Wicked Heart (22 page)

My smile fades. “Oh, God, Angel—”

Her lips tremble, and my chest aches when her eyes fill with tears. “Why would you say that? I thought you were my friend. Bang him like a screen door in a hurricane? That’s
disgusting, Elissa!”

“But you asked me to say—”

A huge snort of laughter rips out of her before she bends over in a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, your face!”

“What? You . . . Oh, you—” I struggle to react to her hyena laugh. “Goddamn actors!” She’s in hysterics now, and despite my near heart attack, I smile.
“You will pay for that.” She laughs harder. “One day, when you least expect it, I’m taking you down, lady. That was mean! America’s sweetheart, my ass! I should fuck
your man just to spite you.”

That’s when I remember the cameras are there. I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh, no. You guys can’t use any of that.”

The producer smiles. “Sure. We’ll cut that out.”

“No, seriously,” I say. “It was a joke. I was joking. You can’t put that in the show.” What would everyone think? God, what would
Liam
think?

I go over to the producer. “Please. I’ll pay you. How much to burn that footage?”

She smiles again, and I swear to god, she looks like a barracuda in lipstick. “Good television is priceless.”

Angel comes over and pats my arm. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. I say stupid things all the time. They’ll definitely edit that out. Right, Ava?”

Ava nods. “Of course, Miss Bell.” She has all the sincerity of a snake oil salesman.

“See?” Angel says. “All good. Now, come with me.” She grabs my hand and leads me into the dressing room. “You need to try on one of these dresses. You say you
don’t have a wedding fantasy, but you will by the time I’m done with you.”

I try to pull away, but dammit, the girl is stronger than she looks. “Angel, no. I don’t think they let random chicks who aren’t getting married into their super-expensive
gowns.”

She waves away my concern. “If I’m going to be dropping a hundred grand in their store, they’ll let me dress up my friend for a few minutes. Right, Bianca?”

The sales assistant plasters on her most patient smile. “Of course, Miss Bell. Let me help you.”

I try to resist, but as usual, Angel won’t be denied. She pulls off my clothes, then she and Bianca help me wiggle into a jewel-encrusted, low-cut sheath that hugs all of my curves a
little too tightly.

“Oh my God,” Angel says as she pulls back. “You . . . look . . . incredible!”

Bianca steps in to fuss with my hair and a veil, then hands me a bouquet. When she’s done, Angel drags me out to stand on the little podium in front of the giant mirror.

“Look how beautiful you are!”

For a second, I have no idea who I’m looking at, because it sure isn’t me.

“Oh. Wow.”

Angel gestures for the cameras to get shots of me. “Now this is footage you can use. You’re stunning, Elissa. You’re going to make some man very happy one day.”

I look at the woman in the mirror. Blond hair up in an elegant chignon, veil draped over my bare shoulders, my body seeming long and svelte in the tight, thick fabric. The beading sparkles in
the mirror, and I’ve never seen myself like this before. Beautiful. A bride. A wife-to-be.

Emotion coils in my throat, because for the first time in my life, I can imagine getting married. I can picture myself walking down the aisle to Liam, him all gorgeous and tall in his sleek tux.
Love is written all over his face as he watches me make my way toward him. The mental image is so vivid, it takes my breath away.

And then I’m hit by a wave of indescribable sadness, because what I’m seeing is Angel’s future, not mine.

Suddenly, the dress is too tight, and my heart is beating too fast, and I have to get out of here before the panic simmering beneath my skin boils over.

“I have to go.”

“What, why?”

I step off the podium, but when I turn to head into the dressing room, I trip on the train and tumble to the ground. Of course, I fall on my sore hip. “Goddammit!”

I scramble to my feet, but I’ve had so much to drink, it makes balancing difficult. Angel tries to help. I wave her away, then hurry back to the dressing room. The stuffy sales assistant
is more than happy to remove my peasant flesh from her couture gown in record time.

When I’m dressed, I go and hug Angel. She’s frowning. “Why are you leaving? I thought we were having a good time.”

“We were, but I’ve got heaps of work to finish up before tomorrow’s rehearsal. See you in the morning, okay?”

