Entangled (A Tryst Novel)

by Alex Rosa

  Nothing would change how much I love her, cherish her, or how beautiful I think she is. I refuse to let anyone make her feel or think differently.

  When I feel I’ve sufficiently kissed her skin, I rise to ask an important question, and utter words I know she’ll hate.

  I wait until we are nose to nose before I speak. “Are you hurt? Do I need to take you to the doctor? I will. We can go. Let’s go now.”

  Her unexpected soft chuckle lifts my spirits just that little bit as she shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.” She gulps down her emotions, straightening her back as she swipes her hands over her cheeks. “I’m gonna be okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “Of course. I wish I’d gotten here sooner.”

  “Gio had it covered.” I nod, but my jaw clench doesn’t go unnoticed as she says, “He saved me.” It’s her way to justify and legitimize her words to calm my apparently obvious jealousy, but it doesn’t, even though it should.

  I don’t want to admit that her statement rushes through me with the same fury as I felt seeing her damn bruise. I just wish I had been the one to save her. That’s all.

  “Stop it, Blake. You know you’re the one that I need, though.”

  I know this, and I don’t want to talk about Gio anymore. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  She lifts her elbow to show me her scrape, the blood already dry and scabbing.

  How many times am I going be so overwhelmingly angry?

  She hums, regaining her sense of self as she watches me. “We’ll wash it off in the shower. I don’t know how I’ll cover it up for your awards show.”

  My body goes rigid, and I shake my head.

  Her eyes widen infinitesimally as if reading my instant rejection at her mentioning the event, and as if to distract me, she reaches for my shirt, lifting it over my head to stop me.

  I want to laugh, but I roll my eyes when she can’t see.

  “We’re not going to that show tomorrow night, Skyler. There’s no way,” I confirm.

  She pouts in unison with her shoulder slump, and I feel like I’ve just taken a child’s toy away.

  “But I have a dress and everything. I want to go. This is supposed to be our first big thing together. The dress is so pretty.”

  I hate saying no to her, especially when those last words sound adorably hot.

  My heart even revs in rebellion at my mind’s need to say no. It pains me, when my soul is willingly hers, and I’d lay the world at her feet if she asked. But common sense has to come into play sometime.

  “And I’m sure you look pretty in it, but we can’t. Not after tonight.”

  “I want to gooo. You’re just going to go without me, then?”

  Her words throw me for a loop, and I shoot her a no-nonsense glare. I trail my fingertips over her lips, and smooth over her cheek, moving a wave of hair behind her ear.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not leaving you alone for a second. I’m home for most of the week, and I’m not leaving your side. Not for a moment. Josh will understand.”

  Another flinch. “Josh,” she whispers. “He’s going to freak out.”

  I nod. I don’t want to broach that topic now.

  Her head leaps up, with another wince at the quick movement. “What about Gio’s show on Friday?”

  There’s a lot I can say no to, but that’s something I can’t. Not with all that he’s done for her, and us. I owe Gio a lot at this point, but it doesn’t mean I’m not leery.

  I try to think of something else, and my mind can only fling itself to her ex-boyfriend. When and where did Jason show up before all of this? And why hasn’t she mentioned it?

  The thought has me needing to press my lips to hers, and everywhere for some sense of reassurance. I crash my mouth against hers again, letting my fingertips dance over her waist before pulling away to kiss her bruised ribs, humming and brushing my lips against her smooth skin as her fingers skate over the surface of my scalp.

  I just want to have faith in the situation. I want to have faith in us.

  “We’ll be there,” I reply. “I love you, so much.”

  Chapter 17

  Skyler

  As we coast down the road on our way to Gio’s gallery opening, all I can do is stare at Blake’s thumb frantically brushing over my knuckles. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  It’s this single maneuver that could almost represent what the past few days have been like. He’s wound up like a toy, and I worry about when he’s going to snap. I also have no idea where this is coming from.

  He’s been overly attentive considering what happened, combined with the tenseness in his shoulders every morning, or right before bed. I can’t tell if he’s worried about Jason, or something else entirely.

  He’d kiss me hard, and then caress my bruises in silence among his grumbles of dismay. I don’t know how many times I had to tell him I’m fine before he caved in and leaned back in bed to only kind of relax.

  We barricaded ourselves in his room, and ordered a lot of takeout. I loved every moment of it, but maybe it’s made us a bit stir-crazy.

  We avoided my brother, who couldn’t help but linger and pace in the living room during the evenings, too, as if Jason was bound to reappear at any moment.

  Why do I feel like the only calm one?

  Blake has been more tight-lipped than usual, too, and even though we had moments of laughter and release, I cannot for the life of me figure out what has him wound up so tight today.

  He went for a jog alone this morning, too. He hated leaving me alone, but it was written all over his face that he needed to work something off. I asked him repeatedly to speak up, but his only response was “It’s a personal problem.”

  What does that even mean?

  Now that we’re on the move, and he hasn’t looked at me once since leaving our surprisingly empty driveway, my insecurities are eating me alive.

