“Ryder…you have to understand. At the time I didn’t know how far you’d go to continue with the ceremony. You told me how much your grandfather’s painting means to you, and you were willing to claim a baby that isn’t your own to get it.”
He’s looking at me like I’m some kind of incomprehensible creature, and sweat slickens my spine. I have to make him understand. “Mira also told me she’s done it before. What was I supposed to think? At the time, you made it clear that without you, my baby and I would be without money or any kind of benefits.”
He runs his hands over his face. The gesture muffles a sigh. “We never had a chance, did we?” Resignation leeches all power from his tone. His shoulders slump, and he looks…defeated.
“What do you mean?”
“To you, I was always just a source of money and security for your baby. And maybe some fun in bed. But I was never somebody you could lean on. Never someone you would ever go to for help because I’m just…not that kind of person to you.”
Something in his tone frays my nerves. I feel like I’m about to fall apart like an old, moth-eaten sweater. “It’s not like that. Ryder, we were both under enormous pressure at the time. I just didn’t think it would be good for me to burden you with the news or try to create unnecessary friction.”
“Mira is my agent. You are my fiancée. Can you not see which one matters more?”
“I’m a fiancée you’re going to get rid of after one year. Mira will be with you forever. She managed your career since you started acting. She helped you become a big star.”
“No!” he shouts, flinging his arms out violently. “She would not have stayed with me, not if she disrespected you like that! Don’t you understand? Don’t you get anything?”
I shake my head, sudden dread filling my heart until I’m cold from the inside out. “What am I not getting? Help me understand.”
“I’m in love with you!”
The announcement is like a hammer falling from the sky. If he had told me that any other time, I would’ve been ecstatic, but this… I can’t even process what’s happening.
Red suffuses his face, and he’s breathing hard. “And all you can think about is our damn divorce to come in a year. After all this”—he digs his fingers into his hair—“I’m not even sure why you’re still with me, except maybe it’s that you need money a lot more than I thought you did.”
The words hit me one after another like bullets. I never knew until now how they can leave a person bleeding. “Ryder!”
He’s shaking his head. “No. I just… I can’t look at you right now.”
Something inside me crumbles but I know I have to stop him. I have to make him see that he’s mistaken. That I love him too.
But he’s already moving, his hands palms out. “I have to go…before I say something I’m really going to regret.”
Before I can stop him, he’s gone. The door closes with a bang, leaving me alone and shaken.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryder
By the time I park my Ferrari, my head has cleared a little. I look around and realize I’m in Elliot’s underground garage. How did I get here? It’s as though instinct has brought me to the one person who can maybe understand what I’m going through.
Then I reconsider. Elliot won’t understand anything. He’s never been in love.
But at least he’ll be good company. He’ll let me drink and won’t pester me with questions. And he certainly won’t look at me with that expression of horror and shock that came over Paige’s face when I told her I loved her.
It would’ve been a lot less painful if she’d just stabbed me with a knife. An electric, double-bladed carving knife. Serrated, like they use on turkeys at Thanksgiving.
Set on high.
Thankfully, Elliot is home when I buzz his unit on the top floor. He looks like shit though. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and he has a least two days’ growth of beard. He’s in a white undershirt and pale gray shorts.
“What are you doing here?” He rubs sleep from bleary eyes. “What time is it?”
He stands aside so I can walk in. At least the penthouse is clean. Stacks of magazines lie neatly in a rustic basket, one he brought back from Tuscany a couple years ago. The glass tabletop is dust-free, the white couches are spotless, and the hardwood floor has a fresh coat of wax. There’s even a vase full of fresh daisies on the dining table.
Not that any of it is due to him, of course. Elliot is a complete pig who couldn’t figure out how to turn on a vacuum cleaner if you taped the switch to a stripper’s nipple. His housekeeper comes by four times a week to keep the place neat. Otherwise the government would seize it for health code violations.
“It’s late morning.” I check my watch. “Actually, it’s noon.”
He yawns, his jaw cracking. “Yeah. Early. I didn’t come home until six.”
“You still hitting the strip clubs?” I sit down on a couch and try to stretch out. My neck and lower back are tight, and it’s not from working out.
“Yup.” Elliot sprawls in an armchair.
“So what’s taking so long? Is there a bimbo embargo or something? Just pick one and marry her.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not? It’s only for a year.”
“I can’t just marry any stripper, even if it’s only for a year. Gotta make sure she’s super hot.”
I roll my eyes. “The clubs you frequent, they’re all pretty damn hot. And again, it’s only for a year. So why bother?”
He squints at me. “You’re making me worried. Did something happen with you and Paige?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Scotch, then?”
“Yeah.”
He grabs a couple of bottles and a pair of tumblers. Unlike our eminently appropriate and genteel sister, Elliot doesn’t care what time it is when he feels like drinking. Sun’s over the yardarm somewhere, and all that.
“I thought…” He scowls and starts over. “You know, Paige likes you.”
I take a swig. The burn feels oh so good. “She likes my money. And whatever she gets because of the prenup.”
“What is she getting out of the prenup?”
“More money.”
“But that’s okay, right? I mean, you wrote the prenup.”
My tone grows testy. “Of course I wrote the prenup. I hired the lawyer.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that she wants to end it after a year.”
Elliot stares at me like I’ve just spoken to him in Mongolian. “Have you been snorting something?” he finally asks. “You’re not making any sense. She is doing exactly what you want her to do. You should be thrilled. Hell, you should be cartwheeling across the city that she isn’t being clingy. Any other woman would’ve been clutching at your pants and crying, ‘No, Ryder, no! I’ll do anything! Don’t leave me!’” he says in a falsetto.
My teeth grind together. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here. “I don’t want to end our marriage after one year.”