Wicked Heart

by Leisa Rayven

  He cups my face with both hands and forces me to look up at him. “Liss, the night you went dress shopping with Angel, you sobbed in my arms because I was marrying someone else, and that slayed me. I didn’t realize how much my actions have hurt you, and every day I stay with Angel, I hurt you more. I can’t keep doing it. I won’t.”

  “Liam, you’re talking about turning your whole world upside down.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should. Angel—”

  “Will be better off without me. She might not see it like that at first, but eventually she will. She deserves someone who can love her as much as I lo—”

  I put my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. Please.”

  He kisses my palm before pulling my hand away. “It’s true. Why not say it?”

  “Because if you do, I’m going to do things I’ll regret, and I’m trying to be the voice of reason here.” I wipe water off my face and sigh. “Please don’t make this decision now. Not in the heat of the moment. Go home. Cool off. Then, tomorrow, if you haven’t changed your mind—”

  He steps forward. “I’m not going to change my mind. That would imply being with you is a choice. It’s not. I’ve tried to forget about you. To stay away from you. Every single time, I’ve failed. You know that. Fighting what I feel for you is exhausting, and I can’t do it anymore. But the big question is, do you want this?” He takes my hand and weaves his fingers through mine, and the hope on his face melts me. “After all this time, and everything I’ve done … do you still want me?”

  I look at our hands. “It would be so messy.”

  “I know. But if we can finally be together, it would be worth it.”

  I look up into his eyes. “Yeah. It would.” He smiles, and even though the rain is still drenching us, I feel like I’m standing in full sun.

  I smile back at him, then shake my head at how sappy I must look. “You still need to sleep on it. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  He leans down and gives me a soft, slow kiss. “I have some things to work out on my end, but this is going to happen. Trust me.”

  I pull away, and even though I’m trying like hell to not get my hopes up, the way he’s smiling at me is making that impossible.

  I pick up my bag and swing it over my shoulder. “I’m heading home. If you figure out how to look Angel in the eye tomorrow after everything that’s just happened, let me know. I’ll be the one neck-deep in a shame spiral.”

  I’m almost at the end of the alley when he says, “Liss?” I turn to face him and see that, though the rain has slowed, his hair is still dripping onto his face. “No matter what happens, don’t feel guilty about this. I initiated it. Blame me, not yourself.”

  I shake my head. “It takes two people to kiss like that, Liam. I’m as guilty as you.” I turn away from him and trudge to the subway station. My guilt churns through me all the way home.

  Later, when I crawl into bed, I dream about a future in which Liam is mine—mind, body, heart, and soul. Even with a troubled conscience, they’re the most beautiful dreams I’ve ever had.

  FIFTEEN

  SCANDALOUS

  Liam and I are making love when something impinges on my consciousness.

  It’s a song. Tinny and far away.

  I try to ignore it.

  Liam lifts me until I’m straddling him, and his face melts into pure adoration as I ride him.

  “What’s that noise?” he asks, as he grips my hips and urges me to move faster.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. Fuck me.”

  He flips me onto my back and takes over by pressing my wrists into the bed. He thrusts, hard and deep.

  “God, Liam…”

  “I’ve been fantasizing about this since yesterday in the alley. Nothing feels as good as being inside you.”

  He increases his pace. Grabs my leg and pulls it up to his waist. Slides home, time and again.

  God, the pleasure. The all-consuming, spine-tingling pleasure.

  “Ohhhhh … Liaaaaaam…”

  “Hey, Mona McMoany. Answer your phone.” Then someone’s shaking me. “Lissa! Wake up!”

  I sit up with a start, still in the throes of my dream. Josh is sitting on my bed with my ringing phone in his hand.

  I take a quick look at the clock. 4.45 a.m.

  “Who the hell is calling at this hour?”

  “It’s Mary. Please answer it. It’s been ringing for five minutes.”

  I take the phone. “Mary?”

  “Finally! Where have you been?”

  I rub my face. “Sleeping. What else do you expect at this hour?”

