Wicked Heart (28 page)

I just keep staring at the pictures and try not to let everyone see how my emotions are strangling me.

So, all that talk about being with me was bullshit. Why do I even bother hoping anymore? It’s pointless.

Here I was dreaming about being Liam’s girlfriend. Instead, I’m a regret. A stupid, nameless, shameful mistake.

“For the love of God, we blocked this last week!” Marco glares at the actors. “Why the hell are you all in the wrong positions?! Where are your brains,
people?”

Since the meeting, everyone’s been on edge. The rest of the cast found out about the scandal when the magazine hit the streets an hour ago, and we’ve been bombarded by phone calls
and weeping fans ever since. Down in the street, I can still hear them wailing in disbelief.

“They can’t end like this! Their love is eternal! I can’t believe Liam would do that. The slut must have made him.”

I grind my teeth, and Josh gently touches my leg beneath the table. “This will blow over. Just give it time.”

I nod tightly and write notes on my script. “Yep.”

He hasn’t said anything, but he knows it’s me in those pictures. I can feel his disappointment like a vibration in the air. I’ve been a lot of things over the years, but never
the other woman. His affection for Angel makes it even worse. I know he wants to be on my side, but how can he be? I’m the one in the wrong.

“Let’s reset please, everyone,” I say. “From the top of this scene once more.”

Liam looks over at me. I studiously ignore him. In the light of today’s drama, the pressure for me to be objective and professional is higher than ever. The cast needs to be reassured that
as far as the show goes, everything’s under control. It’s the old duck illusion: No matter how frantically the legs are paddling below the water, we need people to see us gliding along
with serene grace.

“No, Liam! Downstage, dammit! Downstage!” It seems Marco didn’t get my memo about the duck thing. “Downstage is
forward
. Upstage is
back
. Do I need to
remind you of basic stagecraft, man?”

I put my hand on Marco’s arm and whisper, “Please breathe.”

Marco pinches the bridge of his nose. Both Liam and Angel are off their games, but Liam’s definitely the worse off of the two. There’s also an air of resentment from the rest of the
cast that he’s dropped us all in shit. In my case, the resentment is well-founded.

“Sorry,” Liam says. He glances over at me, and I look away.

He doesn’t even deserve eye contact.

For the rest of the day, I double-check earlier than usual that all cast members are set for their cues. The last thing I need is for Marco’s patience to wear any thinner. Every time I go
near Liam, my emotions flare, but I force them down and get on with things.

“Stand by for your entrance, Mr. Quinn. Don’t forget to exit downstage left after
‘It shall be what o’clock I say it is.’”

“Liss . . .” He leans down to talk to me, but I cross to the other side of the room to cue Angel.

Poor Angel looks as bad as I feel. Of course, knowing I’m responsible for her misery makes me feel even worse. I’ve been on the receiving end of this kind of hurt so many times,
you’d think it would suck less being the perpetrator and not the victim, but it doesn’t.

“You okay?” I whisper.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry.”
For lots of things.

She shakes her head and stares at Liam, who’s just entered the scene. “I thought we were always honest with each other. But this . . . My whole family is mortified. My father
didn’t come out and say it, but I’m pretty sure he thinks all this happened because I’m an idiot who can’t keep her man satisfied.”

“That’s ridiculous. None of this is your fault.”

“No. But it does make me wonder what else Liam’s been keeping from me.”
Rain. His mouth. Hands all over my body.
“He could have been fucking this girl for weeks.
He denies it, but I’m inclined not to believe a single word he says anymore.”

Me either.
I shake my head and check my script. “Okay, stand by for your cue, then exit with Liam downstage at the end of the scene.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

The day drags on. We finish blocking the final few scenes, but the tension in the air negates what little sense of achievement that brings.

By the time I call an end to rehearsal, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. I think we’re all emotionally exhausted.

While the rest of the cast leaves, Angel and Liam retreat to the conference room along with Anthony and Mary. Their press conference is in an hour, and Anthony wants to drill them one more time.
It’s clear a spontaneous and heartfelt apology takes a crapload of rehearsal.

I’m tidying up the production desk when Josh touches my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

He grabs my hands and turns me to face him. I can’t look him in the face so I stare at my knuckles instead.