The ever-present cameras move closer as she grabs my arm to stop me. “Wait. Elissa. I know I haven’t asked you officially, but . . . you’re going to come to my wedding,
right?”

A lump forms in my throat. “Angel, you barely know me.”

“And I love you like a sister. If I hadn’t already locked in my bridesmaids, I’d be hitting you up to be in the bridal party. But I really want you there. You and Josh. Say
you’ll come.”

She looks at me with such hope, I have to look away. “Of course I’ll come.” I’d rather stab myself in both eyes than watch another woman marry Liam, but I can’t
tell her that. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I hurry out of the salon and down the stairs to the street. When the cool night air hits my cheeks, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

Okay, just chill. Seriously, this is silly. It was a fantasy, nothing more. Come back to reality and calm the hell down.

The champagne is making me shaky and emotional. Or maybe it’s the situation.

If I were a better person, I’d be happy that someone as sweet as Angel is getting her happy-ever-after with Liam, even if I’m not.

But I’m not a good person. And selfish me hates the idea.

When Liam opens the door, he takes one look at me and frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I walk unsteadily past him, and dump my bag on the couch. I thought the walk over here would sober me up, but I actually feel more drunk. “Ready to
work?”

“Liss, have you been drinking?”

I flip through the script and frown when nothing makes sense. Then I realize I’m holding it upside down. “A bit. There was champagne. It forced itself on me.” I’m trying
not to slur but my tongue isn’t cooperating. The room spins, and I lean against the couch for support. “Why is your apartment moving?”

He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, then comes back, takes my hand, and leads me to the couch. I don’t want to sit, but he eases me down. When I try to close my eyes, he touches my
face and makes me look at him instead. “What happened with Angel?”

Even out of focus he’s handsome. “I love your face,” I say, and touch my fingers clumsily to his lips. “I shouldn’t, but I do. So beautiful.”

He grabs my hand and holds it in both of his. “You’re beautiful, too. But right now, I want to hear about you and Angel.”

I shrug. “Angel was fantastic. You’re engaged to a sweetheart, Liam. You’re going to lose it when you see her in her dress. I picked a good one.”

“
You
picked her wedding dress?”

I nod. “I was gonna make her wear the frog, because I’m a bitch. But I couldn’t. She’s so nice. And she trusts me. But she shouldn’t, because I’m not a good
person. God, the Secret Garden was hideous. Oh, and also? There’s no way in hell I’m going to your wedding. No matter how much she wants me there.”

“Liss, what are you talking about?”

“Did you know she likes it when other women lust after you? It’s true. She wanted me to admit I thought you were hot, and I didn’t want to, but she made me. And then when I
started, I couldn’t stop. I said all these things. Really wrong things. True things, but stuff I shouldn’t say out loud. And then I started yelling about how much I want to fuck you,
and they recorded it all. Everything. All my dumb words. I’m such an idiot.”

“Wait, what?”

“And then, just when I thought everything was okay, Angel made me try on a dress. And it was
beautiful,
and I looked beautiful in it, and . . . and then nothing was okay.” I
close my eyes. The memory of it makes my throat tighten and my chest hurt. I feel sick.

He gently grabs my arms and turns me to face him. I open my eyes to his handsome, concerned face. “Liss,
what happened
?”

I shake my head, and take in a shallow breath. “I’d never thought about it before, you know? Not the dress or the ever after, or any of it. Never had reason to. But then tonight . .
.”

“Tonight?”

I look up at him, and I know he sees how wet my eyes are, but I can’t help it. “Tonight, I saw myself in that dress, and it hit me. You’re getting married.
You.
To
someone else.” I swallow and look at his chest. “I mean, I knew you were, but I didn’t
know,
you know? And now I do, and it
sucks
.”

“Liss . . .”

I shake my head as tears slide down my cheeks. “And I feel so
stupid
because there’s no reason for me to get so upset about this. I have no right. You’re not mine.
You’ve
never
been mine. We had one night together a million years ago, and I should be over it by now.”

“Liss, come on. We were never just about one night. You know that.”

“No, I don’t. Because I only got you for that tiny amount of time and now she gets you forever. And there’s no way that’s fair. It’s just not.”