  “Well, get up,” she says. “We’re having an emergency production meeting. Meet us in the conference room as soon as you can.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “The shit’s about to hit the fan is what’s going on. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  She hangs up without signing off. A ball of lead falls into my stomach.

  Oh, Liam. You did it, didn’t you? You’ve broken up with Angel and told everyone about us. Shit.

  I throw my covers back and get out of bed. “Come on, Josh. We have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Reasons. Move it.”

  Thirty minutes later we enter the conference room. The whole production team is there, as well as Angel and Liam. Angel looks like she’s been crying. Liam looks like he wants to murder someone.

  Oh, hell. This is really happening. He told her. I honestly didn’t think he would.

  I’ve dreamed about what it would be like to have Liam choose me too many times to count, but not once did I think it would be in such a public way. I sneak a glance at Mary and Marco. They don’t seem mad at me. Why don’t they seem mad?

  Next to Liam, Anthony Kent shuffles a stack of magazines in front of him. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. We have a situation that needs to be resolved, so let’s all get on the same page before a shitstorm of epic proportions lands firmly in our laps.”

  He passes around the magazines. When one lands in front of me, my mouth goes dry, which is remarkable considering I want to vomit.

  The front cover shows a grainy image of Liam kissing a girl. In an alley. In the rain. The angle of the picture hides my face, and my wet hair looks more brown than blond, but still: It’s me. The headline reads, EXCLUSIVE SCANDAL! HOLLYWOOD LOVE RAT CAUGHT IN ALLEY CLINCH! Underneath is the caption, “Trouble in paradise for America’s Sweethearts? Cheating Liam Quinn seduces mystery brunette in NYC.”

  “Oh, shit,” Josh says beside me. He shoots me a sideways glance. He suspects.

  “Shit, indeed,” Mary says as she takes off her glasses and cleans them.

  Across the table, Angel shakes her head. I can barely breathe.

  Anthony lays his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “This magazine will hit newsstands in a couple of hours, and yes, it looks bad, but we’re not here to judge. We’re here to go into damage control.”

  Mary gives Liam a disapproving glare. “What the hell were you thinking, sunshine?”

  He doesn’t look at her. “I wasn’t.”

  “Who is this girl?” Marco asks. “Will she be an ongoing issue?”

  “No.” Liam’s face is hard. “She’s just some chick I met in a bar. I was drunk. I did something stupid. It won’t happen again.”

  Heat engulfs my face as bile rises in my throat.

  Opposite me, Anthony crosses his arms. “Liam and I have spoken about this in detail, and he assures me it was just a drunken kiss that meant nothing. He wants to put it behind him and move on.”

  I swallow down another bout of nausea. It wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t suspect it was the truth. I flip the magazine open to the story inside. There are more pictures. My legs wrapped around Liam. His hands on my breasts. My fingers gripping his hair. Seeing it like this, it seems so seedy.

  “The first thing we do,” Anthony continues, “is make sure everyone is clear on the narrative. No
one but Mary and I speaks to the media. If we stand strong and united, we’ll weather this storm. The woman in these pictures is unidentified, but to America, she’s simply a cheap tramp who seduced a famous movie star in the hope of getting her fifteen minutes of fame. Are we clear?”

  Everyone nods, even Liam. He’s staring down at the table, fists clenched, jaw tight. He can’t even look at me.

  Angel is also looking at the table. She seems shell-shocked. I curl my fingers into my palms until I feel the sting of my fingernails. So Liam didn’t tell her about us and she still gets her heart ripped out? What the fuck is happening right now?

  “How can we be sure she won’t talk?” Mary asks. “Liam, if you give us her name, we can work out some sort of deal to keep her quiet.”

  “No,” Liam says, roughly. “She’s not interested in any of that.”

  “How do you know? We can draw up a confidentiality agreement. Legally gag her.”

  Liam shakes his head. “I can barely remember her face, Mary, let alone her name.” Now he glances at me. “She won’t come forward. Trust me.”

  I clench my jaw to stop from screaming at him. “Trust me”? Never again, asshole.

