by Geneva Lee
“That’s because audiences don’t want reality,” Levi begins to explain.
Now I wish I’d let him go swimming after all. It would be a lot easier to drown him.
“Save the spin,” I advise, “and get the hell out of here, before I tell the Wests why you really stopped in for a visit.”
“It’s a job. It’s not personal.”
“Do you really think they’re going to feel that way?” I ask.
“I do.”
“Then you’re either stupid or you’re lying to yourself. If you honestly believe they won’t care, you should walk inside and tell them right now why you’re here,” I call his bluff.
“They’ve got a lot going on right now, and I wouldn’t...”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” I mutter, ignoring his sorry excuse.
“Emma, you have to understand—”
“What’s going on?” Jameson interrupts us. I don’t have to look at my boyfriend to know that he’s angry. Taking a mental step back, I evaluate the situation. Super-hot movie star friend standing way too close to current girlfriend, while he pleads with her. Yeah, this looks bad from any angle.
Levi comes to the same conclusion, because he backs away from me and holds up his hands in surrender. “It’s not what it looks like, man.”
“Really? Because it looks like you’re hitting on my girlfriend.”
“Is this the part where you two bump chests, and wrestle around on the ground?” I ask them. Jameson holds up a warning finger, but I slap it away.
“Have you still not figured out that I don’t like to be told what to do?”
“And I don’t like friends who overstep their bounds.” As he moves in closer, I’m just starting to realize that this is about to come to blows.
“Look, man. I don’t want to fight you. I have to be on set next week and...”
Jameson’s fist finishes that sentence for him.
Levi grabs his nose, as blood begins to gush from it. “Did you just break my nose? Do you have any idea what this nose is worth?”
Jameson takes out his wallet and tosses a few hundred dollar bills at his feet. “That ought to cover it.”
Turning toward me, he gestures towards the house. “Come inside.”
I put my hands on my hips and shake my head. “I’m not taking your orders.”
“Can we do this somewhere else?” Jameson suggests.
“No,” I refuse, “because Levi has something to tell you.”
“I do?” Levi adds in confusion.
Before he can work out that I’m forcing my hand to get him to confess, Jameson shoves him against the column. “Did you touch her? Did you lay a fucking hand on her?”
Levi shoves him away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“There’s a difference between stage fighting and real fighting,” Jameson warns him.
My stomach clenches in anticipation at his words. Maybe it’s a little primeval of me to get off on watching two beautiful men make each other bleed, but if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.
“Tell him why you’re here, Levi.” I call out to them, hoping they can hear it past the roar of adrenaline that’s taken over their reasoning.
“What’s going on out here?” Monroe steps onto the patio, her eyes flashing from her brother to Levi. “You didn’t start a fist fight, did you?”
“I didn’t,” Jameson says with emphasis.
I can’t keep it in any longer.
“Levi came here because he’s going to play you in the biopic that Hans Von Essen is directing.” The truth explodes from me. Not telling them would be as bad is lying. Something Levi might feel comfortable with, but I can’t anymore.
“Is this true?” Jameson asks in a hollow voice.
Levi hesitates, which is answer enough.
“Get the fuck out,” Jameson orders him. “And stay away. Don’t call. Don’t come by. Our lawyers will handle this.”
“Lawyers?” Levi repeats. “I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Then I suggest you get one.” Jameson turns his back towards his former friend.
“You can’t sue me because I’m taking a role.”
“Maybe not, but I can find something to sue you for, and I will.”
Levi balks at Jameson’s threat. “You wouldn’t actually do that.”
“A day ago, I might have said, ‘You wouldn’t actually take a role where you say I murdered my father.’ I guess we’re both full of surprises. Do you know how easy it would be for me to pull the plug on you playing this role?”
“I’d like to see you try,” Levi sneers. It’s the most unattractive he’s ever looked, and for the first time I notice that his teeth are slightly crooked. One ear is larger than the other, and there’s slight acne scars on his face. I guess a good smile can really disguise an asshole.
“Monroe, back me up.” Levi addresses her and turns on the charm, but she simply raises an eyebrow.
“You heard what he said. Get out.”
“I thought we were friends.”
“We were,” she informs him. “But this is about family.”
“Your family’s fucked up. You both know it. You both know how much your father hid. How he treated your mom. You told me so yourself.”
“Yeah, it’s a fucked up family,” Jameson takes a step closer, and Levi flinches. “But it’s our family, and you’re not a part of it.”
“What did I miss?” Hugo asks, rubbing his hands together as he steps outside.
Levi wipes his bloody nose with the back of his hand, and then straightens up. “Nothing. You didn’t miss anything. I was just leaving.”
“That’s too bad,” Hugo says, clapping him on the back as he passes, oblivious to the tension between the four of us. “Next time, I want to hear all about you getting up on Blake Lively.”
Levi casts a glance toward Jameson. “Sure. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Then he walks into the house and out of our lives.
