Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (21 page)

“I hope you gave the valet a nice tip since he’s probably going to be called as a witness when Dermott files assault charges against you.”

“I warned him to get his hands off you.”

“And I’m sure the judge will consider that when he’s looking at pictures of you kicking the shit out of someone half your size.” Even if some primitive part of her had thrilled at seeing him do it. “You can’t go beating up everyone who looks at me funny.”

Violence wasn’t the answer. Even if it sometimes felt like it should be.

“I won’t beat up everyone who bothers you, but that was Dermott Kellerman.”

“It was.”

“He’s the exception. He set you up. He’s trying to profit from betraying your trust. It was either break his nose or put him in the hospital. I took the high road.”

“And if he presses charges? If this were an action movie everyone would be cheering for you, but in real life people tend to get litigious when you punch them.”

“It was worth it.” He shot her a searing look. “You’re worth it.”

And all of her objections melted into a gooey chocolate center. “Shit. Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.” She squirmed in her chair.

He hit the gate remote and she realized they were already back at the house, the short drive from the restaurant having passed in a heartbeat. He pulled into the driveway and she was out of the car almost before it stopped moving.

“Elena?”

She kept going. The keypad lock slowed her for only a second, giving him a chance to catch up so he was on her heels as she entered the foyer, her heels echoing on the hardwood floors. “I should go home.”

“What are you talking about? Are you seriously that pissed that I punched him?”

“It isn’t that.”

She took off her heels to climb the stairs more quickly. Most of her things were here now. She’d need to pack a bag to go back to her place tonight. He followed closely behind. “Then what is it?”

How did she tell him it was
everything
? That being with him terrified her because any day he was going to discover she wasn’t worth the trouble and leave her. She was worth it now, but how long before it got old? Before she did something to finally turn him away.

“It’s easier this way,” she said, grabbing her roller bag from under the bed and starting to throw things inside. “I’m trouble. You don’t need this.”

“Christ. Are we back to this again? Damn it, Elena. What is it going to take for you to trust me?”

“I do trust you.”

“Obviously not or we wouldn’t be having this conversation again. When are you going to understand that
I love you
?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

She looked at him like he’d hit her—wounded and betrayed. Not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for when he confessed his feelings to her. Of course, this wasn’t exactly how he’d anticipated telling her.

She turned her face away and kept packing. “Don’t.”

“Don’t love you?” he asked incredulously.

“
Don’t say that
.”

“Why not?” he shouted.

She shook her head and walked into the bathroom, returning a moment later with her curling iron and a bag of toiletries.

“
Elena
.”

“You don’t deserve to be tangled up with me,” she snapped. “You’re a hero.”

He snarled a curse, dragging his hands through his hair. “I did
one thing
. Something anyone would have done. I’m not a hero. I’m just a regular guy.”

“No. You aren’t.” She stopped packing, finally looking him in the eye. “I know you hate it when people put you in that box. Saint Adam, American Hero. But you’re a better man than anyone I know. Not just because you saved Cassie—and tried to be gentle with her even after she threw you under the bus with the press. You punched Dermott. But more importantly than that you held my hand when he first threatened to release it. You believed in me when I wanted to write a book—even though I didn’t have the first clue what I was doing—and you stand up for me whenever anyone says a negative word about me. Even when it’s me badmouthing myself. You’re
my
hero, Adam Dylan.”

“Then why are you running away? What are you so scared of Elena? You say you trust me. So trust me to love you.”

“I do,” she whispered. “You see me. You don’t see the Slutty Suitorette when you look at me. You see
me
. Even before the show, no man ever did that.”

“And that’s bad?”

She just shook her head. She turned away from him—but at least she wasn’t taking the suitcase and walking out the front door. Instead she padded silently toward the small balcony off the master suite.

“Elena?”

#

She gripped the railing, staring out over the ocean without seeing it. If she’d stayed in that room a moment longer she was going to cry, but the fresh air wasn’t helping. The salty breeze only seemed to make her eyes water more. She tried to focus on the sound of the surf. The repetitive hush and swish of it, but her heart was beating too hard, drowning it out.

“Elena?” he said again, softly, right behind her. She’d known he would follow her out. After all, he loved her, didn’t he?

Which only made the dizzy panic worse. He loved her. He knew her in ways no one else ever had and he still
liked
her. Not just that. Loved her.