  “The woman isn’t part of our strategy,” Anthony says. “In a few hours the media frenzy will have reached fever pitch, so we’ll need Angeliam to go on television and make a joint statement.” Anthony passes Liam a printed speech. “Liam, you’re going to say you suffered a moment of weakness. You were nervous about the wedding, but you love your fiancée and deeply regret hurting her in any way. You will be on the verge of tears the whole time and hold your fiancée’s hand like it’s made of precious crystal, understand? Angel, you will stand beside your man and support him. When he’s finished, you will hug him and whisper words of forgiveness. We will manage this disaster with the military precision of the goddamn National Guard. Don’t forget, there’s no scandal so bad it can’t be spun into something good. Except of course if you murder someone or get caught kicking puppies, in which case, you’re screwed. But short of that, anything can be turned into promotional gold. We’ll get through this.”

  He keeps talking. Mary chimes in with her opinion. When Marco worries that the backers for the show will pull out, Mary reassures him that this kind of viral exposure will triple ticket sales.

  I just keep staring at the pictures and try not to let everyone see how my emotions are strangling me.

  So, all that talk about being with me was bullshit. Why do I even bother hoping anymore? It’s pointless.

  Here I was dreaming about being Liam’s girlfriend. Instead, I’m a regret. A stupid, nameless, shameful mistake.

  * * *

  “For the love of God, we blocked this last week!” Marco glares at the actors. “Why the hell are you all in the wrong positions?! Where are your brains, people?”

  Since the meeting, everyone’s been on edge. The rest of the cast found out about the scandal when the magazine hit the streets an hour ago, and we’ve been bombarded by phone calls and weeping fans ever since. Down in the street, I can still hear them wailing in disbelief.

  “They can’t end like this! Their love is eternal! I can’t believe Liam would do that. The slut must have made him.”

  I grind my teeth, and Josh gently touches my leg beneath the table. “This will blow over. Just give it time.”

  I nod tightly and write notes on my script. “Yep.”

  He hasn’t said anything, but he knows it’s me in those pictures. I can feel his disappointment like a vibration in the air. I’ve been a lot of things over the years, but never the other woman. His affection for Angel makes it even worse. I know he wants to be on my side, but how can he be? I’m the one in the wrong.

  “Let’s reset please, everyone,” I say. “From the top of this scene once more.”

  Liam looks over at me. I studiously ignore him. In the light of today’s drama, the pressure for me to be objective and professional is higher than ever. The cast needs to be reassured that as far as the show goes, everything’s under control. It’s the old duck illusion: No matter how frantically the legs are paddling below the water, we need people to see us gliding along with serene grace.

  “No, Liam! Downstage, dammit! Downstage!” It seems Marco didn’t get my memo about the duck thing. “Downstage is forward. Upstage is back. Do I need to remind you of basic stagecraft, man?”

  I put my hand on Marco’s arm and whisper, “Please breathe.”

  Marco pinches the bridge of his nose. Both Liam and Angel are off their games, but Liam’s definitely the worse off of the two. There’s also an air of resentment from the rest of the cast that he’s dropped us all in shit. In my case, the resentment is well-founded.

  “Sorry,” Liam says. He glances over at me, and I look away.

  He doesn’t even deserve eye contact.

  For the rest of the day, I double-check earlier than usual that all cast members are set for their cues. The last thing I need is for Marco’s patience to wear any thinner. Every time I go near Liam, my emotions flare, but I force them down and get on with things.

  “Stand by for your entrance, Mr. Quinn. Don’t forget to exit downstage left after ‘It shall be what o’clock I say it is.’”

  “Liss…” He leans down to talk to me, but I cross to the other side of the room to cue Angel.

  Poor Angel looks as bad as I feel. Of course, knowing I’m responsible for her misery makes me feel even worse. I’ve been on the receiving end of this kind of hurt so many times, you’d think it would suck less being the perpetrator and not the victim, but it doesn’t.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sorry.” For lots of things.

