Fanfare (30 page)

“Thank you. God, you’re so cute,” I joked as I rifled his hair and leaned into him. Our digression into difficult topics had happened much sooner than I would have liked.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Especially with a movie star,” I teased.

“I may be a narcissist, but you’ve just admitted to being a coward. We all have our flaws,” he ribbed. The way his eyes became heavy-lidded with comfort combined with the gentle half curve of his smile never failed to kick my pulse into high gear.

“I’m willing to overlook your flaws . . . but I do have a request.”

He chuckled. “Another one?”

“The best one. Kiss me.”

We didn’t surface for air until the car arrived at his apartment.

As we hauled my luggage through the front door, I noticed two large suitcases pushed up against the wall by the kitchen.

“Are those from Spain? Do you need some help unpacking?” I queried.

“I can’t unpack. I have to go back on Tuesday,” he responded.

“Yuck. I thought you had two weeks in L.A.!”

“I just found out before I left that they’ve moved up the timeline for filming my scenes,” he stated.

“Why did you come all the way back to California if you only have five days off?” I cried.

“I should think that would be rather obvious.” He grinned.

A flush rose into my cheeks as I stared back at him with a look of thanks.

“I missed the sunshine,” he continued smarmily.

I punched his upper bicep with a quick jab. “There’s definitely a shortage of that in Spain!”

“You know why I came back.” He pulled me against him.

“Next time, just let me know. We can figure something out. I don’t like you traveling unnecessarily.”

“In that case, do you want to go to London with me in two weeks?” he asked.

“You’re supposed to be spending time with your father.”

“He’s a lot nicer to me when you’re there,” he joked.

“I don’t want to be a distraction.”

“Just think about it. Anne would be ecstatic,” he pressed.

“I’ll think about it, but first, let’s order some food. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

“You know what? Let’s go out,” Tom announced.

I glanced at him with a dubious expression. “Are you sure?”

He nodded firmly. “I want to start acting normal when you’re with me. There’s a café a few blocks from here that I like, and I want to take you there for lunch.”

Normal? Was it even possible? With a wry smile, I reached for his hand. He took it, and we made our way to the elevator and out the front door without any trouble from anyone.

After a leisurely lunch of sandwiches and soup in a charming delicatessen that was thankfully devoid of a crowd, we walked leisurely back towards his apartment. He moved to take hold of my left hand as he slid his aviator sunglasses onto his face.

“Bollocks!” he exclaimed after releasing my palm as though my touch burned him.

“What?” I said with alarm.

“That bloody diamond scratched my hand!”

I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from my lips. “No one told you to get such a big one! It’s the souls of modest people everywhere inflicting karmic irony on you!”

He lifted his hand to stare at the red scratch that swelled on the skin by his thumb. “This is bullshit. Shouldn’t that thing have more respect?”

“You know, I’ve thought about it, and it’s really a great weapon. Consider this: someone tries to mug me, and I reach over with my left hand . . . to slice their neck open, Mortal Kombat style.”

He guffawed loudly. “It’s a decidedly feminist take on blood sport. We could call your character Black Widow.”

“Isn’t there already a character with that name? Really, they shouldn’t even let me travel with this thing on. I can’t bring nail clippers onto a plane, but a monolithic rock with multiple sharpened edges, no problem!”

Punctuated by the sounds of laughter, the banter continued as we rounded the final curve before Tom’s apartment. We were so busy joking with one another that we failed to notice the horde of people lying in wait by the entrance. Before we could process the situation and take pre-emptive action, cameras started to flashed like sparks from a newly tousled fire.

In the past, I had always been shielded from this insanity by some sort of barricade—a rope, a string of security guards, propriety, etc. This time, nothing prevented the paparazzi from shoving their cameras right into our path, blocking our ability to move in any direction. They swarmed around us in a circle like vultures preparing to feast on the hapless dead before them. Tom grabbed me in a reflexive attempt to block their advances.

“Thomas! Look here!”

“Cristina! Let’s see the ring!”

“Look up! Give us a smile!”