Every day he meant more to her. More than anyone else ever had. She couldn’t take it if he left. And to trust that he never would… that wasn’t the same as trusting him. She trusted
him
completely. But trusting that he would never leave… that was an entirely different kind of suicide leap.

“I don’t trust people,” she said finally, so softly the waves could have carried the sound away, but she could tell by the attentive stillness at her side that he heard every word. “They always let me down, but I trust you. I have trusted you completely since day one. I can’t love you too. That’s too much.”

“Okay.”

She wanted to scream at him to stop being so damn understanding, but the words were stuck behind the wall of unshed tears clogging her throat.

He brushed her hair back from the side of her face, finishing the move by cupping her jaw, gently turning her toward him. “You don’t have to love me. I’ll lo—”

“Don’t.”

“You’re worthy of love, Elena. You
deserve
it. Just as much as those other girls on the show.”

“Do I?” She tugged out of his hold, crossing to press her back against the opposite rail of the small balcony. “I know I rant and rave about how we all deserve it, but do I really buy that? The world has been telling me I don’t for so long—”

“Fuck the world. I love you.”

“Shit,” she whispered as goose bumps broke out across her arms. Just hearing him say that gave her chills. She pressed her eyes closed, her breath coming short, but he kept talking. Kept
saying it
.

“Not because you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Which you are. But because you’re
you
. You’re so damn smart, but everyone misses it because they’re busy drooling. You’re strong enough to be impulsive, to own who you are, and you have this powerful sense of justice and morality, which no one gives you credit for. You got a bad deal, but this isn’t the end of the story. This is just the part where some loser tells you he loves you. And keeps telling you until you hear it.”

He was right up in front of her by the end of his speech and he cupped her face, tipping it up to his. She opened her eyes, pleading with him. “Adam, don’t.”

“We never really talk about the future. Maybe because the present has plenty for us to deal with. Maybe because both of our plans for the future backfired on us pretty badly in the last year. I’m still not entirely sure I know what I want my future to look like, but I know I want you in it. I would do anything for you.” He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her lips that sealed his promise. “I love you. Do you believe me?”

Shit. It was going to be bad. It was going to be so bad. She was going to lose a piece of her soul if he left, but she couldn’t fight it anymore. He was everything.

“Yes.”

Adam caught the word on her lips. Never releasing her lips, he lifted her, carrying her over the balcony threshold into the bedroom.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The house hadn’t changed much since Christmas.

But then, it hadn’t changed much in the twenty-five years before that, so she shouldn’t be surprised.

Her childhood home was a taupe stucco ranch style with a bright red tile roof. The neighborhood was modest, but every house was lovingly maintained. People here weren’t wealthy, but they took pride in their homes.

Elena parked her Beetle at the curb and started up her parents’ tidily landscaped front walk.

She hadn’t been back since Christmas. The holiday had fallen during that short window of time between shooting the final episode and airing of the first. She’d known what was coming, but she hadn’t been able to warn them.

Only weeks earlier Daniel had come with her to visit her family for the Meet-the-In-Laws episode. She’d been so certain she was winning, she’d told her parents they’d better like Daniel because she was going to be coming back engaged. When he’d picked Caitlyn, she’d felt like a fool. And the confidentiality agreements she’d signed meant she couldn’t come clean to her family, lest they leak the results of the show.

So she’d faked it.

Elena was nothing if not an actress.

She’d played the role of the besotted fiancé. Because it had felt like the only thing she could do. Last time she was here, she’d lied.

And then a few weeks later the Jacuzzi episode aired and she became the Slutty Suitorette.

The fights with her father had begun that Tuesday night in January. By the time Daniel dumped her on a Tahitian beach, Juan Suarez had long since declared himself shamed by her immorality and stopped taking her calls.

They hadn’t spoken since.

But when she’d woken up beside Adam the morning after his big declaration, she’d lain there watching him sleep and known it was time to face her family. She trusted him with her life—but not to stay. She wanted to trust him with her heart, but she needed to do this first. There were some things she needed to say.

So she’d left a note, grabbed her already packed suitcase off the floor, and left before dawn. She made the twelve-hour drive in ten-and-a-half, arriving just before six in the evening, mountain time.

She pushed the doorbell—the sensation weirdly disorienting at her parents’ house where she had always just walked right in.

Her mother opened the door.

