“I’ve been to a few,” I said, making a mental note to find out if she planned to feature one of them in her next book. Later, of course, since she probably wanted a break from even thinking writing at the moment. But if she wanted to do some in-person research, I’d take her there. Flying absolutely sucked, but I’d put up with it for her. “They’re nice, but they’re more like a dream you can only stay in for a little while. Everyone has to return to reality. Kingstree is reality for me—and it’s fantastic.”
She sipped her wine. “How is Kingstree so wonderful for you?”
“I grew up here. My grandmother raised me and my sister here after our parents died, and people know me. I mean the real me, not the magazine cover version. They treat me like a person, not a celebrity, and they don’t try to use me to their advantage.”
“Do people often try? Use you, that is.” She regarded me. “You seem too smart to be used.”
“Thanks, but they do often try. Lots of women approach me for exactly that.”
She shot me a skeptical look as she had another bite of pasta. “But you like it, right? I mean, you’re getting all the sex you want in exchange for hanging out with them. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want just sex. I mean, okay, sure, I won’t lie. At first it was fun. Like, a lot of fun. And it’s still fun. But I want somebody I can be friends with, too.”
And Caitlyn would never be a friend. Or any of the others, either, now that I thought about it. A “girlfriend” I’d had early on after Axelrod broke out only stuck around because she thought she could use her connection to me to break into the music business. Remembering her reminded me of the reason I’d assumed Caitlyn would work out—she wasn’t an aspiring musician.
An old resentment fleeted through me. I should never have assumed anything.
“Don’t feel too bad about it,” Emily said softly. “I’m not friends with my exes.”
“How come?” I asked, part of me happy that she wasn’t close to her exes. The latest story by Emily I’d been reading was a reunion romance, where two lovers were getting a second shot. I thought she believed in stuff like that.
“Because they were bastards. I’m not the type to think about what-ifs with some douche who wasn’t good enough for me in the first place.”
A woman who knew her value. That was hot. “What if one came back for another chance?”
She scoffed. “No way. He could beg on his knees, lick my boots, and I’d still say no. You know what I learned over the years?” She guzzled down half her wine. “People do not change. They can say they did. They can say they’re capable. They can make promises. But they don’t fundamentally change who they are. Cheaters cheat, liars lie and assholes asshole.” She wagged her finger. “And before you say anything, ‘asshole’ is totally a verb.”
“You’re pretty cynical for a romance writer. Don’t you believe in true, everlasting love?”
She laughed like I’d said the funniest thing ever. “What gave you the idea that something like that is real?”
“My parents. And grandparents. They were together forever and made the best lives possible.” And I remembered how much they’d cared for each other, tried to create warm, laughter-filled homes. It was something I’d always imagined I would have at some point in my own life, when I met the right woman.
“My parents have been married forever too, but that doesn’t mean there’s true love, Killian. It only exists in books and songs, which is why people will pay to read about it. It’s a beautiful, fleeting dream, like your super-secret vacations. But like you said, it isn’t reality.”
If she’d said it with nothing but cynicism and mockery
, I might’ve argued. But there was such calm acceptance and wistfulness to her that I couldn’t bring myself to say anything over the odd fist of emotions lodged in my throat. Maybe she’d been too badly burned by some asshole. I found myself hoping that he was impotent, too.
She gave me a small smile. “Don’t look so shocked. Here. Have more wine.” She poured some Pinot Grigio for me, as though alcohol would be enough to soothe the burning ache her words had left in my chest.
But I didn’t want the wine. As soon as she set the bottle down, I held her hand, then kissed the knuckles. “I’m not shocked. Just sad that you think it can only happen for your imaginary couples, but not for you.”
* * *
Emily
I went still as the impact of his words hit me. It wasn’t even that he was saying anything super enlightening. I’d thought the same in the past. But no other man had ever voiced it. And no other man had looked at me like he wanted a chance to change my mind.
Longing shot through me, because yeah, it would be amazing to have a happy ending like my couples. But then fear followed, chilling me from the inside out. Even my heart seemed to beat unevenly at the idea. If I hadn’t been able to find anything close to a romance-novel happy ending, what made me think I could find it now, especially with a rock star who had hot young things chasing after him all the time?
Because he isn’t chasing them back. Because he’s with you right now.
And I wanted to listen to that voice, let him show me what was possible. But the walls around my heart remained. The suspicions and the old scars didn’t just vanish.
Suddenly I couldn’t draw in enough air, like the day I’d published my book for the first time. I stood up. “I have to go. I forgot to…uh…do something.”
Smooth, Emily. So smooth.