Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(70)

So with a smile, I said, “I believe he does, too.”



Greg

The second Annie walked out the doors and slipped into the black Mercedes, I threw my towel in the dish well with shaking hands and stormed to the back.

All day, I had felt her there, so close and a world away. Her face was drawn, her nose red and eyes brilliant from crying.

And those tears were because of me.

A war had raged in my ribs between the desire to wipe those tears away and the knowledge that to do that, I’d only inflict more pain on myself. I’d almost been tempted despite the fact.

Don’t be so fucking dramatic, I told myself, raking a hand through my hair. She’s just a girl.

But that was a lie, and I knew it in my marrow. She wasn’t just any girl, and I couldn’t pretend like she was.

“Uh, you okay?” Rose asked when she saw me wearing a track in the cement, her brows knit together in concern.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” I muttered and paced away from her like I had somewhere to go.

“What happened?”

“I took her to the ballet,” I answered, like that explained everything.

She didn’t say anything, and when I turned to pace back toward her, her arms were folded as she waited for me to elaborate.

“Lily didn’t realize Annie had a boyfriend who isn’t me.”

“Oh God.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God. Cam!” she called over her shoulder.

I turned again to stalk away. “After that, we got in the cab and I…I just couldn’t pretend anymore. I spilled it all, and I told her I couldn’t do it anymore.”

When I turned again, Cam was at Rose’s side, and they wore matching expressions of shock and dismay.

“Well, what did she say?” Cam asked.

“Nothing. She said nothing.”

I stopped in the middle of the room, hands hanging on my hips, my eyes searching the walls, then the ceiling for answers.

“Greg, I’m so sorry.” Cam’s words were soft and sad and did absolutely nothing to ease my aching heart.

“I can’t even fucking look at her.”

“You’re mad?” Rose asked, surprised.

A tight laugh fought its way out of my narrowing throat. “I’m not mad. I’m gutted.” I ran a hand over my mouth. “I don’t even know what happened to me, how I got here, how I came to care so much, so fast. But here I am.” I spread my arms in display. “Welcome to hell.”

“Greg…” Cam started, concerned.

I took a breath. Let it out. Straightened my face.

My heart did what it wanted.

“I’m fine. Really. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, pushing the line we all knew was bullshit. “Seriously, stop looking at me like that. I just…I just need a minute after spending an entire day thinking about how upset she is and how much I hurt her.”

They didn’t look like they were buying it, but Cam sighed. “All right. We’re around, if you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks, Cam, but there’s nothing left to say. And Rose, thanks for the tickets and for helping to get Annie behind the piano. You should have seen her face.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “I’ll be in the cage if you need me. We got that whiskey shipment in today.”

“Sure, okay,” she answered, touching Rose’s arm.

And then I was alone once again with nothing but my regrets to keep me company.





18





All That Glitters





Annie

“Okay, open your eyes.”

I did as I’d been told, drawing in a breath of surprise when I saw myself in my bedroom mirror.

The makeup artist stood at my side, smiling as she watched my reaction, my eyes roaming my face and hair in wonder.

“I can’t believe that’s me.”

I turned my head side to side, inspecting my hair, which was piled in romantic curls on my head. A gold velvet ribbon wound around my crown twice at intervals, weaving in and out of my hair in a Grecian fashion. The fascinator was pinned just above my ear, a beaded pair of leaves over a frame of creamy feather tips. And my makeup, though simple and natural, changed my face somehow, opened my eyes up, made them brighter, brought color to my cheeks and lips.

It was miraculous.

“Like it?” she asked eagerly.

“I love it,” I breathed. My eyes moved lower to the angry, welted scar between my breasts, which were pinned and swelling from the confines of the bodice of my dress.

I ran my finger over the scar, wishing I had the porcelain décolletage of the movies.

“Did you want me to cover that up?” she asked. “I have some stage makeup that covers up tattoos and scars.”

But I smiled. “No, that’s all right. It’s just as much a part of me as anything else.”

The doorbell rang, sending the dogs on their tear through the house. I stood, gathering my skirts and hurrying out of the room as best I could, nearly falling over when I saw Will just inside the door.

He was utterly gorgeous—from top hat to riding boots and everywhere in between.

But my heart swung back when it remembered the pain he’d caused, swinging even further away when I wished for a fleeting moment that it were Greg standing in the entry in a cravat and tails, smiling at me like I was the center of the universe.