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Then his hands are on me. Pulling me. Wrapping around me. And I’m pressed into his chest and surrounded by his smell, and I beg the tears to stop but they
don’t listen.

Goddammit.

I
hate
this.

Love.

Longing.

Attraction.

Need.

Everything he brings out in me.

I’m so tired of wanting what I can’t have
. Wanting him.
I can’t do it anymore.

I can’t.

I fist his shirt and close my eyes. His hands stroke my back. His lips press against my forehead. Warmth and comfort surround me, and even though I know they’re not mine to keep, maybe for
tonight, I can pretend they are.

My head is pounding. I try to ignore it because I’m warm and comfortable, but it beats a sick, insistent rhythm behind my eyes.

Ugh. Stoppit. I’m awake already.

I rub my hand over my forehead and groan. I haven’t had a hangover this bad in years. Curse you, Champagne, and your evil, delicious bubbles.

I crack open my eyes and frown.
Where the hell am I?

Warm, muscled arms tighten around me, and I stop breathing.

Liam? Why the hell am I in bed with Liam?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think.
Wedding dresses. Champagne. Liam answering the door. Tears.

I take long, measured breaths. The details are fuzzy, but the squirming in my stomach reminds me how far I went. How I broke down and blurted out all my messy, unrequited feelings. After the
tears, however, I’m at a loss as to what happened.

Please God, tell me we didn’t have sex. If there was one way to make this entire situation exponentially worse, that would be it.

When I look down, I breathe a sigh of relief: I’m in my underwear. A glance over my shoulder, however, reveals Liam’s naked chest and shoulders.

Please, no.

I lift the duvet and look down. He’s wearing boxers. They’re doing nothing to disguise his morning wood.

Okay, so I’m assuming we didn’t have sex. Also, if Liam had been inside me, there’s no way I wouldn’t be feeling it this morning. He’s kind of huge.

Reluctantly, I ease myself out of Liam’s arms. When he moans my name, I freeze and hold my breath, but after a few seconds he turns over and goes still again. Moving as quietly as
possible, I climb out of bed and look around.

Even in the early morning gloom I can tell his bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment.

I tiptoe around until I find my clothes folded neatly on a leather chair, then quickly pull them on, along with my shoes and socks. My pounding head reminds me I need pain relief, so I make my
way into the giant
ensuite
and gently close the door before flicking on the light.

“Jesus, fuck!” I whisper, and squeeze my eyes shut as the world’s brightest bathroom lights pierce my brain. “Dammit, Liam. Do you perform surgery in here? Who the hell
needs lights this bright?” I fumble with the dimmer until they reach a less blinding level, then carefully open the mirrored cabinet in the hope of scoring some Tylenol.

I scan the shelves.
Shaving cream. Razor. Aftershave.
I pick up the bottle and sniff it.

God. Yes.
Liam scent.

The shudder that runs through me makes me curse at myself. One thing I remember about last night is swearing to be done with Liam. Pretty sure sniffing his cologne like a creeper is several
hundred steps in the wrong direction.

After replacing the aftershave, I spy some Tylenol on the top shelf and down two with water from the tap.
Thank you, Jesus.

I take a deep breath as I assess myself in the mirror. I make a plan to sneak out, grab a few hours of sleep at home, and face him later when I’m in better shape to have the conversation I
know we need to have.

Okay. Let’s go. Stay quiet. Avoid head exploding.

I turn out the light and crack the door open, and that’s when I freeze. There’s a shadowy figure crossing the bedroom, and it’s not Liam-shaped. I’m about to scream blue
murder when I hear Angel say, “Hey, sleepyhead. Good morning.” She’s wearing workout gear and trainers. When she sits on the bed next to Liam, he moans and wraps his arms around
her. She laughs and whispers, “Okay, steady, tiger. Come work out with me. I drank a crapload of champagne last night and have a severe case of the bloats. Not to mention a killer headache. I
need some endorphins to clear the fog.”

“What are you talking about?” Liam mumbles as he grabs for her again. “You hate exercise, remember? Fitness protection program. Stay here. Snuggle.”

Angel frowns. “Liam? Are you even awake right now?” She shakes him. “Come into the real world, please. You’re not making sense.”