If something is built on a lie, can it still be real?
The question I asked myself so many times when I was trying to forgive Rhyson comes back to mock and challenge me.
“Yeah.” I drop my eyes from the eager light in his. “We’ll reset.”
“Thank you for forgiving me.” He tips my chin back so our eyes reconnect. “Nothing but trust from here. Promise.”
“Promise,” I whisper.
“In case I haven’t told you.” He brushes a thumb over my lips. “I’m so damn proud of you. You’re doing amazing. Everyone’s falling for you just like I knew they would. I want you to have that without all the speculation and the drama about me distracting from what should be your time.”
I didn’t expect the tears that burn my eyes when I hear him say he’s proud of me. Maybe I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until he said it. It means the world. Emotion stifles my words, so I just nod and manage a watery smile.
“In the meantime, we’ve got today.” Rhyson drags himself to sit up, back against the headboard, smiling down at me. “I wanna take you out.”
I frown, pulling myself up to sit beside him, sheet tucked beneath my arms, dropping my head to his shoulder.
“Doesn’t sound very low key to me, us being out in public together.”
“Ah, I have a plan, ye of little faith. I have a plan.”
“A plan, huh?” I pull my knees up to my chest under the sheet.
He tugs on the sheet gently at first, but then with a wicked grin, jerks it away and tosses it to the floor. I stand to my knees in the middle of the bed naked, scooting to the foot, and dive for the sheet. His hand nudging my shoulder stops me. He grips both my arms, inspecting my body.
“I did that?” He traces a finger over a black and blue bruise belting my waist.
I have bruises in unusual places. It’s not every day a girl gets bent over a piano and screwed out of her mind. I wanted it, needed it rough in the moment, but I’m paying for it now.
“No, the piano you bent me over last night did that.” I take his wrists and place them on my shoulders, pushing into him. “It doesn’t hurt, and it was worth it.”
“And your tired voice and weight loss.” He thumbs under my eyes where I know he’ll see shadows. “Exhaustion. Is that all worth it?”
“Don’t.” I pull back, jump off the bed to gather the sheet and toss it onto the rumpled bed. “I told you it’s the dancing that has me losing weight. Every day, every night, all the time. I can’t keep weight on.”
“And the voice? And the—”
“Rhys, stop.” I walk toward the bathroom and turn on the shower, looking at him over my shoulder. “You’ve been on tour. You know the toll it takes.”
“But I don’t like it taking a toll on you.”
“I’ll be fine. The worst of it’s over. I’m back on the road, and then only another month. I don’t wanna fight, okay?”
He nods, walking toward me, a tall, lean, naked distraction.
“No fighting.” He backs me into the shower until I’m flush against the wet tiles. “We have to make the most of the time we have. Starting now.”
He’s gentle with me, mindful of my bruises, until he can’t be anymore. Until the time we’ve spent apart, wanting and needing, takes over, and he’s rough and fast, taking me hard with my slippery arms and legs wrapped around him and barely hanging on. Every powerful thrust slamming me into the shower wall. Our grunts, groans, and moans echoing off the walls, the love slick between our bodies until I’m coming so hard, I just know my heart will stop. I just know I won’t ever catch my breath again. Every time he loves me, I’m changed. Every time he takes me, I die a little and am born again.
I’ve missed the intimate rituals of living with him almost as much as everything else. Dressing together. The privacy of our nakedness where no one else can see. Our eyes meeting in the mirror to reminisce about what we just shared.
“So this date we’re going on.” I tighten the belt of my robe, one of the many things I left behind when I went on tour. “Tell me more.”
“Music Festival out at Newport Beach.” Rhyson shrugs shoulders still damp from the shower. “Marlon says there’s a few acts I should scope, possibly for Prodigy.”
“Just how do you plan to keep us off the radar?”
“Very simple.” He walks backwards toward his closet, pulling me with him by the belt. Once we’re in, he turns me to face a small alcove at the back. “Voila.”
It basically looks like he raided the nearest Salvation Army. This collection of out-of-date jackets, floral-patterned shirts and polyester pants could only mean one thing.
“You’re going in disguise?”
“We’re going in disguise.” He laughs at the expression I can only imagine is on my face. “While you were blow drying all that hair of yours, I had Sarita run out and buy you a few things that should fit.”
“I hope it’s not polyester.”
“No, that’s my thing.” He opens a small drawer in the panel of built ins. “Let me show you what I was thinking.”