The Casanova (The Miles High Club 3) - Page 114
May as well get this over with . . .
I take out my phone and click on his message.
Hi Pinkie,
Sorry I haven’t been in touch, I’ve been busy.
I’ve missed you.
His sweet words open it all back up, emotion overwhelms me, and the tears I so gallantly told myself that I no longer had, appear once more.
I go to type but everything is blurred so I put my phone down on the table and angrily swipe them away.
No, I have to know.
I type:
How is your artist?
A reply bounces back.
I don’t care.
I frown and write:
Why?
Because, she’s not you.
What?
What are you talking about?
I love you . . . Pinkie . . . or should I say, Kate.
My eyes widen and I sit back in my chair—what the hell is going on here?
Are you going to eat that chocolate muffin, or will I?
I look up and Elliot is sitting at a table across the café; his eyes search mine as he gives me a soft smile.
And something snaps inside of me and I’m furious and I hate him, so I stand and march out of the café and down the street.
“Kate,” he calls as he runs after me. “Kate, come back here.”
I don’t want to hear his lies, I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
I walk quickly across the road to the park, needing to get as far away from him as I possibly can.
“Kate.” I can hear his voice getting closer.
I get to the park and I run.
“Kate,” he cries as he takes chase. “Kathryn, stop.” He grabs my arm and I turn and take a swing at him.
“Get away from me,” I scream like a maniac through tears.
He pants as he tries to catch his breath; his eyes are wide. “I love you.”
“Don’t you dare say that to me!” I cry.
“I had to go,” he whispers. “I had to know.”
“And now you do.”
“It’s you.”
“It took you a week in her bed to find that out?” I hiss.
“No.” He pauses as if choosing his words carefully. “There was no chemistry.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel special . . . you fucking asshole?” I cry.
His chest rises and falls as he gasps for breath.
“Should I feel flattered that you didn’t feel something?”
His shoulders slump.
“You are always going to be this person, Elliot,” I whisper through tears as I take a step back. “You are always going to want the fairy tale . . . the artist or the dancer . . . the singer.” I screw up my face in tears. “You want extraordinary.”
“You are,” he whispers.
“No, I’m not,” I cry. “I’m just a hot piece of ass that you happened to like in a netball dress.”
He shakes his head as if lost for words. “We can get past this.”
“No.”
He dives for me and holds me against my will as I struggle to get away from him. “I love you,” he says. “I fucking love you, don’t do this.” We struggle as he tries to hold me. “Don’t do this.”
“It is done,” I cry as I break away from his grip. “You did it, the moment you got on that fucking plane. It is over. I’m nobody’s second prize, Elliot.”
He stares at me.
“Least of all yours,” I sneer. “You think I could honestly be with someone who I know will throw me to the side every time he finds something shiny and new?”
We stare at each other, me in full-blown tears and him with flared nostrils as he battles for control.
“I swear to you . . .”
We hear the click of a camera and we both turn to see a photographer taking photos of the whole thing.
“Give me that,” Elliot growls.
Oh no.
The guy with the camera begins to run and Elliot chases him.
He wrestles him to the ground and people around them scream. Elliot snatches the camera from him and smashes it into a million pieces.
The photographer gives him a mouthful and goes to stand and Elliot punches him hard in the face.
He punches him again, and again.
What the hell is going on?
I turn, and I run.
Chapter 24
ELLIOT
“Your brother and solicitor are downstairs, they’ve posted your bail,” the police officer says as he writes something on his pad.
I clench my jaw as I stare at him. “I did nothing wrong.”
He exhales heavily, clearly frustrated. “We’ve been through this, ten times today already, Mr. Miles. You cannot smash someone’s private property. Nor can you assault them. Now stop wasting my time with your blatant disregard for the law.”
“What about my rights? Where is my protection? I don’t want my photo taken, are you telling me that he has a right to do something against my will and I’m unable to react? I was protecting myself and my loved ones. It’s my rights that have been compromised today.”
“Look.” He sighs. “Stop playing dumb. You know how this works, you own a media company, for Christ’s sake.” He hands me a ticket. “You’ve been charged with assault and vandalism, get your solicitor to fight the arguments in court. I don’t make the laws.”
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