I’m sweating bullets under my gorgeous red Christian Dior dress and squirming in my seat like I’m sitting on poison ivy.
“Are you okay?” Reeve whispers in my ear, noticing I’m hella distracted.
I whip my head around to my husband. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I lie. “Do you think it would be okay to slip away now?” We’re supposed to wait for breaks to leave our seats, but I’ll play the pregnancy card if I need to.
“Go. If anyone gives you grief, you let me deal with it. Do you want me to come with?”
“You can’t leave, and I’m a big girl. I can make it to the bathroom by myself.”
I don’t look at the band as I creep out of the auditorium, releasing the breath I was holding when I hit the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
I’m trembling as I sit on the toilet seat after I’ve attended to business. Seeing Dillon again has rattled me. It’s dredging memories to the surface. Memories I’ve worked hard to bury, and my heart is splitting open again. I dab at the tears spilling silently down my cheeks, praying I can do a good enough repair job with my makeup to disguise my anguish from my husband.
Tonight is special for Reeve, and he deserves my full attention and devotion. I’ve got to pull myself together and get back out there to support him.
Why did I have to fall in love with two men, and why isn’t it getting any easier? Hurt lances me on all sides and I grip the sides of the stall, begging someone to take the pain away. Needing help, I call Audrey, and she talks me off a ledge like only my bestie can.
Hurrying to the sink, I patch up my makeup, hiding all evidence of my heartache. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, but I’m sure Reeve is worrying, and I need to get back to him. Smoothing my hair back into its chignon, I admire my gorgeous red gown in the mirror, reminding myself I look composed on the outside even if I’m falling to pieces on the inside.
Stepping outside, I almost take a tumble when I find Dillon waiting for me. One part of me half-expected this. The pain I felt inside the theater watching him up on that stage is minuscule compared to the pain I feel looking at him up close and personal. He drills me with an intense look that takes me back in time. My skin prickles with awareness as he slowly rakes his eyes up and down my body. His gaze is as intimate as it’s always been, and my heart pounds wildly behind my rib cage.
Memories flash through my mind.
Rough touches.
Demanding kisses.
Animalistic fucking that never quite sated my thirst for him.
His wicked smile as I screamed when he pulled a risky maneuver on his motorcycle.
His boyish grin as we lay on our bellies peering over the side of the Cliffs of Moher.
His adoring eyes as he serenaded me on my roof the last night we were together.
A sob travels up my throat before I can stop it. Clutching my purse to my chest, I will my hormones to simmer down, telling my wayward tears to fuck the hell off. Heartache plus pregnancy hormones is clearly not a good combination.
“Hey, Hollywood,” he says, his raspy voice sounding as choked as I feel inside.
“Dillon,” I whisper.
He pushes off the wall, sauntering toward me with that cocky swagger I’ve missed so much. I’m trapped in his magnetic gaze, rooted to the spot, as he cages me in with his arms. “Vivien Grace,” he murmurs, staring down at me with a familiar hunger in his eyes. “Still so beautiful.” Whiskey fumes fan across my face, and I realize he’s drunk at the same time I realize I cannot be caught with him like this.
Ducking down, I slip out from under his arms. “I’ve got to go.”
“Run away, Hollywood,” he calls out after me, a discernible sneer creeping into his tone. “After all, it’s what you do best.”
I’m tempted to turn around and give him a piece of my mind, but arguing with a drunk Dillon never ended up well in the past.
“There you are,” Reeve says when I reach the end of the hallway. He looks over my shoulder before his gaze dips to mine. “What’s going on?” His brow puckers.
“Nothing. Let’s go. I’ve already missed enough of the ceremony.” I drag him back to our seats, grateful he doesn’t protest or probe further.
Reeve wins best actor, for a low-budget indie film, and everyone in the place is up on their feet applauding him. Well, not everyone, if I had to guess. He gives the most beautiful acceptance speech, dedicating it to me and Easton, and his gushing praise produces more tears.
We drop by a couple of after-parties, but I can’t relax because I’m terrified a drunk Dillon is going to turn up and say something. I’m sorely tempted to use the pregnancy card to get us out of here—knowing Reeve will leave with me—but I can’t do that to him. This is his night, and he deserves to enjoy it. However, my thoughtful husband insists we leave at a reasonable hour, knowing I’ve got to be tired and unwilling to say it.