  She shakes her head and stares at Liam, who’s just entered the scene. “I thought we were always honest with each other. But this … My whole family is mortified. My father didn’t come out and say it, but I’m pretty sure he thinks all this happened because I’m an idiot who can’t keep her man satisfied.”

  “That’s ridiculous. None of this is your fault.”

  “No. But it does make me wonder what else Liam’s been keeping from me.” Rain. His mouth. Hands all over my body. “He could have been fucking this girl for weeks. He denies it, but I’m inclined not to believe a single word he says anymore.”

  Me either. I shake my head and check my script. “Okay, stand by for your cue, then exit with Liam downstage at the end of the scene.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  The day drags on. We finish blocking the final few scenes, but the tension in the air negates what little sense of achievement that brings.

  By the time I call an end to rehearsal, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. I think we’re all emotionally exhausted.

  While the rest of the cast leaves, Angel and Liam retreat to the conference room along with Anthony and Mary. Their press conference is in an hour, and Anthony wants to drill them one more time. It’s clear a spontaneous and heartfelt apology takes a crapload of rehearsal.

  I’m tidying up the production desk when Josh touches my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  He grabs my hands and turns me to face him. I can’t look him in the face so I stare at my knuckles instead.

  “Listen, I have a date tonight, but if you want me to cancel, I can.”

  I squeeze his hands. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to this, remember? But there is someone who I’m sure could use a friend tonight.”

  “If you say Quinn, I’m going to punch something. Probably him.”

  I shake my head and look up at him. “Make sure Angel isn’t alone. She doesn’t have any friends here, and I’d be with her, but … well, awkward.”

  He nods. “I’ll take care of her. Now, go. I’ll clean up here.” He pulls me in for a tight hug, then passes me my
bag.

  As soon as I hit the street, I’m accosted by at least a dozen reporters and photographers, all screaming questions as they shove recording devices in my face.

  “Any comment on the cheating scandal? How’s Angel coping with Liam’s betrayal?”

  “Is Liam sorry? Has he done this sort of thing before?”

  “Can you tell us about the woman involved? Is she an actor, too?”

  “If they break up, will the show close?”

  I stay silent and push though them. When they start to follow me, I run.

  By the time I get home, I’m in need of a Valium, a shower, and tissues. I slam the door behind me, then lean back against it, and when all the emotion I’ve been suppressing for the past ten hours threatens to bubble out of me in big, frustrated sobs, I let it come.

  SIXTEEN

  LOVE AND LOBSTERS

  Fresh from a hot shower and wrapped in my favorite robe, I flop onto the couch and turn on my phone. Immediately, a slew of message alerts rings out. Most of the numbers I don’t recognize, so I figure they’re reporters and ignore them. When I see that Liam’s tried to call me fifteen times, I grip the phone so hard, I almost crack the glass. I throw the phone onto the couch and head into the kitchen. There’s only half a bottle of red wine left, but my name is written all over it. I don’t even bother with a glass.

  After taking a giant swig, I go back to the couch and turn on the TV. Of course, the first thing that comes on is an entertainment show about the Angeliam scandal.

  “Geez, Universe,” I mutter at the screen. “I usually like some foreplay before I’m fucked this thoroughly. You could at least buy me dinner.”

  I sit there like a zombie and watch as the media circus covers the scandal. It’s the Angeliampocalypse, complete with teary fan interviews, Hollywood insiders speculating about the future of the golden couple, and an actual graph predicting how much retail sales of Rageheart will suffer or soar if they split. They’ll soar, by the way.

  I don’t even know why I’m watching. Stupidity? Sick curiosity? Flat-out masochism? After trusting Liam again, I guess I deserve punishment.

  On the screen, Angel and Liam emerge from our rehearsal building and face the barrage of yelling reporters and flashbulbs. They’re holding hands. Liam looks gorgeous and contrite. Angel looks gorgeous and devastated. Liam says everything Anthony told him to. He’s on the verge of tears the whole time, which leads me to believe he’s either genuinely sorry for his actions or needs to win a damn Oscar in the near future.