“Listen, I have a date tonight, but if you want me to cancel, I can.”

I squeeze his hands. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to this, remember? But there is someone who I’m sure could use a friend tonight.”

“If you say Quinn, I’m going to punch something. Probably him.”

I shake my head and look up at him. “Make sure Angel isn’t alone. She doesn’t have any friends here, and I’d be with her, but . . . well, awkward.”

He nods. “I’ll take care of her. Now, go. I’ll clean up here.” He pulls me in for a tight hug, then passes me my bag.

As soon as I hit the street, I’m accosted by at least a dozen reporters and photographers, all screaming questions as they shove recording devices in my face.

“Any comment on the cheating scandal? How’s Angel coping with Liam’s betrayal?”

“Is Liam sorry? Has he done this sort of thing before?”

“Can you tell us about the woman involved? Is she an actor, too?”

“If they break up, will the show close?”

I stay silent and push through them. When they start to follow me, I run.

By the time I get home, I’m in need of a Valium, a shower, and tissues. I slam the door behind me, then lean back against it, and when all the emotion I’ve been suppressing for the
past ten hours threatens to bubble out of me in big, frustrated sobs, I let it come.

Fresh from a hot shower and wrapped in my favorite robe, I flop onto the couch and turn on my phone. Immediately, a slew of message alerts rings out. Most of the numbers I
don’t recognize, so I figure they’re reporters and ignore them. When I see that Liam’s tried to call me fifteen times, I grip the phone so hard, I almost crack the glass. I throw
the phone onto the couch and head into the kitchen. There’s only half a bottle of red wine left, but my name is written all over it. I don’t even bother with a glass.

After taking a giant swig, I go back to the couch and turn on the TV. Of course, the first thing that comes on is an entertainment show about the Angeliam scandal.

“Geez, Universe,” I mutter at the screen. “I usually like some foreplay before I’m fucked this thoroughly. You could at least buy me dinner.”

I sit there like a zombie and watch as the media circus covers the scandal. It’s the
Angeliampocalypse
, complete with teary fan interviews, Hollywood insiders speculating about
the future of the golden couple, and an actual graph predicting how much retail sales of
Rageheart
will suffer or soar if they split. They’ll soar, by the way.

I don’t even know why I’m watching. Stupidity? Sick curiosity? Flat-out masochism? After trusting Liam again, I guess I deserve punishment.

On the screen, Angel and Liam emerge from our rehearsal building and face the barrage of yelling reporters and flashbulbs. They’re holding hands. Liam looks gorgeous and contrite. Angel
looks gorgeous and devastated. Liam says everything Anthony told him to. He’s on the verge of tears the whole time, which leads me to believe he’s either genuinely sorry for his actions
or needs to win a damn Oscar in the near future.

I hate how choked up I get when he says, “For my whole life, I’ve only loved one woman. And I’m sickened that my thoughtless and selfish actions have hurt her. I can only hope
that one day, she’ll understand I just want to be with her, and find a way to forgive me.”

He looks right through the camera when he says it, and his performance is so sincere and touching that by the end, even I’m rooting for him and Angel to make it through this
clusterfuck.

Jesus Christ, I need more wine.

I take two big mouthfuls, then flip the channel over to a rerun of
Friends
. Phoebe is explaining how Rachel and Ross are soul mates. “She’s your lobster,” she says to
Ross. “It’s a known fact lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You can actually see old lobster couples walking around their tank, holding claws.”

I wonder what Phoebe would say if I told her that my lobster didn’t pick me. He’s decided to stay with the gorgeous redheaded lobster whose legs are longer than my whole body. So, do
I get to choose another lobster now, or is that it? I’m to go through life forever lobsterless?

Without warning, tears well up and spill onto my cheeks. I swipe them away impatiently. “Fuck you and lobsters everywhere, Phoebe. Fuck . . . you.”

I don’t know how long I wallow and stare at the television. Long enough to finish the wine, anyway. I’m considering going out to buy more when there’s a knock at the door.

Dammit. Josh forgets his key more often than he remembers it. Guess Angel didn’t need him to console her after all.

