“I never said it was. You’re the one who’s grilling me here over some gossip. You know how it is in Hollywood. Everyone puts the absolute worst spin on everything.”
It pains me that he doesn’t see how that’s true of me too, because of my association with him. But it’s obvious that he thinks I’m some kind of exception.
And the truth is I’m pretty certain he’s right. He can’t even smile at another woman without it becoming a big deal. But the fact that he won’t give me the same benefit of the doubt he’s asking for hurts. I can’t decide if I should scream or cry.
“Paige…”
I jump to my feet. “I can’t continue right now.”
Before he can stop me, I go to my room. I need to be somewhere quiet to process all this so I don’t do anything rash.
But when I open the door to my suite, a white-hot rage sears my entire body, leaving my skin raw and tight. For a moment I can’t think or even breathe. Then all the emotion gathers in my belly like a knot of angry snakes.
Gone are the blue hyacinths and white tulips. Instead, there are red, yellow and purple tulips in a different crystal vase on my bedside table.
The bouquet is just as large and beautiful as the one from Anthony. It probably cost just as much, if not more.
Ryder follows me in. Concern softens his voice. “Paige, look—”
“Did you do this?” I ask, my jaw tight.
“What?”
I gesture at the tulips. “Where are the hyacinths?”
Tense lines form on his forehead. “The housekeeper knocked the vase over when she came up here to clean your room.”
The fury in my gut explodes. “Am I supposed to believe such a lame excuse?” Something close to hysteria edges my voice, raising it until it’s shrill.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Now what? Is there going to be another inquisition over some flowers?” His expression is no longer placid or concerned. It is one of pure justified outrage.
“If you’d just waited, I would’ve thrown them out myself. I decided to do that when I was out walking. But no—you had to take care of it yourself, didn’t you? You weren’t going to let me decide.” I reach into the closet and pull out a small suitcase. I open it and start tossing in some essentials—underwear, moisturizer and some changes of clothes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
The sound of his breathing rings harshly in the room. He rakes his hair, then glares at me. “Dammit, Paige. If you walk out now, it’s over.”
I zip the bag. Suddenly I’m drained and empty. Tears prickle at my eyes, but I hold them back. They won’t do a thing to fix the situation.
“No, Ryder,” I tell him, facing him with my hand around the suitcase handle. “It was over when you decided that I was the one who released the sex tape for fame and fortune.”
Chapter Seven
Paige
It takes me over an hour to reach my stepsister’s house. The traffic is atrocious, even for Los Angeles, and makes me contemplate moving to a mountain top somewhere in the Himalayas.
I ring the bell and wait. Bethany and Oliver have given me free run of the place, but I don’t like to walk in unannounced since they’re still rather passionate about each other. After a few moments the door opens wide and Bethany steps out. She’s in a bright sunflower-yellow t-shirt and faded denim capris. A yellow number two pencil skewers a messy brown bun on top of her head. It’s her “I’m home and comfy” look.
She notes my suitcase, and a concerned expression comes over her face. Instead of asking questions, she pulls me inside.
I walk into the homey living room. Oliver adjusts his glasses as he walks out of the kitchen. His gaze drops to the suitcase, and a frown appears. “What’s going on?”
I stand by the couch, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I know it’s sudden, but I need a place to stay for a while. Normally I’d go back to my apartment, but there are too many reporters.”
Bethany and Oliver exchange a quick look. She takes charge. After all, I’m her family. “Of course, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need. But… I thought you were getting married.”