Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy 3)

“I didn’t—” I tried to say before I was cut off by yet another question.

“Was it his money? Were you planning on taking everything he had in the divorce? Who helped you take advantage of him?”

“What?!” I felt like I’d been punched right in the stomach. Taken advantage of Julian? What in the world were they talking about?

“Is it true that you traveled to Las Vegas specifically to sleep with Mr. Bastille?” another reporter asked. “How long had you been planning this con of yours?”

“I would never—” I stammered, the sting of tears forcing me to shut my eyes. I couldn’t hold back the sobs as I tried all the harder to get to the front doors, wincing every time someone demanded I answer for a thousand different theories concerning my relationship with Julian. I felt so violated, so exposed, that I might as well have been naked out there on that street, all eyes on me as they immortalized the moment for all the world to see.

“When did you decide that Julian Bastille would be your target?” another reporter asked.

“Were you trying to flee to the United Kingdom? Was this attempt to get UK citizenship all a part of some plan to escape your crippling debt?”

“What are you talking about?” I shouted as more and more reporters tried to squeeze themselves closer.

I swatted the nearest microphone away, finally breaking free from the crowd and pushing through the doors into the lobby of the hotel. Already I could hear some of the press following after me, hoping to get the upper hand on their fellows and maybe even catch an exclusive.

“Ms. Lawson!” a man—someone I even recognized from television—called after me. “How could you do this to Julian Bastille?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. All of these wild accusations had driven me over the edge—and despite promising myself that I wouldn’t say anything to these monsters, I couldn’t spend another moment helplessly hounded by them, either. I wouldn’t just cower when the world called me such awful things—I was going to fight back.

I was going to take control.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I would never hurt Julian,” I said, whipping around on the reporter and his accompanying cameraman. They both flinched backward, eyes wide, apparently not anticipating my wrath. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not in this for the damn money. Our life—Julian’s and mine—is exactly that. Ours. And that means it’s none of your business.” I could have stopped right there, but taking the reins like this had opened up the floodgates on my anger. Seething, I added, “Now fuck off!”

As though they’d smelled blood in the water, a flurry of additional questions came roaring in, and more and more of the reporters from outside began filing in, convinced I was not willing to answer their questions.

“Ms. Lawson! Are you faking your pregnancy?” a new reporter demanded to know. “Is the child even Julian’s? Has there been a paternity test? Whose baby is it?”

I wanted to kick myself for giving them even a bit of an answer. The longer I stood there, fixed to the floor of the lobby, the louder and more demanding they became for answers, cameras once again flashing in my face.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, frozen, until hotel security finally intervened, pushing back the crowd and swiftly guiding me toward the elevator. They asked what room I was staying in, and I readily told them. Whatever it took to get me out of this mess, that was what I was willing to do. They could have asked me for my social security number in exchange for safe haven, and in that moment, I might very well have given it to them.

Everything after that passed by as if I was in a dream, time moving in ways I couldn’t even comprehend, my brain reeling from the trauma of what had just occurred—the accusations that had been leveled at me from people who didn’t even know me. Why the hell were they accusing me of conning Julian?

Before I knew it I was in a suite. The security officers were standing at the threshold, asking that I stay in my room until the reporters could be removed from the premises. I nodded numbly and shut the door behind me, slumping against it. Just like that, I was alone again, my face wet from the fountain of tears I had cried in the elevator, still shaking as I tried to hold back the tide of sobs threatening to wrack my ribs. How had all of this gone so wrong?

I never should have gone along with this, I thought, shuffling toward the couch in the common area. My knees gave out just as I reached it and I sat, hard, letting the cushions all but swallow me whole. We should have just told the truth right from the beginning. Let the world know we made a silly drunken mistake, and see what happened from there. This could have been done quietly, instead of trying to have our cake and eat it too. We should have—

I took out my phone again and tried to call Julian, but the moment I hit the “call” button, a prerecorded message played instead.

“We’re sorry, your device has been disconnected from the network. For more information, please contact…”

I threw the cell onto the bed and reached for the hotel phone on the table. Before I could dial a single number, a large television on the wall caught my attention. Julian had just stepped into view. Shaking, I grabbed for the remote and turned up the volume.

Julian

At the sound of the doorknob rattling I leapt to my feet, ready to lay into Tessa the moment I saw her. But instead of Tessa, I found a mousy-looking woman standing there with a bag clutched firmly in her hand. I wasn’t sure what was going on until she stepped into the room, set the bag down on the table, and opened it to reveal a plethora of makeup.

“You’re here to get me ready for the cameras,” I said, heaving a sigh as I sat back down in the chair I’d been occupying since Tessa had locked me in that room.

“Yes, sir,” the girl stammered, flashing me a faint smile before she started getting out the things she’d need to make sure my face didn’t shine. It’s almost unbelievable how much foundation gets put onto people just so they look somewhat normal on your telly. The makeup helped to keep the lights from bleaching out the overly pale and from cutting the glare that often reflected off the skin. Even during my concerts, I’d been practically covered in the stuff as they filmed my sets.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” I said, closing my eyes as I heard the sound of the door opening again. I frowned, lifting my lids again just in time to see Tessa storm into the room, a stack of papers in her hands. She didn’t look happy in the slightest.

“Get out,” she snapped at the girl, whose brush hovered not even an inch from my face. She froze, and Tessa bellowed, “Now!”

I’d never seen someone disappear so quickly, taking her bag and all its contents with her as she darted back out into the hallway. I shook my head in disdain as I opened my mouth to speak, only to be cut off before I had the chance to.

“You really are an idiot,” Tessa hissed, slamming the door after the girl and walking up to the edge of the desk I’d been sitting at for the past hour. “This was so easy to avoid, but you couldn’t resist getting your dick wet, could you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, fists clenching as she slammed the stack of papers down onto the table. She looked so odd—obviously she was angry, but there was something cold behind her eyes too, something almost calculating, precise. But then again, that had always been Tessa, hadn’t it?

“You just had to sleep with the first girl in Vegas that opened her legs,” she growled, “and now look where we are, about to give a press conference about how you fell for one of the oldest fucking tricks in the book.”

“Tessa, what the hell are you even talking about?” I asked, “What trick? What do you know that I don’t?”

“That’s a long list, Julian, and not one that I’m willing to detail in full,” Tessa answered, spanning her fingers across the stack of papers in front of me. “Regardless, I can at least tell you that your blushing bride has been playing you from the very beginning.”

I swallowed. “You’re full of shit,” I said,

trying not to turn my gaze toward the papers she’d laid there in front of me. But was it because I didn’t believe her, or that I didn’t want to? I could already feel my heart racing, that slow chill creeping into my chest from the bottom of my stomach.

“Liz wouldn’t do that,” I murmured. “That isn’t the kind of person she is.”

“And how would you know that, Julian?” Tessa asked, eyebrows peaked as she stood straight again and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve spent a few days with her and you trust her more than you trust me—the woman who’s been beside you every step of your career? Guiding you to where you are now? Picking you up off of the floor after every drunken stupor?”