Stone Princess

by Devney Perry

  She’d been too consumed with Luke.

  Fucker.

  There was no way I’d go fishing with him again.

  Presley remained silent but crossed her arms over her chest as her teeth rattled.

  “You’re freezing.”

  She clamped her teeth together.

  “Let’s go inside. Please?”

  She found her voice, as cold as the winter moon. “No.”

  “You do love telling me no,” I teased.

  Not a crack in that exterior. “What do you want, Shaw?”

  “I’m sorry. I owe you an apology and an explanation. Can we please just go inside?” I moved to touch her arm, but she shied away. This wasn’t going to be easy. I hadn’t deluded myself into thinking she’d come running into my arms, but I’d hoped for understanding. If we could just talk, if I could explain, she’d have to understand.

  She could rake me over the coals for as long as she wanted, she could hold my mistake over my head for a decade, as long as we were together.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “It’s been . . . months.”

  “I came to grovel.”

  Presley arched one of those perfect eyebrows. “You came to Montana in February to grovel?”

  “That’s right.” I nodded.

  “A phone call would have sufficed.”

  “Yeah.” I shifted the carrots to my other hand, then back again. “I didn’t want to talk over the phone.”

  I didn’t want to talk in the freezing cold either, but she wasn’t going to let me inside, not tonight.

  “I’m sorry, Presley.” If that’s all she heard tonight, I’d count it as a win. I had months to tell her the rest. “I know it wasn’t you, and I’m sorry for assuming it was. I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

  “You thought I’d sold your personal story for money.”

  “Most people would.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not most people.”

  No, she wasn’t. “I’m not making excuses, but I would like to explain.” I pointed a frozen finger toward my house. “Please?”

  “Fine,” she grumbled and stormed past me, flying up the stairs and barging through the front door.

  I hurried to follow, keeping up until she stopped in the living room.

  She looked around, taking in the space and the furniture.

  The real estate market wasn’t exactly booming in Clifton Forge and there hadn’t been a single interested party for this house. Five months ago, I’d been pissed, wanting this house off my ledger. A lot had changed since. Now, I was glad to have a place close to Presley as I begged for her forgiveness.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I waved a hand to the kitchen.

  “No.” Her arms were wrapped tight around her torso, closing in on herself.

  “Would you like to sit?”

  “No.” She wouldn’t look at me.

  “Okay.” I stepped past her, drawing in a deep breath of that citrus and vanilla scent I’d missed so much. I took a seat on the couch and leaned forward on my elbows, tossing the carrots I was still carrying to the coffee table. The wood gleamed, having been polished by the cleaning crew who’d come in yesterday to tidy it up.

  “What do you want, Shaw?” My name sounded painful on Presley’s lips. Christ.

  “I’m sorry.” I met her gaze, pleading for her to hear the sincerity in my words. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Okay.” Ouch. “I deserved that.”

  “You assumed the very worst of me. You deserve far worse.”

  “You’re right.” I held up my hand. “Please, let me explain, then you can rip me to pieces.”

  She glared at me but stayed silent.

  Goddamn, I’d missed that glare. I’d missed that scowl and those imperious, angry gestures. I’d missed her. Everything about her. And if dealing with her wrath was the only way to have her at the moment, then I’d take it willingly.

  “I hadn’t told anyone about my dad, so when I told you, it was the first time. It’s been buried for years and then to have it come out after I told you . . . I thought maybe you’d used me. With the way you were so happy that day I left—”

  “You thought I was happy?”

  There was the fire in my girl. “You seemed glad.”

  “I was miserable,” she snapped. “I was heartbroken. I hated that you were leaving but what was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  She scoffed. “You have a whole life that I’m not a part of. I wasn’t going to pretend you’d give it up for me, because we both know you wouldn’t have.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted. Even if she had asked me to stay, I would have returned to California, but I wouldn’t have ended us. I would have found a way to keep us going. “I was upset with how things ended.”

  It had taken me months to realize that she’d put up the wall because she’d been hurting. I’d been too busy dealing with my own thoughts about leaving that I hadn’t seen the truth.

  “Dad’s story came out right as I got back to California. I thought . . .” I blew out a deep breath. “You know what I thought.”

  “Yes, you made it very clear.”

  “I fucked up. I should have asked more questions. I should have let you explain.”

  Her chin jutted up. “I never would have done that to you.”

  “I know. I overreacted. I found out about a month afterward that it was someone from the police department where Dad used to work. The rumor had been spreading. I don’t know how it started, but someone got wind of it and leaked it to the press.”

  The magazine that had published the story first had refused to sell it to me and they’d refused to give up their source. It had taken every one of my resources plus multiple favors to track down the story’s origin.

  I’d been so sure it was Presley’s name I’d find. So damn sure and so damn arrogant.

  The story had actually been leaked by one of Dad’s old colleagues, a sergeant who’d never liked Lieutenant Shane Valance and had weaseled information from Dad’s former captain.

