Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(39)

“Until you fucked me.”

“Ellie, don’t,” I said forcefully. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know what’s true right now.” Her voice had grown softer, quieter. Sadder.

“You can scream at me if you want,” I told her, half hoping she would.

“What good would that do?”

“I don’t know. Make you feel better?”

“It won’t. I wish it would, but it won’t. The truth is, I wasn’t impressive enough to get the gig. You were.”

“The circumstances going in weren’t equal,” I argued. “It wasn’t a level playing field.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I told Fiona I wouldn’t do it.”

She shook her head. “Gianni, don’t be stupid. Take the spot.”

“No.”

“It’ll be good for you—and for Etoile.”

I hesitated. “That’s the only reason I’d do it. For Etoile. For Abelard. If you thought it would help.”

“I’m sure it would.” She sighed. “It’ll be great publicity for the summer rush.”

“Right. Summer. It’s just . . .” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be at Etoile.”

Ellie gathered the blankets closer to her chest. “You’re leaving? Already?”

Exhaling, I leaned back against the headboard. “I had an offer for another show, and if I take it, I’d have to leave by the end of March.”

“Another reality show?”

“Yes.”

She was silent a moment. “When did you get this offer?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“You’ve known for weeks that you’re leaving at the end of March and you’re just telling me this now?”

“I haven’t decided whether to accept or not. I’m still thinking, and I want to talk to your parents. I don’t want them to think I’m abandoning Etoile.”

“Well, that’s exactly what they’ll think because that’s what you’re doing!”

“Ellie, come on. This is a hard choice for me to make. You know I love Etoile and being in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know anything for certain right now. A moment ago, I thought I did—and then you started talking, and everything turned upside down.”

“I haven’t decided anything yet. And I was going to talk to you about it.”

“Well, now you have.” She thumped a hip into the mattress and turned away from me, gathering the covers at her shoulder and scooting to the farthest edge of the mattress. “Goodnight.”

“Can’t we talk about this some more?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. If you want to do the show, do the show. And you’d be stupid to turn down Fiona’s offer.”

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s a great opportunity, Gianni.” Her tone was insistent. “And I refuse to be the reason you say no. Take her offer and go back to Hollywood. It’s where you belong. It’s what you want.”

“And you’ll never speak to me again?” At the thought, my chest grew painfully tight. “Is that it?”

“I’ll speak to you as long as we’re working together. And when you leave, you won’t care anyway.”

“Yes, I will, Ellie. That was my whole point tonight.”

She looked over her shoulder. “About having my back?”

“Well . . . yes.”

She turned away from me again. “Go to sleep, Gianni.”

“I can’t. Not if you’re mad at me.”

“Oh, Jesus. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. Now will you sleep?”

I wanted to keep talking, but what would be the point? In her eyes, I’d won a prize that she’d coveted, I was abandoning her family, and I’d hidden it all from her until right after we’d had sex—and all of it confirmed the idea she’d had about me from day one. I was kicking myself for confessing it all tonight, although I wasn’t sure it would have gone any better if I’d waited. Actually, it might have gone worse.

She was always going to be hurt.

Sighing heavily, I lay down again and stared at the ceiling.

I didn’t want that stupid magazine cover. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the show. And I had mixed feelings about leaving Etoile so soon.

But one thing I knew for sure—I hated that tonight had ended this way. If I had more time alone with Ellie, I was sure I could make her understand my side of things. That I hadn’t hidden anything from her on purpose. That I was trying to protect her feelings as long as I could. That I wasn’t leaving Etoile because I was unhappy or thought it was too small town or something. That tonight had meant something to me beyond just having a good time.

But tomorrow, we’d get up and drive home, and she’d probably be cold and silent the entire way. Our relationship wouldn’t even return to its previous state of flirty antagonism—she’d likely ignore me entirely. I probably wouldn’t be able to get a rise out of her anymore. All the ground we’d gained inside Room 13 at the Pineview Motel would be lost.