Chapter 25 #2
“Oh, it gets worse.” She swipes to the next screenshot.
“He’s been liking comments that call me a cheater.
Responding to DMs with cryptic bullshit that makes it sound like I was the one who did something wrong.
And apparently”—she swipes again—“somebody, aka Grayson, gave an ‘anonymous source’ interview to TMZ about our ‘troubled relationship’ and my ‘erratic behavior’ and my ‘inappropriate closeness with a member of my security team.’”
“All in less than twelve hours?”
“Celebrity gossip never sleeps.”
“It should.” My jaw tightens. “He took over the whole narrative.”
“Of course. He’s trying to make me look like the villain so he can play the victim.
” Charlie’s tone is flat, resigned. “It’s not even that creative.
This is like, Toxic Ex Playbook page one.
But it’s working—the comments are already filling up with people calling me a slut and saying Grayson deserves better. ”
“Babe—”
“I know. I know it shouldn’t matter what strangers on the internet think.
But it does matter, because those strangers buy tickets and stream songs and determine whether I have a career next year or not.
” She sets the phone face-down on the counter, like she can’t stand to look at it anymore.
“Sage is going to want a strategy. A spin. Some way to make this look like anything other than what it was.”
I consider this for a moment, turning over the options in my mind.
“I mean, she could probably spin it. Make it look like just a fight between you and Grayson—a lovers’ quarrel that got heated.
You called your bodyguard to pick you up because things got tense.
The confrontation outside the restaurant was just me being overprotective, doing my job.
We can say the handholding was comfort, not romance. Doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”
Charlie’s quiet. Too quiet. She’s staring at the counter, fingers tracing patterns on the marble.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t want to spin it.” She meets my gaze, and there’s something new in her expression. Something steely and resolved that I haven’t seen before. “I’m done, Taio. I’m done with strategies and lies and carefully curated narratives that make me look like someone I’m not.”
“Okay…”
“For years I’ve been letting other people tell my story.
Managers deciding what version of Charlie Riley the world gets to see.
A publicist orchestrating fake relationships to boost my image.
Stylists dressing me in things I’d never choose for myself.
And every time something real happened, every time I felt something genuine, I had to bury it because it didn’t fit the brand.
” She takes a breath, steadying herself.
“I’m tired of being a brand. I want to be a person. ”
“You’ve always been a person to me.”
“I know. That’s why I fell for you.” She says it simply, like it’s just a fact of the universe. Water is wet. The sky is blue. Charlie fell for Taio.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Tell the truth,” she says, like it’s obvious.
Like it’s easy, even though we both know it’s anything but.
“You and I are together. Grayson and I were a PR arrangement that’s now over.
That’s it. That’s the whole story. The world wants answers, and I know social media is probably imploding right now with theories and speculation and people demanding to know who you are and what’s really going on.
” She squares her shoulders. “But it’s not my job to supply them with a convenient story.
I don’t owe them a performance of my personal life. ”
“What about the fallout? The headlines? The—”
“Will happen regardless of what I do,” she cuts me off gently.
“If I spin, they’ll eventually find out the truth and call me a liar.
If I stay silent, they’ll fill in the gaps with whatever narrative is most damaging.
The only way to actually control this is to…
not. Let the chips fall where they may. As long as we’re good, my world keeps spinning. ”
I stare at her, warmth expanding in my chest. This is the woman who, just weeks ago, was terrified of what the tabloids might say. Who built her entire existence around managing public perception. Who hid a relationship rather than face the messiness of real love.
And now she’s choosing truth. Choosing authenticity. Choosing us—out in the open, consequences be damned.
“You’re sure about this?” I ask, not because I doubt her, but because I need her to know I’ll support whatever she decides. “Because once you say it out loud, there’s no taking it back. Your whole life changes. My life changes. We become a story that other people get to have opinions about.”
“We’re already a story. We have been since those cameras caught us hugging on the balcony in New York.” She reaches for me, fingers curling into the front of my shirt. “The only question is whether we let other people write it, or we write it ourselves.”
“Then I’m with you.” I cover her hand with mine. “Whatever you need, however you want to handle this—I’m with you.”
“Even if it means your face is going to be everywhere? Even if people start digging into your past?”
The question lands heavier than she probably intends. My past. My father. The escort work that paid for years of legal bills. All of it waiting to be discovered by anyone with enough motivation to dig.
“Even then,” I say, and I mean it. “We’ll face it together.”
She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, lingering there for a moment like she’s drawing strength from the contact. “It’s too early to say it, but you know what I want to say.”
“Who told you it’s too early to say it?”
“Cosmo, CosmoGirl, Vogue, and also that Disney Princess quiz I’ve taken about thirty times.”
“Well they don’t—wait, what? Thirty times? Why?” I squint at her, baffled.
“Because, I want Belle. I keep ending up as Rapunzel. It’s bullshit.”
The genuine anguish in her face makes her ten times more adorable than I can bear.
“You can be whatever princess you want. I’ll call you Belle. What prince do you think I’d be?”
“Beast, obviously.” She gestures to my whole frame. “You’re massive.”
“Well how about this? Beast loves Belle. And we can bring that into the real world whenever you’re ready. Just know when you say it, I’ll be ready to say it right back.”
Black Cat—well, Sylvester now—ruins our sweet moment, managing to smack Charlie’s arm and my elbow in one quick kitty-strike.