  “I’m sorry.” I’d repeat it a million times. “I’m so sorry.”

  She swallowed hard. “So now you know, and now you’ve apologized. You can go.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Then I am.” She shot toward the door, practically running the length of the entryway.

  “Presley, wait.” I leapt from the couch and chased after her. The cold air stung my nostrils as I followed her to her own porch. “Presley.”

  She kept walking. “Go back to California, Shaw.”

  “I’m staying.”

  She skidded to a stop, then whirled around. Those arms came off her torso and flew into the air. “Why? Why are you here?”

  “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.” I stepped closer. “I tried. For months, I tried to get you out of my head, but I can’t.”

  “So what? What did you expect to happen? For me to fall at your feet because the famous movie star Shaw Valance wants to be back in my life as long as it suits his schedule?”

  “No, that’s—”

  “Did you expect me to be waiting around for you?”

  Yes. “We have something, and you feel it too.”

  That obstinate chin lifted. “I’m with Luke.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only answer you’re going to get. Go home, Shaw.” She spun on her foot and marched to her house. The door slammed, echoing down the quiet street.

  I stared at it, my breath billowing around me until the cold won out and I retreated to my house. The baby carrots on my coffee table mocked me when I sat down.

  “Fuck.” I ripped the bag open and popped one in my mouth, crunching with fury.

  That had not gone like I’d expected. Though to be fair, nothing with Presley had ever been pr
edictable—she hadn’t changed.

  On the plane ride to Montana, a part of me had wondered if she’d see me and smile. I’d been a daft idiot for hoping that months apart would have cooled her temper.

  She had every right to be mad. She had every reason to hate me.

  What if she never forgave me? What if I’d come here too late?

  I groaned and flopped back on the couch. Christ. What if she’d fallen in love with Luke Rosen?

  When I’d left Clifton Forge, I’d been half in love with the guy myself. He was a good guy—better than me. In my shoes, Luke wouldn’t have screwed up in the first place. But if he had, if he were sitting on this couch in my place, would he walk away? Would he let her go?

  It didn’t matter. I was me and no matter what Luke would do, I wasn’t leaving Presley. Not again.

  My phone rang and I dug it out of my pocket, answering my sister’s call. “Hey.”

  “So? Did you see her?” Matine asked.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. When I’d been grumpy for months, my youngest sister had smacked me upside the head and told me to spill. She was nearly as invested in this apology as I was.

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. How’d it go?”

  “Not good. She’s dating someone.”

  “Ooof.” She hissed. “Do you think you’re too late?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Was I too late? Had I hurt Presley beyond the point of repair?

  “But you’re going to fight for her?” Matine asked.

  “Of course.” The answer was automatic. Presley was the woman of my dreams, and I would not let her go easily.

  “Good.” There was a smile in Matine’s voice. “How cold is it?”

  “Cold.” I chuckled. “You’d hate it.”

  She laughed. “I’ll plan to visit you in the summers.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Keep me posted?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “Have you talked to Dad?”

  “You know the answer to that question, Matine.”

  “But I’m going to keep asking it, Shaw.”

  Matine and my other sisters had been pressuring me for years to speak with Dad. Before the story came out about his retirement, they hadn’t understood our divide and my hard feelings. The story had answered a lot of questions.

  It’d been hard for them to hear the reason Dad had left the force. Matine had taken it better than anyone else, maybe because she’d confessed to always having felt like she was missing something in our estrangement.

  All three of them had been hurt, but my sisters were strong. The story faded into the archives after a few weeks thanks to a cheating scandal and surprise pregnancy with other celebrities. It was old news, and my sisters had already moved past it, loving Dad no differently than they had before. They’d been relentless in pushing me to do the same.

  But I wasn’t there yet. When I thought of calling Dad, bitterness crept up my throat and made it impossible to speak.

  One of Matine’s daughters squealed in the background.

  “I’d better let you go,” I said. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Good luck with Presley. Sounds like you’ll need it.”

  I hung up and tossed the phone aside, then surveyed the room.

  It was a far cry from the enormous house I had on the beach, but it was home. I’d miss the sound of waves lulling me to sleep, but I’d trade them for Presley tucked into my side each night.

  I made a mental list of everything I’d have my assistant pack and ship here. Most of my clothes were already on their way, not that my shorts and flip-flops would be useful for another few months. I’d have Juno pick out some sweaters and jackets, plus I’d need another winter coat and some gloves. But then I’d be set. Everything else could stay in California because it wasn’t like I’d need my suits or tuxedos here.

  As of yesterday, I was on a break.

  Dark Paradise had officially been moved into postproduction. It would take months of editing to get to the final cut, but no one expected I’d need to shoot another scene. My time on camera was done for now.

  My staff members were freaking out. Ginny and Laurelin were sure that this extended leave—I’d refused to give them a firm return date—would destroy my career. What they didn’t understand was that I didn’t care.

