Dirty Headlines

Then he caressed my cheek. His lips dragged from my lips to my ear and he whispered, “This is where I went every time my parents fought—every time Mathias blamed me for being the little snitch who’d killed his marriage. This is where I went when we started fighting physically. And this is where I went when I knew he would have his staff driving around looking for me. They never came into Central Park. This was my place.”

My heart fluttered inside my ribcage and I saw Célian not only as the man he wanted people to see, but also as the person he really was. Not completely broken, but definitely cracked enough for pain to spill through the fissures.

We unpacked the duffel bag under a huge tree. Célian was surprisingly organized for our picnic. We spread a blanket, and he took out grapes, cheese, crackers, wine, and fancy chocolate. I told him there was no way he’d done this himself, and he admitted he’d given his housekeeper pot in exchange for these goodies. I laughed, and he threw a grape at my face. It made me laugh harder.

The sun was glorious, and I laid on the blanket and stared back at the sky, munching on almond chocolate that melted between my fingers. He sat next to me, staring at me intently, like he expected me to get up and run away any second, like I could evaporate into thin air, like sharing this place with me meant something to him.

“How was your relationship with Camille?” I asked.

I’d always wanted a sibling. Unfortunately, my mom got sick shortly after I was born. She won the first round of breast cancer. The second one, too. By the third, her body was too exhausted to fight, but I knew my parents had always wanted more kids.

He smirked at the blue sky like the clouds had cleared up especially for us.

“We were a team. Maybe because Maman was busy running around with her lovers and Mathias made a point of sticking his dick into everything with a pulse, we figured out early on that we had to have each other’s backs to survive.”

I nodded. “You must miss her very much.”

“Losing someone close defines you. I trust you know that by now. I’m sorry about your mother,” he said. And he meant it. I appreciated him not extending his condolences to my dad. Some people did when they heard about the cancer.

I looked down and stared at a chocolate cube slowly melting in my hand, gluing my forefinger and thumb together. “I think I wanted to marry Milton just so I’d have someone to catch me in case I fall. You know?”

He stuck his hand in my hair and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “I do. But falling into the wrong hands is just as bad as crashing into nothing.”

His phone, sitting between us, buzzed, and I looked down at it. The name Lily Davis flashed, making my heart sink. He hit ignore and tossed the phone to the other side of the blanket.

“You can answer it if you need to.” Don’t cry.

“I don’t need to.”

“I will never understand your relationship with her.”

“That makes the two of us.”

So end it! I wanted to scream. His phone started dancing on the blanket again. I rose on my forearms, as he sent the call to voicemail once again.

“I want to go home.”

“Chucks…”

His phone began to vibrate for the third time. Célian muttered, “Jesus Christ” and shoved it in the duffel bag, zipping it shut and throwing it against the tree.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Hey, hey…”

I stood and began to clean everything up. He didn’t say anything else until we’d arrived at his building. I continued toward the train station, and he groaned, easily catching up with my steps.

“Let me get your ass home.”

“Leave me alone, Célian.” I stopped. Hot anger bubbled and sizzled behind my ribcage. “Huh? How about that? How about stop doing this thing where you treat me like I mean something, only to go and marry someone else? Because it doesn’t matter that you don’t love her, or touch her. If anything, it is much, much worse. You’re not giving up on us—whatever we are—for some great love. You’re canceling it for some sick need to get back at your father. And yes, falling into Milton’s arms would have been wrong, but wrapping your arms around Lily is nothing short of disastrous. So don’t you dare lecture me.”

“The asshole fucked my fi—”

“Yes. I heard. Many, many times. So what if he did?” I cut him off, balling my hands into fists. “Him doing something wrong doesn’t give you the right to do something even worse.” I pushed his chest. Jesus Christ—what was I doing?

Jesus, filing his nails: “Using my name to excuse yourself of bad behavior, as per usual.”