I open my eyes and find hers, inches away. Too late to go back now. So instead, I grin. Kiss her again. And say, “The first of many, I hope.”
Chapter Nineteen
Naomi
* * *
I walk in exactly on time, looking around the trendy Hollywood restaurant. It’s a lot of sleek blue lighting and fresh modern decor. But it’s the large tree growing in the center of the room that steals the show. It’s wrapped with thousands of tiny twinkling lights, and for a moment, it holds me captive, unable to tear my gaze away.
A buzzing din and jubilant laughter fill my ears, and without having to look too hard, I’ve already spotted half a dozen celebrities. Typically, this isn’t my type of place. First, it’s a steak restaurant and steak is far from my favorite meal.
But it’s the seen and be seen atmosphere that turns me off the most.
The host leads me through the crowded first floor and up a flight of stairs. I follow behind him all the way through to the back of the restaurant, toward a set of booths that flank the windows facing out onto the bustling street of Santa Monica Boulevard. I smile to myself as I think about the last two weeks I’ve had.
Gus. His kiss yesterday was so unexpected.
Amazing and unexpected.
He didn’t kiss me again after that first time, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed by that or not. I should be relieved, if anything, but that’s an emotion I’m having a hard time forcing. Even if kissing Gus is like walking blindly into a minefield.
One misstep and it all blows up in my face.
Gus doesn’t want a relationship. He doesn’t want to date me. He just wants sex.
The thought of being a one-night stand to him turns my stomach. It’s not something I’ve ever done before. And I don’t think it’s who I am to do that. Probably because I’ve only ever had sex with one man and that was a man I loved. A two-year dry spell should have me more anxious to jump any man who looks at me, but I just can’t.
Gus is a self-proclaimed player, and for that reason alone, I should have never let him touch me.
But the more time I spend with him, the harder it is to maintain that barrier. To not get swept up in him.
Because I could very easily fall for Gus.
And falling for someone who is in love with someone else, who is open and honest about how they do not want more with you, is about as close to emotional suicide as a woman can get.
Especially since today, I didn’t hear from him at all.
I mentally shake myself. One kiss means nothing. It was a moment of weakness. A mistake. If I’m going to make it through however long this freaking song takes to write and produce, I need to safeguard myself from him starting now.
“Right this way,” the host tells me with a warm smile. “Casper LaCroix reserved a very specific table.”
I inwardly roll my eyes. Of course he did. Because Casper LaCroix never does anything half-assed.
“Sounds great,” I murmur, but the moment the host steps aside so I can take my seat, I gasp, my body rippling with a sudden burst of nausea as the color in my cheeks drains and my knees start to buckle. Casper looks up as I approach, as does Florian, and both men smile. I stare dumbfounded for the longest of seconds, my mind reeling as I try to grasp just what is happening.
Florian’s gaze is glued to mine. I can feel its weight and hope, but I can’t even acknowledge him.
My eyes burn with scalding hot tears I immediately swallow down. Anger flares from me, burning and electric.
How could Casper do this to me? How could he set me up like this?
And in such a public place?
It’s not the first time I’ve had those exact same thoughts.
Images of the last time I saw Florian flitter through my head like the wrong cut to a bad movie.
My stomach churns nervously to the point where I have to place my hand over it to settle it down. I caress gently over it, once, twice, tears threatening to moisten my eyes as my heart clenches painfully in my chest. How could he do this to me? How could he treat me this way? And in such a public place? Did he not love me at all? Was everything we had together a lie?
I can feel their eyes—full of pity. All of them. I can feel their whispers—full of delicious scandalous gossip—on the back of my neck like an icy breeze. Their patronizing smiles aimed to make me feel ridiculous and pathetic.
But I don’t acknowledge any of them.
I’ve ignored everyone, the media, the audience—my colleagues, people I called friends until this happened—but most of all, Florian, the man sitting three seats over with his blonde wrapped around his arm, petting his chest like he’s a new puppy.
I’ve remained stoic with a forced half-smile plastered on my pristine red lips. My dress is stunning, and my hair isn’t too shabby either. But despite my outward appearance that I’m sure isn’t fooling anyone, I feel beyond retched. Heartbroken, forgotten, cast aside, next-to-nothing, retched. It makes me miss my parents so much more in this moment.
They would have my back. They would be by my side with unwavering support and unconditional love. And God, do I ever need those two things right now.
Shifting in my seat, I wait while Cameron Crowly goes through the artists and songs names of the other nominees and when they say, Naomi Kent and Florian Heart for Pieces of Truth, I smile just a touch brighter, knowing those eyes are now glaring and those cameras are trained directly on me.
News of our breakup hit the world by storm. Splashed across every tabloid and discussed on every news outlet like my private life is only there to serve others entertainment. Speculations ran amuck, and because Florian is a man and I’m a woman in this industry, he was revered while I was ripped to shreds.
“And the winner for song of the year goes to…” Please, dear God, if you love me at all, do not let it be us. “Naomi Kent and Florian Heart for Pieces of Truth.”
The crowd doesn’t immediately erupt into applause the way they typically do when artists win this award. Instead, they murmur, they gasp, they lean forward on the edge of their seat, desperate to watch the drama unfold.
I stand up on tremulous legs and follow after Florian, who kisses his blonde with gusto, knowing I’m standing behind him. My insides quake and once more, my hand falls to my stomach. I don’t even know who this man is anymore. He is nothing like the one I fell in love with. Like the one I wrote that song with. This man is a stranger to me and that’s what I focus on. That’s how I manage to move one foot in front of the other while keeping my head high and my eyes dry.
Florian marches up to the stage like he’s the king of the world and what meager applause there is dies the moment he reaches the microphone. I stand back, away from him, dying just a little more with every second I’m forced to stand here.
“Wow,” Florian starts. “This is such a huge honor. Thank you. It wouldn’t have been possible to write such an incredible song as this without having such amazing bandmates.” He pans his hand out in the direction of the seats we just vacated, and I want to reach out and smack the back of his head.
The bastard isn’t even going to thank me?
He continues on, thanking the producer, the studio, God, his parents, everyone and anyone. Except me.
Finally, he turns around, his eyes meeting mine with the smuggest of smug smirks. They fall pointedly to my stomach, and that smuggest of smug smirks morphs into a full-blown asshole grin. Then he finds my eyes again and I can see what he’s about to do.