  Fame was lonely. Fortune was empty. This was not how I wanted to live my life, avoiding public places and fearing that every action would be misconstrued.

  There were more important things than money and a legacy.

  Presley was more important. Her happiness. Her dreams. Her love.

  I’d fallen in love with her.

  I’d fallen in love with her every time she’d told me no, sitting across from her at the Clifton Forge Garage.

  Yeah, I’d fight for her. I’d die trying to earn her trust.

  I was going to live in this house and make it my own. I’d show her, every day, how special she was to me.

  This time, I’d take care.

  I picked up my phone and made my way to my bedroom, flipping off the lights in the house as I walked. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, but I’d had a long day of packing and travel. I stripped off my clothes, leaving on only my boxer briefs as I slid into bed. The sheets were cool and smelled like soap, but the bed was too empty. I turned off the lamp on the nightstand and stared at the dark ceiling.

  Above my head, the window glowed.

  A light shone from next door.

  I sat up, flipping on the light and grabbing my phone to call a number I hadn’t called in months. A number I’d blocked and deleted, then begged Laurelin to hunt down for me when I’d realized how much of a dick I’d been.

  It rang and rang.

  I knelt on the mattress, my bare shoulder pressing against the window’s frame. The call went to voicemail.

  Hi, this is Presley . . .

  I hung up.

  I called her again.

  This time, she answered on the second ring. “What do you want?”

  “You didn’t delete my number.”

  “An oversight.”

  “Come to your window.”

  “No.” She huffed. “Good night.”

  “Pres, come to your window.”

  “Ugh.” Marching footsteps sounded through the phone, then her blinds whipped open. She stood there, so close, with her phone pressed to her ear. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have made this phone call months ago.”

  “Yes, you should have, but it doesn’t matter now.” Her bravado slipped. “None of it matters now.”

  “It matters. You matter.”

  She held my gaze through the glass and the ten or twelve feet that separated our homes. Did she feel it? Even after the time apart, even across this distance, did she feel it?

  “Goodbye, Shaw,” she whispered.

  I lifted a hand and pressed it to the cold glass. “See you tomorrow.”

  Never again would I tell Presley goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty

  Presley

  It was fucking cold.

  I shivered underneath my red parka, burrowing into my hood and quickening my steps. The snow crunched under my boots, the flakes dry and crusted with ice.

  Walking across town was not how I’d planned to spend my Sunday morning, but I wanted my Jeep and I wanted to get away from my neighbor.

  Couldn’t Shaw have just called and apologized? What was he doing here? Messing with my life, that’s what.

  I was in a good place. I’d put Shaw behind me, Jeremiah was a distant memory, and I was dating Luke. The last thing I needed was Shaw living next door.

  The asshole had brought me carrots. So help me, if he’d ruined carrots for me, I’d burn his house down. I’d torch it, stand back and smile at the flames. My feet paused. Should I?

  No. That was crazy. That man made me crazy. I shook off that ridiculous idea because tempting as it was, I was no arsonist.

  Avoiding his home,
the inside at least, would be simple. Under no circumstances would I set foot in that yellow house again, not until it was empty and fumigated. Walking into his house last night, being wrapped in his scent, was much too dangerous for my heart—my disloyal heart, which had leapt with one long inhale of Shaw.

  Damn him.

  I marched faster, practically jogging. My breaths clouded above my head like the puffs of a racing steam locomotive. The blocks disappeared quickly as I hurried down the deserted streets, too angry and confused and annoyed to pay much attention to the few cars passing by.

  I’d be an icicle by the time I reached Genevieve and Isaiah’s house, but I had my fury to keep me warm. Isaiah would have come and picked me up, but this walk was good. I needed the movement to get my head on straight and think through a plan.

  First, if Shaw hadn’t figured it out last night, I’d spell it out for him. We. Were. Over. No number of apologies would change my mind. We’d been over the moment he’d called me from California. If I repeated the message enough times, eventually he’d go back to his world and leave me to mine.

  Second, I was dating Luke. I liked Luke. He was a good kisser and a sweet man. He was honest and true. Luke would come over and we’d take our relationship to the next level. Luke and me. Me and Luke.

  That was happening.

  Tonight.

  It didn’t matter who was living next door. It didn’t matter whose bedroom was outside mine.

  Maybe Luke and me should happen at his house instead.

  The crunch of tires on snow at my back startled me and I jumped to the far edge of the sidewalk. A large, gray truck pulled up beside me, its tires crushing the berm of snow that edged the streets this time of year, made from the snowplows clearing the streets.

  Emmett. He must have recognized my coat. Not many wore cherry-red parkas. He rolled down the passenger-side window. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “You scared me.”

  “Get inside before you freeze, damn it.”

  “I’m not cold,” I lied.

  “Hurry up.” He rolled his eyes and up went the window. Then the locks clicked open.

  I opened the door and hopped inside, buckling my seat belt and sliding off my gloves. My fingers wiggled over the warm air coming from the dashboard vents.