  Maybe I’m too much for him. Maybe spending time with me, and with the added chaos of Jason, combined with keeping up with the demands of his career, is all proving to be too heavy.

  When I line it up that way in my head, it makes sense that I would be too much.

  “Skyler, I can hear you thinking . . .”

  The knot in my gut that had been getting tighter and tighter with each squirming bit of doubt loosens, but it’s not enough.

  “I know you’ve told me to stop asking, but what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he replies curtly, already impatient. I’ve never known Blake to be impatient with me. That knot is back with a vengeance.

  “Why are you lying?”

  He snorts, which shocks me. I pull my hand free from his, and finally he shoots me a glance. Instead of it being frustrated or annoyed, it looks lost, and contemplative.

  “Did I do something, Blake? I’m trying to figure out what’s going through your head, but you’re not giving me much to work with. You went from treating me like a china doll to treating me like a ticking time bomb.”

  He releases a sigh and tries reaching for my hand again, but I scoot my body away from him. He can’t touch me if he’s going to be so closed off. I officially have no idea what’s going on. If he really wants to distance himself, why would he want to touch me? His reflexive need to has me thinking it’s more of a remedy than anything.

  I shake my head, entirely confused.

  “You know, Jason is in jail now. I’ve come to terms with everything that’s happened, but like I told you, I have you and my brother, and I—”

  “And Gio?” he adds questioningly. He doesn’t attempt to take it back or apologize for the outburst.

  I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth as I watch him. His jaw is clenched tight, and his jade stare is concentrating hard on the road in front of us.

  “So, that’s what this is about?”

 
He rolls his shoulders out in the driver’s seat before deciding to speak. “It’s a combination of things. Why didn’t you ever mention you ran into Jason a few weeks ago?”

  Pow.

  It feels like a blow to my well-being, and instead of my bruises pulsing in pain, my heart does. How does he know?

  With the uncanny ability to read me like a novel written just for him he adds, “The policeman mentioned in your report you had told them about the first time he showed up, at our door, and also about a second time you ran into him. I didn’t know about that one.”

  He pulls the car sharply into a parking spot a block away from the gallery. Instead of waiting for me to respond he gets out of the car without glancing at me.

  I need him. That’s not a lie, but I hate how true it is in that instant. I open the car door to find him on the sidewalk, standing stoically, staring down at the ground.

  Huffing before he goes on, he says, “I know this isn’t the right time or place to talk about it, but it’s been weighing on me all week. I kept thinking that I could let it go, get over it, and I’d feel better, but I haven’t been able to. I kept thinking you were going to tell me eventually.”

  “Blake.”

  Finally, he looks up from the ground for the first time, and I hate how sad he looks. I’ve seen him angry, frustrated, and in love, but sad isn’t an emotion I come across too often with him. His eyebrows angle downward as his eyes dissect me, and I know what he’s looking for. The truth.

  “I didn’t tell you about Jason because it hurt to talk about him, and I thought I had it handled. Obviously, I didn’t.” My throat goes dry as my mind swirls around everything I’m still holding back.

  “I want you safe, Skyler. That much is obvious, but . . .”

  It’s that sentence trailing off that makes my eardrums sting in anticipation. He shrugs, trying to get a grasp on his thoughts, but begins his strides instead, and I try to keep up.

  I keep telling myself we’ll be okay. We’ll be okay . . . we’ll be okay . . .

  As we round the corner he says, “I’m angry, too. I’m worried and furious and . . . I don’t know. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to tell you about Kathryn? That she made a move on me? I knew it was going to make you mad, but I did it anyway. I tried listening to everything you had told me to make us better. That was me baring it all, including the bad. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t extend me the same decency. I’ve been wanting to ask you about it since everything with Jason happened, and then I figured out why you wouldn’t tell me about Jason in the first place. Plus, I knew it was hard to deal with, but the more time went by, the more it started to irk me. I thought maybe you’d say it first, but you never did. I know he’s not worth any of our time, I get it, but it begs the question that I have to ask: are you lying to me about anything else? When did it become not worth telling me everything?”

  By the time he finishes speaking, we’re reaching the VIP check-in to the gallery. This is my chance to expunge all of my secrets and confess, to put Blake first before my misplaced worries.

  He’s wide-eyed and expectant.

  “Blake, I—”

  “Ay, mi amore, Blake!”

  The crisp greeting of Sophie, Gio’s assistant, comes from the podium, and I’m half tempted to yank Blake back down the street to say what I need to say. I hate him seeing right through me, and being right about all the wrong things.

  I’m a terrible person.

  It’s too late when Sophie has no shame throwing her arms around his neck. His soft chuckle is fake and forced as he hugs her back. She pulls away, turning to me. “Skyler, buonasera! I saw some of the shots from Monday. Gio’s right, you’re a natural,” she hums.

  My cheeks flush scarlet, but all I can do is give her a tight smile and a shrug. She looks me over inquisitively, giving me the widest, proudest smile she’s ever given me, and I have to assume that during the photo shoot we broke through some barrier. That’s until she adds, “I can’t wait for you to look inside!”