I stomp over to the door and pull it open. “You’re hopeless, you know that—?”

Instead of Josh, Liam’s standing there, looking more wretched than I feel, if that’s possible.

“Liss, you have to know that—”

“Go home.”

I try to close the door, but he stops it with his hand. “Wait. Let me explain.”

“No need. You’ve made your feelings clear. It was a mistake. It meant nothing.”

“Please, just listen to me—”

“I’m done listening to you, Liam! The only thing listening to you ever got me was hurt. Why the hell do you keep coming back to torture me? You made your choice, and it’s not
me. Again! I get it!”

“No, you don’t! That’s the trouble. This situation is complicated.”

“Oh, really? Because it seems pretty simple: You’re an asshole. And I’m an idiot for believing you. I thought I knew every douche line out there, but you had me totally
fooled.”

“I wasn’t feeding you a line! I meant every word I said to you yesterday. I want to be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“How stupid do you think I am? You just stood in front of the
world
and reaffirmed your love for your fiancée!”

He slaps his hands against the door frame so hard it makes me jump. “No I didn’t! I don’t have a fiancée! I have a fucking contract that forces me to pretend to be
engaged to Angel, but that’s it! Our relationship is manufactured bullshit!”

He’s so worked up he’s panting, and my heart is pounding so furiously it takes a moment for me to understand what I’ve just heard. When it sinks in, a flash of anger runs up my
spine. “What?!”

He steps forward, but if he touches me right now, I don’t know what I’ll do. I turn and walk to the far side of the living room.

“Everything I just said at the press conference,” he says, his voice softer as he watches me with wary eyes. “All of that stuff about only ever having loved one woman in my
whole life. It was about
you
. God, Liss. Don’t you understand? It’s only ever been you.” He stares at me, as if he’s waiting for me to explode. I don’t.
I’m too shell-shocked to even move, apart from hugging the wine bottle so tightly to my chest it hurts. When the silence becomes uncomfortable, he comes inside and gently closes the door.
Then he just stands there for a few seconds, one hand on the handle, his other hanging limply at his side.

“When I got home last night,” he says, staring at the floor, “Anthony was waiting with those photos. A friend of his at TMZ had tipped him off they were about to hit, and he
was pissed. Seriously pissed. Can’t say I blamed him. What I did with you was stupid. Not the kissing part, because I couldn’t regret that if you put a gun to my head. But doing it out
in the open? That was dumb. After the thing at Jamie’s grave, I should have known I was being followed, that that asshole from the bar would have been on us the moment we stepped into the
street.”

He rubs his face. “Anthony kept drilling me about your identity. Said that if we threw you to the wolves, it would take some of the heat off me. Of course, there was no way in hell I was
going to do that, so I denied everything, even though it killed me.” He looks over at me, regret coloring every feature. “Anthony’s been watching me like a hawk all day, making
sure I didn’t do anything to make it worse. That’s why I didn’t warn you. Just before the press conference, I snuck out to the bathroom to try to call you and explain, but your
phone was off. I’m so sorry.”

I suddenly know how Alice must have felt on the other side of the looking glass. I feel like I’m in Bizarro World. This is completely surreal. “But, you and Angel—”

“Aren’t engaged. We never have been. We’ve never even had sex. The whole thing was set up to generate publicity.”

He watches me carefully. Gauging my reaction. I don’t know how long I stand there, disbelief all over my face. It must be a while because eventually he says, “Jesus, Liss. Please say
something. Anything. Just . . . react.”

I take a breath as I attempt to process it all. I can’t. It’s so ridiculous, my brain has seized. “So you’ve been
lying
? To me? To the entire world? For
years
?”

“Elissa, I’m sorry.”

Incredulity floods my body, followed by fury. Suddenly, I have a lot to say, and all of it is accompanied by huge messy emotions that make my voice loud and my cheeks wet. “Do you have any
idea how much you hurt me? How
devastated
I was six years ago when I saw pictures of you and Angel together? How much you hurt me
today
when it seemed you were choosing her all
over again? And now you’re telling me it was all a goddamn
publicity stunt
?!” I slam the wine bottle down on the table so hard, Liam flinches.