“How long have you known about this?” Jameson asks me when the others go into the house.
“Since the night we left Palm Springs. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“No. Don’t apologize to me, Duchess. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you that your best friend betrayed you,” I admit.
“I think it’s hard for someone like you to understand.”
“Understand what?” I whisper, as he moves in closer, his lips slanting towards mine.
“Disloyalty.”
“I know a thing or two about it,” I think of Becca and the lies she kept from me.
“Maybe you do, but there’s not an ounce of it in your body. It’s one of the reasons...”
Before he can finish the sentence, I kiss him, because I trust him, and he trusts me. Right now with our worlds as fucked up as they are, that has to count for something.
When we break apart, I’m panting. Jameson presses his forehead against mine, lingering there despite the sweat from the heat of the evening.
“Can I stay with you for a while?”
“You can stay with me forever,” he promises. Then, he seals that vow with a kiss.
Chapter Eighteen
His mom shows me to a spare room. Obviously, things are a bit different when she’s home. She smiles knowingly as she opens the closet and takes a guest robe out, laying it across the bed. She continues to point out where I can find towels, or shampoo, or a spare tooth brush.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say to her, when she asks if there’s anything else I need.
“Nonsense, this is why we have guest rooms. Jameson mentioned that you’re only seventeen. I don’t feel comfortable allowing a seventeen-year-old to share a bed with her boyfriend.”
I bite my lip, wondering why on earth I can’t will the ground to open up and swallow me whole when I need it to.
“I knew your mother,” she continues, “and I think she’d agree with me
on this.”
“You have no idea,” I say under my breath. Of course, if it was up to her, I wouldn’t be staying with the Wests; she’d be taking a restraining order out against them. I keep that to myself, though.
After she's left, I look around the large bedroom, feeling out of place. I creep quietly to the door when I hear voices in the hallway.
“You don’t have to put us in separate rooms,” Jameson says to her.
I hear her muffled laugh through the door. “I’ve seen how you look at her. It’s for the best. There’s enough police scrutiny on you at the moment. Keeping some distance between you and her is a good idea while she’s still underage.”
“I know, we’ve already talked about it.”
“You have?” she says in surprise.
“We talk about a lot of things, Mom. She’s not like other girls.”
Those are the words we all long to hear because isn’t every new boyfriend or girlfriend the same until one is different?
I’m different for Jameson.
The thought settles over me, sinking deep in my bones, and when I climb into the guest room bed, I drift away peacefully.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I’m awakened when he slips in beside me.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I murmur sleepily.
He spoons against me and presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “Try to keep me away, Duchess.”
I wiggle closer to him, shamelessly pushing my ass against his groin.
“Duchess, what are you wearing?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“What I always wear to bed.” It’s harder to feign innocence when you’re half asleep, but I do my best. “My panties and a tank top.”
I already know what’s gotten his attention. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m a boy shorts kind of girl, but since I’d had to wear that teeny tiny romper today, I’d opted for a thong. His hand skims over my bare ass cheek, and he groans.
“You’re the one who wants to wait,” I remind him.
“Shh,” he hushes me. “I’m trying really hard to remember why.” I giggle, enjoying the feel of his hands roaming all over me. “My mom is down the hall, remember?”
I flip over to face him, tucking my head against his shoulder. “I don’t think she’ll hear us.”
“Duchess, if I have anything to say about it, they’ll hear you in China,” he promises. Then he kisses me on the forehead. “You’re just going to have to wait.”
“It would be easier if you didn’t keep getting into bed with me,” I tell him.
“It would be easier if you weren’t half naked.” He sighs deeply and moves his palms upward until they’re resting on the small of my back. “Stop pouting.”
“It’s dark, how do you know I’m pouting?”
“You’re pouting so loudly that I can hear it. Get some sleep,” he advises me.
“Won’t we get in trouble if she catches you in here?”
“Yeah,” he says wearily. “She’ll slap me on the wrist and then ask if I want breakfast.”
“I wish my mom was like yours.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he says mysteriously. I’m not certain what to make of that statement, so I let it slide. Every moment I’ve experienced with Evelyn West leads me to believe that she has a wonderful relationship with her children. Then again, it took her days to return home after her husband was murdered. She claimed her father was sick but if my own life proves anything, it’s that appearances can be deceiving.
“I don’t want to sleep,” I admit to Jameson. “I have too many nightmares.”
“I won’t let you have any tonight.” His arms tighten around my waist. “Tonight you’re only going to have good dreams. What do you want to dream about, Duchess?”
“My birthday,” I say shyly.
“Why? Is there something you’re looking forward to?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I have a feeling it’s going to be the best birthday ever.”
“If I have anything to say about it, it will be.” He keeps his lips pressed to my forehead, whispering the words across my bare skin. They tingle across my scalp and race down my neck, settling low in my belly. “Have you thought any more about where you want to go?”
