He didn’t hold back after that with any of the words he spoke to me.
Neither did I.
Brooke
Monday morning came all too quickly for both of us, I think. Resurfacing back to reality after our emotionally binding weekend was like coming down from floating in the clouds to walking barefoot in the desert. But since we were doing it together as a couple, it was okay.
As I was settling the cottage for my days and nights away in Boston, Caleb’s phone started blowing up. He took call after call, growing more agitated with each one in a way I’d never witnessed coming from him before.
“No response is the best way to handle it, Calvin, and if you want the funds for your subsidiaries to continue flowing from BGE to your press, then shut this whole mess the fuck down as quietly as possible. Make it go away and you will be rewarded.” He tapped into his phone.
“What? Hell, no! Those shithead parasites aren’t getting a statement from me. Seriously, Georgie, you know me better than that by now. Fucking figure it out. Use the full resources of the company that you have at your disposal, and don’t give me a reason to find someone else to head up the department. Hanging up now.” More taps into his phone.
“I don’t care. Why should I, exactly? It’s private information they are not entitled to know. Todd, I shouldn’t even have to say this, you are the head of fucking PR—do your job and relate to the public, for fuck’s sake! I already told you what to do, but you didn’t like my suggestion.” He ended the call abruptly, and on to the next.
“Hey. Yeah, I am done with these goddamn paparazzi circus performers. I need you to reach out to LeRoy in security for setting up a plan for round-the-clock surveillance. Two, with one on call should be sufficient. Twenty-four seven, when out of my sight—at least until this all cools down, or some new sensation pops up in the world to distract the vipers away from her.”
I glanced up from watering Nan’s potted fern to find him tracking me. He mouthed “Love you” to me as he listened to whoever was speaking to him. He held out his hand, beckoning me to come to him. He took hold of my hand when I came into his reach. “I’ll be in around eight thirty. Thank you.” His call ended, he pulled me down to sit beside him on the living room couch. He took hold of my chin and gave me such an intense look, I knew something was wrong.
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Just now? Victoria. Before her, it was a series of crybabies in need of some slaps upside the head, unfortunately.”
“Caleb, what has happened?”
He still had hold of my chin, which he maneuvered toward his lips for a soft kiss before pulling back again and delivering the same intense blaze from his eyes as before. “I need you to remember all of the things we said to each other this weekend. Those were real words, real feelings, real emotions—the real fucking truth about us. Okay?”
I felt myself break out in a sweat. “You’re scaring me. What is this all about? Caleb—I don’t know what—”
“Shh . . . it’s going to be fine,” he soothed, “don’t be scared, baby. I’m handling it. All I need from you right now is to trust me to take care of everything to keep you protected. Because I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you or take from what we have together.”
Protected from what? “Please tell me,” I begged, feeling like I might be suddenly sick. Oh God. My first thought was Marcus’s family. Could they have found me via my connection to Caleb? Probably yes.
“I love you, Brooke,” he reminded me, his voice roughly insistent.
“I know you do. I love you, too.” Caleb loves me—don’t forget that.
His jaw tensed. “The paparazzi got wind of the wedding this weekend. They also have photos. Probably sourced from a caterer or someone who facilitated on Saturday, and now the photos have been leaked with lots and
lots of speculation. Celebrity news in every format knows about you and me. I had hoped we could have a long time of incognito and quiet before we were faced with this kind of thing. But, that time has evaporated, I’m afraid.”
“What are they saying?”
“Here’s CNZ’s top story of the day.” He handed me his phone with a screenshot and photos from the website of a popular celebrity-news TV show. REAL LIFE CINDERELLA STORY—BLACKSTONE BILLIONAIRE CLAIMED BY THE MAID’S GRANDDAUGHTER the headline read. There was a picture of us together at the wedding. Caleb and I dressed to the nines, standing in the doorway of Stone Church, taken just at the moment when he’d kissed the top of my head. The lighting in the photo made it look as if my dress were white instead of the multicolored gold lace it was actually made of. The photo was misleading and suggestive—as if we were the bride and groom, coming out of the chapel newly married. If I were seeing it from a bystander’s viewpoint, I would certainly think so. Done purposefully to appear as if we’d had the secret wedding instead of Herman and Nan. The truth wildly stretched to make a nonstory into a headline, which would sell more papers and magazines. Fucking hell.
Oh, my God. “Caleb, I don’t know what to say.” And I really didn’t, because it was shocking to think the general public was seeing my picture, and reading my name, and . . . watching me. Do they know? Did the Pattens know where I was? Marcus’s family had stayed away, but they had to suspect I knew things about them. Or did they think they were untouchable? I wondered if I should be afraid.
“You don’t have to say anything, Brooke. I dreaded this happening eventually, but hoped we could have a more gradual introduction of you and me as a couple to the public. The paparazzi dog me all the time, and I fucking hate them. Unfortunately, the wedding tipped them off, or more likely somebody on the island offered the tip for money.” He grimaced disgustedly. “It happens all the time.”
“So, your phone calls just now were to stop the stories?”
His expression softened in sympathy—for me. “I wish I had that power, baby, oh how I wish.” He tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “No, I am afraid we have been outed. It’s out there for public consumption now. The paparazzi is going to stalk you and follow you around and write things that are not true about you in the media. They will take your picture and ask you questions when they catch you off guard. The more controversial the story or unflattering the picture, the more valuable it becomes to them, because it sells more papers.”
“But, I don’t want attention like that, Caleb. I don’t want it—I can’t bear to be followed around and pictures—”
“Shhhhh.” He pressed me against his chest, his hand holding me securely at the back of my neck. “It’s okay. Remember what I said when I started this conversation. I love you, and you need to trust me. I am handling it.”
“But how does that work, Caleb?” I asked sadly. I couldn’t imagine what he could say to calm the panic rising up inside me.