The Decoy Girlfriend(88)

This morning she had been so happy. She’d been looking forward to her next chapter.

Freya’s eyes well with the memories of everything she wants so desperately to cling on to but is afraid that, like a dream, is about to drift away.


Freya: I need you four. Call me now.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



The lavender chiffon Elie Saab gown is easily the most expensive thing Freya’s ever worn. She angles herself in the bathroom mirror, watching the sway of the lacy skirt. It’s a romantic dress fit for a Disney ball, and at any other time, she would have felt like a princess wearing it, but tonight it just feels wrong.

“You look gorgeous,” says Taft from the open doorway.

She hadn’t noticed him behind her. Her smile is a little strangled. Even when everything sucks, he’s trying to make her feel good. “You look very handsome yourself.”

Freya forces herself to stop from licking her Diored lips and tries to calm the clawing in her chest. It doesn’t work. The limo is going to pick them up soon, and if Mandi isn’t here before then, she’ll have to go to the premiere in her place.

“Sorry yesterday was so dramatic, and that today hasn’t been much better,” says Taft. “I know it can’t have been easy for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had my girls. You needed to regroup with Moira and Mandi. It’s fine.”

Taft closes the distance between them and takes her in his arms without caring about the perfectly pressed lines on his tux or the foundation that could get on it when he squeezes her tight. “It’s not fine.”

Well, no. Freya hadn’t particularly enjoyed spending the night alone on the couch while Taft conducted hushed conversations in the privacy of their—his—bedroom. She wanted to help, but she supposes it’s sort of hard to be part of the solution when you were one half of the problem.

But it is what it is. And she knows he trusts Moira to advise and look out for his career.

She tips her head back to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

“They were my indiscretions,” says Taft. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Are you sorry? Do you regret any of it?”

Immediately she wants to take both questions back.

“Don’t you dare think that for a second,” says Taft. “Of course, I wish those pictures hadn’t leaked, but I could never regret you being in my life. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You . . . you make me happy.” He looks down at her in wonder. “And I think—I hope—that I bring you joy, too.”

She smiles and strokes his cheek. “That was never in doubt.”

“Mandi’s on her way back,” says Taft, stroking Freya’s cheek.

Her smile falters. When she last spoke with her, Mandi had been so happily holed up in her Airbnb on Rosalie Island that she wasn’t planning on coming back for the Banshee premiere at all.

And Freya knows how selfish it is that she’d been excited to attend in Mandi’s place. That even now, she feels possessive of this life that has never truly been hers. She doesn’t care about the clothes or the fame, but she does care about Taft. After everything they’ve shared, she wanted to be the one with him tonight, the one to celebrate his accomplishments. But yesterday had changed everything.

“I guess,” Freya says slowly, “I should change, then?”

There’s clear regret stamped on his face. He bends his neck, not to kiss her as she first expects but to rest his forehead against hers. Taft feels solid and real, his breath hot against her cheek. His eyes close as he just holds her to him. Anchoring himself.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” says Taft.

His nearness and the scent of his cologne go to Freya’s head like really good champagne. She swallows. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

He peers at her, eyebrows drawn in concern. “Are you upset?”

She releases a gusty exhale. “Yes and no. I do wish I was going with you, but I’m also weirdly relieved that Mandi’s going to make it, after all. A red carpet would have been fun, but it wouldn’t have been mine.”

Taft nods, eyes sympathetic. “I can think of one thing that’s all yours,” he says softly.

The tension between them triples.

“And what’s that?”

He tugs her hand up his chest to cover his heart. It’s the same gesture he made at the photo shoot.

Tears spring to Freya’s eyes, and oh god, she’s suddenly glad she doesn’t have to leave the house tonight, because it takes all of two seconds for her makeup to streak, tears dripping down her cheeks and dangling off her chin.

“I don’t ask girls to live with me and then take it back,” says Taft, using his thumb to catch one. “We’re moving forward, Freya. It’s just going to take a little longer, after all of this dies down. Putting you in the crosshairs of people like Kurt . . . I won’t let you live under a microscope like that. I don’t know how we’ll find the balance, but I refuse to let you be some juicy bit of gossip people swap like currency. Being with you is worth any price, but I can’t let you be the one to pay it. Can you wait for us?”

She takes a wobbly breath. Of course she can. What he’s asking isn’t unreasonable. And he’s only thinking of what’s best for her. She appreciates it, but he’s what’s best for her. She doesn’t need to be protected; she just needs to be his.