“Chloe—”
“When Thomas was caught, he blamed me. That’s why the paparazzi are here. Because he’s convinced the world that I’m the worst Bridezilla that ever walked the face of the earth.”
Max shook his head in confusion.
“I’m famous for being a crazy bitch, Max. Okay? That’s who I am.”
The more she talked the less sense she made. Chloe wasn’t a bitch. And she wasn’t crazy.
The sound of the photographers’ voices drifted past the closed windows, drawing Max’s brow into a scowl.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe whispered. “I know I let you think… I just liked being here with you, pretending everything was okay.”
“That woman at the bar last night. She knew who you were.”
She took a deep breath, and when she exhaled, her body seemed to shrink. “Everyone knows who I am, Max. Everyone who hasn’t been living on a boat for the past few months.”
“My brother—”
“He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who watches a lot of TV.”
Max looked around the room as if there were someone else who could help him debunk this ridiculous story.
Chloe walked past him and dropped heavily onto the couch. “Jenn brought me here to escape. We were hoping it would be isolated enough to give me some peace. And it worked. For a few days.”
“This is… So this is the most important thing in your life right now, and you didn’t mention a word of it to me?”
She winced. “It’s not who I am. Or I didn’t think it was. For the past few weeks, I’ve been lost and doubting myself, and here on the island, with you—” she snuck a glance at him “—I could be who I wanted to be. You should be able to understand that.”
Well, that was a fucking swipe if he’d ever heard one. “Not even close. I was trying to be myself with you. Big difference.”
“You only fessed up when you were caught.”
He ground his teeth together, telling himself not to yell. “That was before we had sex, Chloe. Are you seeing the distinction?”
Instead of fighting back, she looked down at her clasped hands. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to.”
Max knew his limits. If he stayed, he’d sit next to her on the couch and pull her into his arms and tell her it was all right. He’d find some way to protect her from the tiny but virulent mob outside, and try to figure out a way to make everything better.
He couldn’t do it. Not again.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said in such a rush that the words ran together into one desperate gasp.
Chloe’s gaze flew to meet his, her face flashing disbelief…as if he’d slapped her. “Oh. Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” And he was. The muscles of his arms were twitching with the need to pull her close. Walking away didn’t feel natural though, and as he turned and stepped away it felt as though he were trying to slip free of a spike impaled through his chest. It hurt. And he knew if he just stopped moving, he’d be able to breathe again.
But Max got his hand on the doorknob and turned it, and he stepped out of Chloe’s cabin and left her behind. He had to.
THANK GOD FOR LEAN CUISINE. Chloe didn’t have to leave the cabin, didn’t have to open the door. She and Jenn were fine for the day, but they couldn’t live like this for the rest of the week.
“Maybe the guys will take us fishing,” Jenn said as she finished off the last of her chicken alfredo. “We could get out of here and the reporters wouldn’t be able to follow.”
Chloe slowly shook her head.
“Max was just shocked. He won’t stay mad for long.”
“He might,” Chloe murmured, wallowing in self-pity. “He should be.”