Take Two (The Jilted Bride #1)(25)

“Um okay. Why not?”

“I needed to get away for a while.”

“Marriage jitters?”

“Not at all, Miss—”

“Melody,” I downed a martini.

“No, Melody. I don’t have marriage jitters…Do you?”

“Why would I?”

“You didn’t answer my question about the boyfriend. Are you deflecting?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I downed the other two martinis.

He didn’t say anything in response. He just smiled at me. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t.

I could stare at you all day.

“How long are you staying here?” I heard myself say.

“I’m not sure yet. Depends on a certain project I’m working on… Tell me something. Why did you run away from me at the launch party?”

“I-uh,” I picked an olive out of my glass. “I don’t really remember.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“It was because you asked me out.”

“Okay? That usually results in a yes or a no, not a late night run.”

“I don’t go out with married men.”

“But I’m not—”

“I know,” I stood up and immediately regretted all those drinks. “You’re just engaged to be married. I don’t go out with those types either.”

“It’s not what you think. Don’t believe everything you read.”

“Don’t worry. I only read TMZ. They’re pretty accurate most of the time.”

“Trust me,” he grabbed my hand. “It’s not what you think.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or my hormones, but I gave in. “Okay. Fine. I believe you.”

He released my hand. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“I’m going to pass out on the beach for now. My sister and I are going snorkeling later.”

“Mind if I come?”

“Snorkeling? Not at all. We’re going to—”

“I was referring to whatever you were about to do right now.”

Think of something smart to say! Think of something smart to say!

“I’m about to go pass out.”

I lay on my blanket looking at the sun. I wondered how long I could lay like that before going blind. I refused to turn to my left and look at Matt—even though I could feel him staring at me.

“It’s kind of hard to pass out when someone keeps talking to you,” I pretended to be annoyed.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” he laughed. “How long have you been here?”

“A week and four days. I don’t think I want to go back.”

“Me either. It’s much more quiet here than in New York.”

“You’re telling me you don’t enjoy all that attention?”

“Not really. I can’t even get a sandwich without making the news. It’s like every part of my life is documented by people I don’t even know.”

“Hmmm. You know, the paparazzi are probably watching you right now. They might assume you’re cheating on Selena so I’m going to—”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” I finally turned to face him. “I should head—”

“Please stay. I know for a fact they’re not watching. I took care of all that.”

Took care of all that? What does that mean? And he needs to stop looking at me like that…

He and I sat and watched the waves for what felt like an hour. There was a strong tension between us and I tried my best to ignore it.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind sharing?” he asked.

“Twenty four.”

“How’d you get to be a big critic so young?”

“Are you making conversation or do you really want to know?”

“I want to know,” he turned on his side.

Don’t stare…Don’t stare…

“Well, I’ve always been a writer. I won all types of competitions in high school. When I got to college I lucked up and got an internship at The New York Appeal. I did coffee runs and menial stuff for a whole year, but when my boss got sick he let me write a couple of reviews under his byline. As time went on, he got worse and worse so I was writing them all. After a while, people were writing in and asking his opinions on everything—shows, books, films, whatever. Movie studios and publishers even sent flowers and gift baskets to get in his good graces because readers were clinging to his every word.”

“But you were the one doing all the writing? Were you still in college?”

“Yeah…He died my junior year and left a note for HR. He told them what had been going on and they made me the youngest critic they’d ever had.”

“That’s really impressive. So when did you realize you hated Matt Sterling?”

“When he started referring to himself in the third person,” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t hate you, per se. I’m just not a huge fan of your work.”

“I think that’s just the liquor talking.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I hate all your films,” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stay awake anymore.