Elena had thought she was prepared, but her throat still closed for a moment. She swallowed thickly.

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Elena.”

“Mama.”

Her mother still had the round face and well-padded figure, her dark hair dyed even blacker than its natural hue to conceal the slightest hint of grey. Elena favored her father more—his eyes, his cheekbones, his temper—but everyone said she had her mother’s smile.

There was no evidence of that smile now.

Her mother blocked the door, glancing past Elena as if to see if anyone could see her on their doorstep. “Your father isn’t home yet,” she said, her accent thickened by her discomfort.

Good
. “I was hoping you and I could talk.” The main reason she’s sped through most of Arizona was so she might have a chance to speak to her mother for a few minutes before her father got home from work.

Rosa Suarez fidgeted with the edge of her blouse, but nodded once, stepping back to allow Elena inside. She led the way to the family room where a giant family portrait hung over the mantle.

At least Elena hadn’t been removed from that yet.

“Scott is camping,” her mother said, when the silence threatened to stretch between them.

Her parents had given each of their daughters traditional Hispanic names—Elena, Gabriela and Daniela—but when their long-awaited son arrived, they deemed he should have a truly American name. Elena and her sisters still didn’t know why they picked Scott. They only knew that with her parents’ heavy accents, her little brother spent the first three years of his life thinking his name was “Escot.”

Elena mumbled something positive. She wasn’t here to talk about her brother’s camping trip.

When they were both seated, her mother picked up the mending that always sat next to her chair. In all the years of Elena’s life, she’d never seen her mother when her hands were idle for more than two minutes.

She shouldn’t feel awkward here, in the house she’d grown up in. Everything was familiar, but she couldn’t seem to crack the defensive shell that kept her posture stiff and upright. She wanted to be able to just speak to her mother, but her throat was dry.

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” she whispered. The confession hadn’t been part of the script she’d rehearsed on her drive.

Her mother averted her gaze, but Elena could see the glitter of tears there as she gave a little nod of agreement. “I read about you. I worry.”

You could have called
, Elena wanted to argue, but she understood her mother. She was the one who had to live with her husband. She would never leave him while Scott was still at home. If ever. And it wasn’t in her to defy his wishes—even when she thought he was being an idiot.

So Elena just said, “I’m okay now. No need to worry.” And she found she meant it. She’d turned the corner. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but even within the continued chaos of her life she felt… better. Whole again in some indefinable way.

“He
wants
to talk to you. Your father.”

Elena didn’t blink at the apparent non sequitur. “He has my number.”

“He threw away your new phone number, but I think he regrets it. You know your father. You’re so alike. Both of you so stubborn.”

Acid burned in her esophagus. “We aren’t alike.”

Her mother tsked, the needle flying. “
Voluntariosa.
”

“Willful,” Elena translated by force of habit.

Her mother nodded and repeated the word. “Willful. Rash.”

She said the word rash with particular relish and Elena almost smiled. “I guess that’s true.” She certainly hadn’t gotten her impulsive tendencies from her mother’s side. She reached for a pen and paper on the end table next to the phone, writing down her new phone number. “You know, you don’t have to tell him you’re calling me.”

Her mother frowned, as if the very idea of keeping
anything
from her husband confused her. But that was their life. The truth of their relationship and it always had been. Elena tried not to resent it. Tried not to resent the way their partnership had cut her off from both of them.

“Gabi and Dani are good?”

They spoke of her sisters for a few minutes, of the nice young man Gabi was dating, and Elena wondered what her parents would think of Adam. They’d liked Daniel, but at the time so had she. They’d liked
her
back then too.

Chit-chatting with her mother slowly softened her defensive shell. She grew almost comfortable—until they both heard the hum of the garage door lifting.

Her father.

He would have seen her yellow Beetle on the curb. He would know she was here.

Acid churned in Elena’s stomach. Whatever she’d been saying died on her tongue, the words forgotten, and her mother fell silent as well.

The kitchen door to the garage squeaked, announcing the arrival of Juan Suarez.

He wasn’t a large man, only a few inches taller than Elena, but when she was younger he had always seemed larger than life. A giant with a stern frown and a reluctant smile. But she had always been able to make him smile. And laugh. She could surprise it out of him. His unexpected little Elena.

He didn’t like her surprises anymore.

He appeared in the kitchen doorway, aiming an ominous frown at her. “
Que estas haciendo aqui?
” he demanded.