“Come on, you two! Show us the love!”

The directives were unceasing and grew increasingly more vehement as the shutters clicked around me. My heart rate increased and my breathing become haggard as a mild form of claustrophobia manifested itself. I looked around wildly for an outlet.

“Where’s the ring? One picture!”

The paparazzo who made this demand took hold of Tom’s arm in an attempt to pull me into view.

“Don’t touch him!” I yelled angrily as Tom attempted to throw off his hand.

“She’s a feisty one!” He reached over again, and my hand shot out in fury to shove his arm away.

Without warning, he grabbed hold of my wrist. Chaos ensued as the shutters clicked like bullets fired from a machine gun. The ring. Enraged by the fact this paparazzo had dared to manhandle me, Tom shoved him back with both hands. They responded by moving closer.

“Back off!” Tom shouted with fury. He again attempted to press them aside, but the pack mentality only increased the frenzy around us. They pushed him in an attempt to get their money shot. We were pulled apart, and I lost hold of my grip on his hand. Trying to rejoin him, I elbowed my way through the throng, and the combination of my movements along with the ebb and flow of the hands around me eventually produced disastrous results.

“I said back off!” Tom yelled warningly.

I fell to the ground as a wayward hand punched into my back with enough force to knock the wind out of me. Gasping for air, I struggled to regain my footing.

I heard the aftermath of this woeful predicament before I saw it.

“Get the fuck away from her!” Tom exploded at the top of his lungs. “Are you fucking mental? Back away! Get away from her! I swear to God, if you don’t turn around and walk the fuck away, you’ll be a hell of a lot sorrier than I will!”

I had never heard him this enraged before. He threw someone aside, grabbed my arm, and hoisted me up against him. The blood had rushed to his face and his eyebrows formed straight lines of fury over his darkly tinged pupils.

“Get the fuck away!” Tom bellowed. “Are you fucking satisfied? I don’t give a fuck if you harass me, but I’ll be damned if I stand by and let you trample her! Get out of the way!”

The group appeared just as shocked as I was. With huge eyes, they melted out of our path in a stupor of pseudo-remorse. It was then that I noticed the man with the video camera, quietly capturing every rage-filled expletive they baited Tom into spewing. Tom half carried me past the paparazzi with rapid steps towards the entrance of the building. We rode the elevator in silence as I surveyed the damage in the reflection of the sliding doors. My hair was a mess. As I reached up to fix it, I saw my hand shake in the image before me. I was too afraid to look at Tom.

He kicked open the door mercilessly and stomped into the living room. Spinning around to look at me, his anger had not abated to a manageable level.

“Are you all right?” he bit out.

“I’m fine.”

He smashed his eyes shut forcefully, leaned against the wall, and slid to the floor. His palms pressed into his forehead with enough pressure to render their edges white. I slowly lowered myself next to him and placed my hand tentatively around his wrist so I could see his face.

“Tommy?” I whispered.

He exhaled and turned his gaze to me. The look in his eyes was so pained it hurt my soul. I curled up by his side and let my cheek rest on his shoulder. The adrenaline pounding in my veins started to subside, and I took in careful breaths to help in the endeavor.

“I’m sorry that happened,” I said quietly.

He snorted with frustration. “Why are you apologizing? I should be the one to do that.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes. They’ve never been this forceful, though,” he admitted stonily.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Again, he pressed his palms into his eyes in aggravation. “Damn it all. I just wanted to take you to lunch.”

My heart lurched with pity. This was reality. If I wanted to take a walk through the city with the man I loved, this was the risk I had to take. I couldn’t just meet him at his office or grab a coffee with him whenever I wanted. As long as people were crazy about Thomas Abramson, I had to hide my love behind security guards, velvet ropes, and locked doors. A quagmire of emotions swirled through my system, and my body chose the release of tears as a first response.

“Oh God, don’t cry. You’ll break me,” Tom gasped out as he pulled me into his arms.

“I . . . can’t . . .” I sniffed.

“You can’t what?” He rubbed my back in an attempt to soothe me.