“Nowhere too far,” I tell him.
“Paris and London are out?”
“Too far. I want to get there as quickly as possible,” I admit.
“What about Mexico? There’s this little resort in Playa del Carmen. We can sleep near the water.”
“Sleep?” I repeat.
“Miss Southerly, what are you suggesting?” He says, in mock horror.
“It’d be easier for me to give you a preview,” I murmur. Then I move my lips to his.
“I should have known you’d be in here.” Waking up to Monroe’s smug voice is not my idea of a good morning. I burrow down into the covers, leaving Jameson to deal with his sister.
“What do you want, Monroe?” he mutters, rolling away from me and then instantly falling back to sleep. For a second, I’m reminded of how things used to be with Becca.
“You two have company.”
“What time is it?” I whisper over his snores.
“Eight.”
Monroe strikes me as the type to get up at the break of dawn to do two hours of cardio. When I sit up, my suspicions are confirmed when I see she’s in a sports bra and shorts.
“Who is it?” I ask, praying it’s not my dad.
There’s no smugness in her tone when she says, “Detective Mackey.”
She might as well have shot me up with espresso. I jump out of bed and shrug on the robe her mom left me.
“Don’t wake him up,” I order her.
She grabs my arm, digging her nails into my skin. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.” I yank free of her grip. “In case you missed it, your brother doesn’t always act rationally when he thinks I’m in trouble.”
I take the stairs slowly. I'm not exactly excited for my reunion with my favorite federal investigator. The fact that she's here as early as is socially acceptable is a pretty good indicator that she's bringing bad news with her. It occurs to me too late that I should have asked Monroe for more details. Had Mackey come to see both Jameson and me? Or just him?
Or me?
When I reach the sitting room, I can’t help but notice that the slick bob she’d sported when she came to town is a bit too long. She’s been working overtime. I might feel sorry for her except for the fact that she’s trying to put my boyfriend away for murder.
“Can I get you some coffee?” I ask.
Channel your inner hostess much, Emma. I don't even know where the coffeemaker is.
Mackey raises one eyebrow that’s in serious need of intervention. “Making yourself at home, aren’t you?”
I stopped fidgeting and sit up straighter.
“I’m attempting to be polite, you should try it.”
There’s a hint of a smile at her lips, but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction. She leans back and crosses her legs, regarding me for a long moment before she comes to the point. “There’s going to be a press conference this today. I felt you should know.”
“I had no idea that interest in the case has waned so much that you have to solicit attention door-to-door,” I say with a shrug. If she’s going to pretend that she doesn’t find me amusing then I’ll pretend that I don’t find her or her games interesting.
She folds her hands in her lap. “Would you like to know what it’s going to be about?”
“I’m assuming the murderer. Are you trying to tell me you’ve done some genuine police work and have a real suspect finally?”
“Yes, we do.” Mackey tilts her head and meets my eyes. “You.”
I don’t blink. Partially because I don’t want her to see that she’s spooked me, but mostly because I’m frozen. I force myself to respond. ”You really are desperate.”
“Says the girl playing house at a bi
llionaire’s.”
“Fine, I’ll bite.” I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees to close some of the distance between us. “What do you have on me?”
“First, can I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Should I have a lawyer present?” I counter. If I’m smart I’ll kick her out, but curiosity has gotten the better of me.
“You should,” Jameson says from the doorway. There’s no sign that he’s been sleeping. He’s dressed and alert while I can claim neither thing. Not bothering to look my way, he prowls into the room with his eyes trained on her.
“Mr. West, how lovely to see you.” Mackey sounds anything but pleased that he’s joined us. “I’m having a private conversation with your girlfriend.”
“Anything you can say to her, you can say in front of me.”
It’s a line right out of a CSI episode.
“Is that true?” she asks me.
“Yeah,” I say without hesitation. “I don’t keep anything from him.”
“So young to have so little secrets. How long have you two known each other?”
“Long enough,” Jameson answers for me while I do the math. Has it really been less than two months? “Do you have actual questions? And can they wait for my lawyers to arrive?”
“You don’t need a lawyer,” Mackey corrects him. “She does.”
“I misspoke. I meant our lawyers.”
“You two have gotten close. It’s surprising given that you’ve known each other such a short time—or did you know each other before?” she asks.
I groan and slouch back in my chair. Apparently, Mackey will be playing the role of good cop and bad cop today. It’s hard to believe anyone actually falls for this crap, but pitting couples against one another must work if she’s trying it.
“I waive my right to an attorney.”
“Emma, I wouldn’t advise that,” Jameson begins, but I hold up a hand.
“Look, I don’t feel like waiting around all day to get to the point. Let her ask her questions. We know the truth, so let’s see what she believes is so rock solid that she’s here accusing me of murder.”
“Right now it’s only gut,” Mackey admits.
“You want me to be the one who killed him. Should I be flattered or offended?”
