “The story we tell on the show is about falling in love. In your case, it’s about falling in love despite whatever happened before. The longer that takes, the more footage we need. Understand?”
Oh, I understand explicitly. Connect on camera or we’ll never be off camera. Kit nods, but refuses to look at him, still.
“You both signed contracts.” He straightens his lapels. “If you run off again, I will consider you in breach of those contracts, which means you forfeit rights to any payment for damages the show may give you.”
I swallow the knot of anger in my throat, glancing at Kit. He knows I need the money from choosing divorce. We can’t afford to be in breach of the show’s contract.
“I have a wedding this weekend,” I offer. “At the Botanical Gardens.” It’s my last one for the season, unfortunately. Jeremy looks at me like I’m a child speaking out of turn. Wringing my hands, I make my point. “I can talk to my bride about letting the show film while I work. Kit mentioned he wants to see one of my dresses in action, right?”
“I do,” he offers me a smile.
Jeremy’s lips curl into that smile again as he nods. “That’s an excellent idea, Andie. Thank you.”
Kit’s jaw tics.
“While we’re at it: Kit.” Jeremy’s voice gets marginally lower and exponentially more threatening. “Part of the contract is at least one day with your family on camera with your new wife.”
Kit snaps his focus back to Jeremy, and I swallow a gasp. His eyes are brimming with something dark. It’s a look that says go there and you’ll live to regret it.
Slowly, in a low voice, Kit tells him, “I’ve told you before: my mother is sick and needs time to recover.”
I look at my hands in my lap. Am I never going to meet his mom? She’s at the center of everything Kit does, and he wants to withhold us from each other? I bite my lip until it hurts, just to stop the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. It doesn’t matter if I meet his mom; that’s not why I’m here. My heart rebels by pounding faster, shaking its fists at me in frustration.
Jeremy matches his tone. “I’d believe it more if it came from her directly.”
Kit glares at him, curling one hand into a fist in his lap and gripping the arm of the couch with the other. A vein bulges in his temple as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The two men are locked in a battle of wills, and if I strike a match, this whole room will ignite and take us all down with it.
“Kit,” I say softly. Neither of them moves or acknowledges I said a single word. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they remember I’m even here. But Kit is jeopardizing my best shot at my dream. He damn well knows that after last night.
My fingers shake as I rest my hand over his fist. It takes a moment, but he lets out a frustrated sigh and opens his hand to lace his fingers in mine. He rubs his other hand over his mouth as he breaks eye contact with Jeremy.
As he meets my gaze, I say, “We can visit her for dinner, so she doesn’t have to worry about going anywhere.”
Kit’s throat works to swallow. He opens his mouth to speak, then slams it shut again.
I squeeze his hand a bit too hard and say through a stiff jaw, “We can’t afford to be in breach of contract, right?”
He closes his eyes and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath before he looks at me again. “No,” he agrees, “we can’t.”
“Then let’s do this right.” I offer him a shaky smile. “Besides, I’d love to meet your mom.”
“Glad to see your wife at least has some sense.” Jeremy smirks.
Kit mutters a curse under his breath, then stands, hands on his hips. He’s a head taller than Jeremy, and maybe that’s the point he’s trying to make. Through his teeth, sounding exhausted, he asks, “Are we done here?”
Jeremy narrows his eyes. “Do not touch the mics again. They’re expensive equipment and I only want my team handling them. You could have cost us thousands if someone had found that mic pack in the bathroom before my team did.”
I snort and roll my eyes. The restaurant was empty specifically because we were filming there. His crew were the only ones who would have found the mic.
“Done.” Kit shoves his hands in his pockets and strides toward the front door.
“We need more of you two on camera, together, trying,” Jeremy says to Kit’s retreating form, like I’m not right fucking here.
Kit opens the door and gestures vaguely back toward me. “We’ll go to the wedding this weekend, right?”
I punch my heart back down into my chest and nod. If nothing else, we’re still a team.
Kit sweeps his arm toward the open door with a pointed look at the executive producer. Undeterred, Jeremy hovers over me. With a smug look on his face, he tells me like he’s sharing a secret, “Keep him in line, will you?”
Like Kit isn’t his own person with his own wants and needs that have nothing to do with me. Even though I wish some of them did. I stare at a throw pillow on the chair across the room. “Fine.”
Kit clears his throat.
“It was nice speaking with you, Mrs. Watson.” He offers me the slightest incline of his head.
I hate the way everyone calls me that, like somehow I’m just supposed to give up who I am because of a stupid show and a sham of a marriage. Even if I’m beginning to wish it was real.
Finally taking the hint, Jeremy walks toward the door. I follow, as if I can bodily block him from reentering our apartment and our lives. He exchanges a glare with Kit before making his exit. Kit closes the door behind him with such control, the only sound is the click of the latch.
I’m left in the tiny entryway, with Kit mere inches away. My vision is full of him, and the lines of his shirt begin to blur as tears well in my eyes.
“You’re shaking,” he mutters under his breath. Before I can deny it, his arms wind around my body and press me into him. I bury my face in his chest as his fingers twine in my hair. He presses his lips to my temple. “You look cooked through, sweet potato.”
I make a sound that’s half whimper, half laugh. Kit chuckles in response, the sound thrumming its way through me. My voice comes out in a squeak. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
His fingers curl against my scalp, and shivers race down my spine. “I knew my wife was a badass; it was amazing to watch it firsthand. But I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun.”
I laugh, the sound muffled by his chest. He laughs too. After I fill my lungs with him one more time, I pull away. Hands still in my hair, his gaze falls to my lips like he might want to—
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he lets the air in his lungs out on a frustrated groan. His hands slide from me, leaving me cold. “It’s going to be one of those days.”
I sniff, tugging on the hem of my shirt. Kit checks the caller ID, then looks back at me, his emotions shuttered. I want to smash his phone against the door. Instead, I say weakly, “I’ll see you later?”
“Later,” he agrees, reaching for his messenger bag. Every night, still, he takes care of my hands. Even though I wish it was more now. I take a couple of steps back to cede the entryway to him. He slips out the door, but as it’s almost closed, he pushes it back open, surging toward me.
I gasp as he catches my face in both his hands and presses his forehead to mine. My eyes flutter closed, waiting for the kiss my body’s been starved of for too long now. Every cell in my body stills and nothing else matters. Just Kit. And me. Together. On any old weekday morning, like we chose this and each other, instead of being crammed together for entertainment.
I can see the future Kit spoke of last night, where we build the life we want.
But the kiss doesn’t come.
All I get is Kit’s whispered “You look beautiful” before he leaves me breathless in an empty apartment, staring at the closed door.