Broken Juliet (24 page)

Present Day

New York City, New York

Graumann Theater

I splash warm water on my face to wash off the last of my stage makeup. After I pat myself dry, I look at the stranger in the mirror.

No extra-long lashes, fake-pinked cheeks, or Lolita-red lips. Just me. Pale, splotchy skin. Olive eyes too world-weary to sparkle. Brown hair too coated in hairspray to shine.

I don’t dislike how I look. Everything is in proportion.

And yet, this girl staring back at me? Somewhere along the way, I think I lost track of how much I like her.

My new therapist is helping. In four sessions, we’ve covered a lot of ground.

We’ve talked about a wide range of topics: my childhood, my overly critical mother, my emotionally distant father, my need to please people, my parents’ divorce, and, of course, Ethan.

Always Ethan.

She’s made me describe how we met. Our first kiss. The moment I realized I was in love with him.

Making me remember all the ways he lit me up.

I know we have to talk about the bad times, too. I’m just hesitant to relive it.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.

He stands behind me, and his chest radiates warmth, even though he’s not touching me. I watch him in the mirror as he studies me. The expression on his face makes me wonder what he’s seeing that I don’t.

“You were amazing tonight.”

I shake my head. “No, you were. I just got infected by it.”

“That’s not how I recall it.”

“That’s because you know all the right things to say to make me feel good.”

“Oh, really? I make you feel good?”

He steps closer but doesn’t embrace me. He just presses, barely there. He’s so much taller than I am, my head brushes his chin.

“All I want to do these days is make you feel good,” he says, his voice low. “However you need me to do it.”

I’m sure he doesn’t mean that statement to be incredibly arousing, but it is. I can’t help thinking that having him make love to me would make me feel pretty damn good, and God knows, I could use the tension relief. But in talking with Dr. Kate, I realize that would be a monumental step in the wrong direction. At least for now.

He knows it, too. He’s been very careful to keep our offstage contact as platonic as possible. It’s torture. Understanding why it’s a good idea doesn’t make it any less of a struggle.

Even now, I see him fighting to not touch me.

“You realize you’re stunning, right?” he says to my reflection, and I lean back into him.

“I’m getting wrinkles.”

He wraps his arms around me. “Bullshit.”

“My skin’s breaking out from the stage makeup.” I wind my fingers between his as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Mine too. So what?”

“I found a hair on my chin the other day. A long, dark hair poking out of a freckle. I’m officially turning into a witch. Run while you can.”

He chuckles and presses his nose against my cheek. “I’m never running again. And please stop trying to convince me you’re anything but absolutely gorgeous, because it ain’t gonna happen. You’re perfect. Always have been. Always will be. Just like this. Breakouts, wrinkles, witchy chin hairs, and all.”

And just like that, he makes those imagined flaws disappear.

“You’re biased,” I say as I step away from him and brush on some powder.

He leans against the counter and watches. “Totally biased. Proud of it. Put on some lip gloss.”

I turn to him. “What? You just told me you like me au naturale.”

“I do. I also like watching that pouty thing you do when you put on lipstick. It’s sexy as hell.” He pulls out a chair and sits down. “Actually, put it on, then wipe it off. Then put it on again. Just keep repeating the process until I say stop. FYI, we could be here awhile.”

I smile and pick up my lip gloss. Then I pull out the wand and hold it toward him.

“Is this what you want, big boy? This spongy, moist tip dragging across my lips? Does that turn you on?”

His whole body seizes as he digs his hands into his thighs. Then he closes his eyes and leans his elbows on his knees as he scrubs his face.

“You tease me with mental images you know I have zero defense against. Does ‘three year dry spell’ mean nothing to you, woman? I’m working with a very short fuse here.”

“I’ve seen your fuse. It’s really not short.”

He makes a noise and strides into my bathroom. “Wait here. This won’t take long.”

I laugh as he slams the door.

Approximately three minutes later, he’s back. He sits on the couch as I finish packing up.

“So, how are you liking Dr. Kate?” he asks, taking our conversation back to being G-rated.

“She’s great. Although, it’s a bit weird calling her Dr. Kate. I kind of feel like she should have her own talk show, like Dr. Drew.”

“Yeah, but unlike Dr. Drew, Kate is her last name.”

I stop and turn to him. “I thought it was her first name.”

“It is.”

“But … that would mean her name is—”

“Kate Kate. Yep, she married some big property developer. William Kate.”

“Huh. I guess it would be the same thing if I married Taylor Swift. She’d be Taylor Taylor.”

His eyes glaze over. “Uh, so let’s run with that idea. What would that wedding night be like?”

I slap his leg.

“No, seriously,” he says and sits forward. “I really want to know. Start from where you kiss passionately and remove each other’s clothing.”

I laugh and continue packing up.

He watches me in silence for a few minutes, then says, “So, if you and I got married, would you take my name? Or would you expect me to be Ethan Taylor-Holt?”

And just like that, all the blood drains from my face.

He laughs. “Cassie, relax. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“Oh. Okay.” My lungs start working again.

He gives me a half smile. “Yet.”

I settle into the oversize leather chair as Dr. Kate crosses her legs. She looks like she belongs in an advertisement for sexy horn-rimmed glasses. All perfect blondness and designer shoes.

“Hi, Cassie. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Dr. Kate gives me a look. I’m not supposed to resort to meaningless automated responses. I’m supposed to describe my feelings as honestly as possible. Identify and confront.

“Um … okay, I’m … nervous. Conflicted. A little nauseated.”

“Uh-huh.” My self-awareness is rewarded with a smile. “How’s the show?”

“Good, I guess. Previews have been well received. The buzz around town is positive.”

“Opening night is tonight, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“What are your expectations?”