“Oh I’m sorry,” she coos in that ridiculous high-pitched voice people use with babies and animals.
“I didn’t greet my kitty overlord this morning.
Where are my manners? Good morning, handsome.
” She scratches under his chin, earning an enthusiastic purr.
“Did you have your breakfast yet? Has Taio given you your second breakfast?”
“Second?”
“Such a smart, handsome boy. Yes you are. Yes you are,” she continues.
The cat looks insufferably smug, as if he understands every word.
“Hey,” I mention, “I finally named him.”
“Oh?” Charlie’s hand pauses mid-scratch. Her voice has gone carefully neutral in a way that immediately makes me suspicious.
“Sylvester. You know, because I have a Tweety, so it seemed fitting—”
“Sylvester,” she repeats slowly. A fleeting mix of mischief and sheepishness sweeps her face, like a child caught with one hand still in the cookie jar but not quite sorry about it.
“Yeah. It fits, right? A black cat, always scheming, probably plotting to eat a small yellow bird—”
“Sylvester is a tuxedo cat.”
“And?”
“Never mind. Same difference. It’s a great name.” Her voice is too bright. Too agreeable. She’s doing that thing where she smiles too wide and won’t quite meet my eyes. “He looks like a Sylvester. Very distinguished.”
I narrow my eyes. “Charlie.”
“What?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She bites her lip, clearly wrestling with something. Even the cat looks between us with the detached interest of a creature who knows drama is unfolding but can’t be bothered to care. He yawns pointedly, as if we need to become aggressively more entertaining, fast, if we want him to stay.
Charlie huffs out a breath, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I may have…already named him.”
“Already named him.”
“Like, a week ago. Maybe longer.” She winces. “I’ve been calling him Toothless.”
“Toothless.” I stare at her. “Like the dragon?”
“Well it matches more than Sylvester!” She says it defensively, like this is a completely reasonable choice.
“He’s all black with big eyes and he does this thing where he retracts his claws when he’s happy, just like Toothless retracts his teeth in the movie.
And I know there’s probably thousands of black cats out there also named Toothless, but it fits, okay?
He responds to it and everything. He looks up when I say it.
Well, sometimes. When he feels like it.”
I’m laughing before she finishes. Full, belly-deep laughter that shakes my shoulders and makes my eyes water. Charlie swats my arm, but she’s grinning too, the tension of the morning temporarily forgotten in the absurdity of the moment.
“Maybe we should let him pick,” I say.
“Good call. Sylvester?” Charlie calls. Nothing. “Toothless?” she says in a tone that is far more honey-sweet, trying to stack the deck for her pick. Still, nothing.
“Black Cat,” I gruff out. His ears perk, he catches me in his periphery in a look that says, you rang? “Oh damn. Damage might be done, Charlie.”
She shakes her head in defeat. “We now have a black cat, that’s named Black Cat. Sure…let’s roll with that.”
I don’t care what we call the damn cat. I just like how she said we.
The cat in question yawns enormously, displaying all of his very much present teeth, then hops down from the counter and saunters toward his food bowl like this conversation is beneath him.
His food dish sits empty, yet there he perches beside it, eyes narrowed to hostile slits that silently communicate we have failed at our most basic duty as his human servants.
This is what I want, I realize. Not just the big dramatic moments—the declarations and the confrontations and the passionate nights in blanket forts.
But this. The small, mundane intimacy of a shared morning.
Coffee she hates. A cat with two names. The easy rhythm of two lives beginning to intertwine.
“Hey.” I catch her hand, tugging her back toward me. She comes willingly, a pastry in her hand, crumbs already on her lips that I plan to kiss away. “Why me? You’ve met a lot of strangers. Why did you keep me?”
She nods knowingly. “Mostly because all the other escorts that came before you were incredibly disappointing—”
“Charlie,” I growl. “Be serious for me. For once.”
She smiles. “Remember the night we met?”
“Of course.”
“I begged my mom that night to send me a sign. A message from beyond of whether to give up or keep going. I didn’t expect her answer to come in the form of a behemoth of a man carrying a two-pronged vibrator that could double as a jackhammer, but you ask the universe for gifts, you don’t really get to pick the packaging. ”
A chuckle escapes me, soft but genuine. “So you think your mom sent me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But all I know is that night I was paying attention. On any other night, maybe I would’ve let you slip away.”
I hold up my coffee mug. “Well, cheers to your mom.”
“Yeah,” Charlie says with a distant look in her eyes. “Cheers to my mom.”
The doorbell buzzes—sharp and insistent. Sage, here for the reckoning.
Charlie takes a deep breath, straightens her spine, and pulls away from me. But she pauses at the threshold of the kitchen, looking back with an expression that makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
She smiles, soft and certain. “For being someone worth blowing up my whole life for.” Doubling back, she kisses my forehead. “Would you get that? I’m going to go put on pants.”
“How about you answer the door and I go put on your pants?”
She snorts in laugher. “Eventually you’ll learn that Sage is on our side.”
“Doesn’t make her any less scary,” I mutter as I stand up, my eyes following Charlie as she disappears down the hallway to safety.
The doorbell buzzes again, but I double back to my writing pad to jot down one more note before I forget.
I love you, Charlie Riley.
I fold the note carefully, add it to the pile, and head toward the sound of voices.
Time to face the music.