I can’t do this, I wanted to say. Coward.

We sat there in silence until my tears subsided. The flurry of activity in my head had reached a level that was difficult to control. Fear was taking over. The tears would not be enough to keep it at bay.

Tom’s phone buzzed in his pocket. I didn’t even pay attention to his conversation because the demons carried on their feverish dialogue between my temples. When he was finished, he slid the phone away from us as though it were disease-laden filth. He laughed darkly and placed his hands on the floor to heave into a standing position.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Nothing’s funny. That f-bomb laden clip is already on Twitter. Melissa called. I’m apparently Christian Bale Lite. She’s thrilled.”

A small part of me wanted to smile at this news, but the situation was far from amusing. The demons would not shut up. This was such a bad time. I couldn’t do this to him . . . not now. I stared down at the floor and willed myself to remain silent. I was so focused on this task that I didn’t hear him continue to speak.

“Cris? Cris? Are you listening to me?”

I shook my head as though the gesture would mute the ranting within. “Huh?”

“That’s it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I replied as the haze lifted infinitesimally.

“No.” He sat back down on the floor in front of me. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m not in the mood to sit here and guess what’s making the woman I love look as though someone murdered her best friend. I’m done with it. Let’s have it out now.”

My eyes widened with alarm at the same time my mind ached for this release. “Please. I’m just feeling . . . overwhelmed.”

“Then we need to talk about it,” he replied. I could still see his handsome face marred by the anger festering on the surface and knew this was a really heinous idea.

“I don’t think we should. Not now.”

“I need to know. I’m feeling pretty shitty right now, so I doubt anything you could say would make it much worse,” he intoned. “What’s overwhelming you?”

I inhaled. “Fear.”

He paused for a moment before continuing his merciless interrogation. “What are you afraid of?”

I stared into his eyes and made half of a decision. “Everything . . . I’m afraid of moving, I’m afraid of what this will mean to my mother, I’m afraid of leaving behind everything I know and love, I’m afraid of trading in a life of predictability for a life of fantasy, and . . . I’m just afraid of being a fool.”

“A fool?”

“A fool who should have known better.”

He lips formed a hard line as his eyebrows wrinkled into his forehead. “Where is this coming from?”

I looked at the floor. This was too painful. I pushed myself into a standing position and tried to walk away.

“Cristina. What happened that made you so afraid? For Christ’s sake, just tell me!”

“I can’t!” I replied.

“You can. You just don’t want to.” His tone was cold and hurt.

“I want to! I’m just a coward!”

He followed after me and blocked my ability to run away by pressing his hands against the wall on either side of my head.

“Stop being a coward,” he demanded quietly.

I was trapped. The demons screamed even more loudly. With a pounding heart and an aching mind, I succumbed.

“Last month, I . . . saw Ryan!” I gasped wretchedly.

The face of the man before me froze.

“He came to my office and demanded that I hear him out. Then he confessed to lying about cheating so I would let him go. He begged me to take him back.”

The only movement I could register was the rise and fall of Tom’s chest.

“I’m just completely . . . mind-fucked. I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m so afraid the world I built will come crashing down around me for the second time, and I can’t stand it!” I shouted pathetically.

The arms dropped to his sides.

“Please! Say something!” I begged.

He cleared his throat. “Was . . . was that the first time you spoke to him?” he asked hoarsely.

No lies. Only the truth. “No. We emailed a few times.”

He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. I gasped for air and watched the havoc my words rendered.

With his eyes still closed and his face averted, he asked the one question that would hurt the most. The question I couldn’t answer.

“Do you want him back?”

My silence hung in the air like a twisted malediction. To my horror, I saw a strange trail of moisture on the cheek of the good man in front of me. The man I loved . . . the man I hurt.

The man who deserved better.

The sobs built in my chest, and I knew what I had to do.

Love fully, or not at all.

I stumbled to the kitchen counter and wrenched the ring off my finger. The sound of the diamond striking against the granite echoed through the room as the tears coursed down my face.