“I’ll make myself sick with nerves. Then I’ll do some focusing exercises and try to convince myself I can transform into someone else so completely, my rampant insecurities will be all but invisible.”

She gives me a real smile this time. “Well, that sounds exhausting. How’s Ethan?”

“Irritatingly patient. Understanding. Perfectly calm. About us, anyway. Nervous about the show, of course.”

“It sounds like his patience frustrates you.”

“It does. He makes it look so freaking easy.”

“I’m sure it’s not, but he’s been working on it for a long time. This is only your fifth session. I think you’re doing remarkably well.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’m impressed with how you’re embracing this process.”

“I want to get better.”

“I know. And that’s a fantastic platform upon which to build your recovery.”

I smooth down my skirt for the tenth time. It doesn’t ease my tension. Dr. Kate waits patiently. She knows I’ll start when I’m ready.

“So,” I say, “I dreamed about him again last night. How he used to be. I can see so many parallels to how he was back then to how I am now.”

“How do you see yourself now?”

“Guarded. Desperate to protect myself.”

“Was there a time when you felt you were successful in protecting yourself?”

“After our first breakup, yes. For a while.”

She writes something in her book before looking at me again. “If you were to conjure a mental image of yourself from that time, what would it be?”

I think for a few seconds. “The first time he broke my heart, I tried to make myself into a fortress. A castle with high, impenetrable walls.”

“And what was Ethan in this scenario?”

“He was this … irresistible force, and no matter how high I built my walls, he still managed to find a way in.”

“So you fought to keep him out.”

“Every single day.”

“And when you embarked on a sexual relationship with him again, that became more difficult?”

“Yes.”
A thousand times, yes.

“In your analogy, you tried to be impenetrable. What changed?”

Everything
.

“He asked me to open the door.”

I wake up to tingling, down low and insistent. Then I register lips on my neck, hands on my breasts, hardness pressing into my butt, and I realize …

Ethan met me at the airport.

Ethan asked if we could try again.

Ethan told me he loved me.

Ethan told me he would stay the night, so he could make love to me in the morning.

Well, it’s morning and … he didn’t leave. Didn’t get scared. And he seems intent on making good on his promise.

I’m encouraged, especially by the way he’s holding me. It’s like he’s been wrapped around me all night and has been holding himself back from touching me like this.

He continues to kiss and suck. I reach behind me and wind my fingers through his hair. When he gently bites my shoulder, I make a mental note to always be woken up this way.

He makes a low, desperate sound as he continues to grind against me, and I want him so much, it’s getting uncomfortable.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Hmmm.” His lips vibrate against me as he trails one hand down my stomach, then lower to press against where the tingling is the strongest. I arch into him, and with a minimum of repositioning, he slowly pushes into me.

I hold my breath. The sensation is too much. Then let out a long moan as he exhales against my shoulder.

When we’re fully joined, he says, “Now it’s a good morning.”

He then proceeds to completely redefine how good a morning can be.

Twice.

Dr. Kate writes in her notebook and asks, “So, you took him back?”

“Yes.”

She studies the way I cross and recross my legs. “Was that a hard decision?”

I uncross again and sit with my hands on my knees. “Yes and no. I’d missed him so much, it was a relief to finally let myself have him.”

“But…?”

“But…” This is hard. I’ve spent so long hiding from these feelings, it feels way too raw to talk about them.

“Do you need a moment?”

“No, I’m okay.” I take deep breath. “From the get-go, I was cautious. I was looking for the old him, but at first, he was nowhere to be found.”

Thursday night. Friday. Friday night. Saturday.

He doesn’t go home.

Apart from one trip to buy food, he doesn’t get dressed. Barely leaves my side.

He cooks for me. Naked. His skill in the kitchen is almost as mind-blowing as his skill in the bedroom, and that’s saying something.

On Saturday night, he takes me to a movie. Buys my ticket and everything. Holds my hand and acts like a real boyfriend.

It’s kind of strange, but nice. I don’t let myself enjoy it too much, in case it’s just a passing fad. I mean, we’ve been here before and look how that turned out.

I really hope this time is different.

As soon as the lights go down, he leans over and kisses me. Within ten minutes, my hand is on his crotch, and his mouth is on my neck, and we leave just as things start exploding onscreen.

I resist fanning my face.

“It sounds like your prolonged emotional distance led to your reunion being quite … intense.”

“You could say that.” We couldn’t get enough of each other. It was thrilling.

“And then?”

“And then…” I look down at my hands. “We had to stop being alone and start being around other people.”

“And that was a problem?”

“It was the start of our problems, yes.”

On Sunday night, we know our little cocoon can’t last much longer. We have to shower soon and get get ready to pick up Ruby from the airport. She doesn’t know we’re back together. I can only imagine how thrilled she’s going to be. Also, classes start back tomorrow, so Ethan has to sleep in his own bed tonight.

All the bits of reality we’ve been ignoring are starting to press their pointy edges into our delicate bubble.

I’m tense. It’s quite an accomplishment given the number of orgasms I’ve experienced this weekend.

I press myself against him and, I listen to his heartbeat.

“What are we going to do tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“At school.”

His heart rate stays reasonably steady. I’m surprised. I trace a pattern on his chest. He hovers his hand over mine, fingertips brushing my knuckles.

“Well, call me crazy, but I thought we might go to class. You know … learn stuff. Get good at acting. Perhaps even graduate.”

“You know what I mean.”

He rolls me under him and frames my face with his hands. He’s heavy, but I like the weight. It’s somehow reassuring. Like he’s all here and not half somewhere else.

“Well, if you’re asking if I think we should hide that we’re together, then no. I want every guy at that school to know. Maybe then they’ll stop sniffing around like a bunch of horny mongrels.”