If she’d had to script his welcome, that would have been the exact tone, the exact words she would have predicted. She was ready for this. She’d rehearsed aloud to herself for hours on the interstate, but still her heart beat unnaturally fast as she rose to her feet.

“I brought you something.” Her mother hadn’t remarked on the manila envelope in her hands, but now Elena lifted it up to show them before setting it on the end table beside the phone and the paper with her new number. “I wrote a book.”

“A book?” her mother echoed, as if Elena had just announced she’d decided to become an astronaut.

“You can read it or not read it, but I wanted you to be the first to see it because some of what I wrote was for you.”

Her father’s frown deepened. “What kind of book?”

“It’s my story. The story of the last year through my eyes. Good, bad, and ugly.”

“You’re going to sell this story?” Disapproval was thick in his voice and vivid on his face.

“I’m going to try. And I’m sorry if you don’t approve, but I’m still going to tell my side. I just wanted to come here in person and give you the book and to tell you that I never blamed you for cutting me off. Deep down I thought I deserved it. But I didn’t.” Her father drew breath to speak, but she plowed on, determined to get through her speech. “Maybe what I did was wrong—I know you think so. I know you’re ashamed of me.”

She paused for a beat now—hoping they would argue, hoping they would deny it, tell her it was all a misunderstanding, that they really did love her, that they weren’t ashamed to be her parents—but her father pressed his lips together in a tight, unforgiving line and her mother averted her eyes.

Something hard and terrible began to build inside her, but she ignored it, speaking over it. “I know you think it was a sin. That I disrespected myself and our family and I’m sorry if you felt disrespected. But what you did was wrong too. You don’t turn your back on people you love. You’re my parents. You were supposed to support me, not be the ones judging me most harshly.”

“It is our job to teach you what’s right—”

“I know what’s right,” she interrupted. “I may not always play by your rules, but I’m true to myself and I stand up for what I believe in. I’m strong and I’m smart and I’m driven. You should be proud of me. And if you aren’t….” She waited again—that stupid hope for denial that never came. She swallowed down the hard, terrible thing, thinking of Adam. She was stronger now. “If you aren’t… that isn’t my problem.”

“People who know you are my daughter…” Her father trailed off, shaking his head. “You had so much potential. You were so smart—”

“I’m still smart.”

“We sent you to college. You could be so much more than this… this…”

“Slut?”

Her father’s mouth pinched at the word. “Your behavior is not what I teach you.”

“If you’re ashamed of what people will say about you because of me, I understand.”
I think you’re weak, but I understand. It makes it hard not to hate you, but I understand.
She rubbed her palms over her jeans, irritated with herself for how sweaty they were. “But you’re my parents. And I’m your daughter. For better or worse. And I want to know you. I want you to be part of my life, but not if you can’t accept me as I am. Because I deserve that.
Everyone
deserves that.”

She ran out of words then. That was all she’d practiced. The speech had seemed longer in the car.

She stared at her parents, not sure what kind of reaction she’d been hoping for, but getting nothing. Her father’s face was angry and tight. Closed off. Her mother wouldn’t meet her eyes, but her needle was still as she stared at her hands.

“Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?” She waited again—and realized the hard terrible thing was hope—twisted and bent into disappointment and futility and an anger that wanted to take hold if she let it touch her. She still wanted their acceptance. Their love. Her little speech hadn’t changed that. Or the fact that there was nothing she could do to get it if she wasn’t willing to play by their rules. And she didn’t believe in those rules. She wasn’t sure she ever had.

She waited for some sign that they would give. Even an inch. Even the hint that they might
someday
give an inch, but her parents held their silence.

Elena nodded once, letting resignation settle over the broken hope. “Okay. You have my number. If you change your mind.”

She hoped they would call her back. Say her name. Move to stop her. She hoped for
anything
, but she made it to her car without a single word or gesture from her parents to stop her.

Six fifteen. She’d been inside the house less than half an hour.

She forced herself to start the car and drive around the block so her parents wouldn’t see her lingering outside their house like a stalker. She pulled into the Walgreens parking lot less than a mile away, turning off the engine and reminding herself to breathe.

She’d hoped to feel vindication. Accomplishment. Closure. Something. Now she just felt stupid. Her parents hadn’t changed. Her father disapproved. Her mother would never oppose him. Her father had
thrown out her number
.