  She presses a kiss to each side of my face before ushering us through the doors. Luckily, Blake’s need to touch me seems to overrun his need to be frustrated as he reaches for my hand. His gentle squeeze tells me he doesn’t want to feel this way as much as I don’t.

  When we stroll inside I don’t know what to expect. First, the venue is packed. Waiters wander back and forth with trays carrying hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes among the mass of people. Secondly, I guess I never took Gio for a landscape guy, so when I see the stunning array of beautiful photos of men and woman printed on canvas scattered artistically against each wall, I’m in awe. I’m not a natural, he is. The black-and-white photos set a stark theme among the dramatic color photos, evoking every emotion imaginable through every passing display, most of which are close-ups on faces, or particular body parts, hands especially.

  I wish I could bask in my friend’s success, but the sharp tug of my arm has my brain swerving to the man in front of me. My steps suddenly have to trot to keep up with Blake’s pace, and this time the squeeze to my hand is anything but gentle.

  What has gotten him so . . .

  “Oh my God,” escapes me.

  Blake lets go of my hand once we’ve stopped in front of a series of photos all lined up beside each other in a row covering an entire wall . . . of me.

  He’s staring at them, dumbfounded, blinking through each photo before moving onto the next.

  I’ve lost my breath. I never told Blake about these photos, and I can’t believe they’ve slipped my mind, right along with telling him about Jason.

  “Blake—”

  “What. Is. This?”

  My heart might’ve shrunk at his curt tone.

  He doesn’t wait for a response. “This is just something else you haven’t told me about. There’s got to be more, Skye. This is exactly what I was worried about. I’m gone for work, so you go and live a life not worth telling me about? Or is this something more, because damn, these pictures look personal.”

  His eyes land on me hard, crushing me. His last words are patronizing and accusatory. “It’s not what you think,” I whisper. My hands come together at my waist, my fingers fiddling with each other nervously.

  Blake flings his eyes back to the photos. “Whose clothes are those? Because they’re not mine, and they’re not yours. When were these taken?”

  I gulp down. I don’t have it in me to argue. He has every right to be furious at me. I feel the size of an ant.

  I’m awful.

  I’ve never seen Blake so livid, and so . . . damaged. His green eyes are dark, but they’re electric and erratic. “Skyler.” He demands, and I leap at the tone, trying to find a way to explain.

  I deserve this.

  “It’s the night I was trying to forget. Let me explain!”

  “Well.”

  He doesn’t have patience any longer. The guy I met months ago, the one that wasn’t in love with me yet, surfaces like a tidal wave. The Blake I don’t know is this callous one, the one staring back at me. The one who used to be known to wander aimlessly from bed to bed, and who didn’t care what people thought of him.

  “This was the day Jason appeared. I was jogging, and he showed up.” Blake turns his head away to stare at the photos as I speak, as if trying to put my words, like a story, to the pictures he’s staring at. This is my mess. “He attacked me, Blake, and I ran away. I didn’t know where to run, and I could hear Jason behind me. I ended up running to Gio’s house. It wasn’t intentional. I was terrified—”

  “Bella!”

  No, No, No.

  I can feel Gio’s presence as he approaches from behind, and I don’t have it in me to turn around. My eyes are pinned to Blake who turns around, but he doesn’t look at me. He purposefully avoids me as his eyes dart behind me to the Italian man, and I’ve never seen Blake loo
k so volatile, like he could throw down at any moment if pushed that little bit more.

  Gio walks up to me from behind, and when he presses a delicate kiss to my cheek I can smell his breath thick with champagne, and I know that he’s had a few too many. Gio doesn’t let himself go like this. He’s never openly touched me, or even give an innocent European hello kiss on my cheek, like the one he’s just given me. His guard is down with the alcohol, and he has every right to be relaxed and jubilant at his success. However, right now, he’s walking straight into a battle zone that isn’t his fault, but mine.

  “Bellaaaa, please tell me you’ve discussed Milan with your love! I need an answer, and I think Milan could open so many doors!”

  Gio sips the rest of the champagne in his glass, and finally his eyes dart between Blake and me in the heavy silence that is unmistakably hanging between us, and I know he sees that things are everything but okay.

  “Excuse me?” Blake blurts harshly, his eyes turning to stone on Gio, who doesn’t cower, but instead straightens up, because no one intimidates Giovanni Vigilucci. That’s just a fact, and he doesn’t let people forget it.

  “I invited Skyler to come to Milan for a fashion show. I didn’t mean anything by it. She was going to check with you to see if it was all right.”

  Blake is so blindsided by the whole evening his response is sharp and to the point. “When?”

  Gio glances at me and frowns. I can’t take his look of disappointment, but he turns back to answer. “End of November—”

  Blake finally turns toward me, and this time he looks destroyed. “We’re supposed to go to visit my Mom at the end of November.”

  My eyes water. How did I not remember that?

  I shake my head, frantic and gasping for air. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t say I would go, Blake. I said I had to think about it. It’s obviously not an—”