She purses her lips, and I can tell she doesn’t want to leave. She knows the truth, and it’s killing her that Noah is upset with me. But after several long seconds and one glare toward Noah, Charlotte turns
and walks toward the back of the shop.
Clearing my throat, I run my hands along the front of my jeans and tell Noah everything he wants to know. “My full name is Lennon Barrick-St. James. Renee Barrick is my mother.”
His brown eyes bore into me. “You told me she was a Broadway actress.”
I nod. “She was…when she first started out. Since then her career has…grown. And she did recently retire from acting. I didn’t lie to you about that.”
“And your father?”
“Christopher St. James. He’s Joseph Morgan’s running mate for the upcoming election. My mother wouldn’t change her last name, so they hyphenated mine. In my parents’ world, I’m known more as Leni Barrick.”
“In your parents’ world,” he mumbles to himself before running a hand through his hair. “What the fuck is that even supposed to mean, your parents’ world?”
“They live a different life than we do, Noah. They’re all glitz and fancy dinners and charity auctions. They wouldn’t know the meaning of a hard day’s work if it slapped them in the face.”
His brows dip low. “You say they, but that’s your life, too. That’s the life you come from.”
I shake my head. “Yes, I was born into that life, but that’s not who I am. Why do you think I was never in the public eye? Why do you think no one here knows who I am? I’m nobody, Noah. Until recently, I hadn’t been in the news in years. I’ve worked my ass off to separate myself from that world for a reason—because I don’t want that life. I don’t want what it represents. I don’t want to be a product of my environment.”
“And yet you lied to me.”
The pain in his eyes it too much, and I walk toward him, wrapping my arms around his middle.
“Instead of talking to me about it, you lied to me.”
Noah’s arms hang limp at his sides, and I hate it. The familiar burn starts in my nose, and it’s only a matter of seconds before my eyes fill with tears.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, burying my face in his chest, absorbing his warm scent because I’m absolutely terrified I’ll never smell it again. “I just wanted a fresh start. I wasn’t trying to be deceitful. You have to know that that wasn’t my intention.”
He scoffs. “I don’t know what to think. You kept a part of yourself from me. I gave you everything, put all of my secrets and insecurities out there for you to see, and you fucking kept yourself from me.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did,” he counters. “You told me the basics and kept the important things to yourself. Don’t you think I had a right to know who I was getting involved with?”
I look up at him. “I didn’t leave out the important parts. I left out the parts that could influence the way you looked at me. The important parts aren’t who my parents are, or what they do for a living. It’s not how big of a house I lived in or how large my trust fund is. I wanted you to look at me for who I am on the inside, not on the outside, and you did. You know me, Noah. Nothing has changed.”
“Really?” He stares down at me. “Everything has changed, because right now I feel like I don’t know you at all.”
“See? You’re doing it right now. You’re judging me because of who my parents are, because of the life I come from.”
“No,” he growls, pulling out of my hold. “I’m judging you because you lied to me, because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me who you are.”
“You know who I am!” I yell, frustrated that we’re talking in circles and equally grateful he hasn’t brought up the other bomb Mathis dropped.
“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “The world knows who you are.” Dropping his chin to his chest, Noah grows quiet. When he looks back up and those brown eyes go liquid with pain, I know what’s coming next. “And the drugs. Drugs, Lennon! You were arrested?” he booms.
“Noah…” My eyes grow wide. “You have to let me explain.”
“I can’t fuckin’ do this,” he shouts.
My blood runs cold. “What do you mean, you can’t do this? You have to do this; you have to let me explain.”
Noah turns toward the front door. I wait for him to turn back to me, but he doesn’t. In three steps, he has his fingers wrapped around the door handle.
“You can’t leave,” I plead. “We need to talk about this. You can’t walk away from me—from us.”