“My dad said you were coming by but I didn’t believe him. Is what they’re saying in the gossip blogs true? About Gabriel and you splitting up?” she asked.
I tried to swallow my pain and smile sadly, but my lips wouldn’t tilt up, and the pain wouldn’t stop grating against my throat. I nodded instead, a slow, small nod, and looked down. I’d always been sure of myself. Sure of my body, my career choice, my thoughts, my intelligence. Even after Gabe started going out more and not including me in his plans, and after he’d become so cold and distant, preferring to hit the bottle or stay on location longer than necessary, I was sure of myself. It wasn’t until the rumors of infidelity began circulating that I began to feel the motions—my heart being chopped up. When the paparazzi started following me, putting their cameras in my face and their loud questions in my ears, I’d felt it going through the blender.
But that was then. Now I was back to my self-assured self. Or at least more than I had been last year. We’d kept it mum on the divorce filing, but when the papers were leaked, we were suddenly forced to confront the media, which was a nightmare in itself. I was coached weekly on what to say, or more accurately, what not to say. Gabe’s publicist put out a statement saying we were working on our marriage. Gabe himself, whenever he was on camera, spoke highly of me and his commitment to our marriage. All the while I watched with a shocked expression on my face. At first, I believed it. I bought into it, because when it was all said and done, the guy was a hell of an actor. But that was before. And this was now. And I was tired of it.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said, lowering her voice, her smile dropping. “You guys looked so happy together.”
“Thanks,” I said. It seemed like the wrong word for this, but I was used to girls like Grace, who were young with hearts in their eyes. I’d been that girl once. I was that girl five years ago. “Is my dad in the conference room?”
She looked startled for a moment before she began to move her feet in that direction. “Oh. Yes. Sorry. They moved it. Let me show you where it is.”
Once the large wooden doors opened, I didn’t have time to glance around and take in whatever décor my stepmother had most probably organized, because as soon as I stepped into the room my gaze froze on Victor Reuben. Victor, in a sharp navy suit that screamed sophistication. The way it fit him hinted at broad shoulders and hard planes I knew were beneath it. His expression was closed off, but the fact he was looking at me still made my heart hammer a little harder. I hadn’t seen him in years, but my body remembered him well. His long hands and the way they’d gripped me. His deep chuckle and the way it had made my heart skip a beat the few times I’d heard it. The way he’d said my name, in a low, muttered, damnation that said he shouldn’t be wanting, let alone doing what we’d done, but couldn’t resist the temptation.
I swallowed to rid myself of the memories. I would’ve loved to say that having been married to one of the world’s most sought-after celebrities had dimmed my lust for this man, but I’d be lying. I might have been the one who’d married, but to me, Victor would always be the one that got away. And even though I knew deep down we wouldn’t have worked out, and it had been a long time since I’d seen him, the way his eyes caressed over me made me feel like I was slowly burning up. Like it was just this morning that he’d had me up against a wall. I shivered at the memory. His eyes heated in response.
“Nic. I didn’t hear you come in,” Dad said, standing from his seat beside Victor.
He came over and put his arms around me, and I reverted back to my seven-year-old self, leaning into his embrace. Dad wasn’t much taller than I was, but he was tall enough that I could lay my head on his shoulder comfortably. I left my cheek there for a couple beats—inhaling the familiar smell of cigarettes and aftershave—my gaze on Victor’s, his on mine, unmoving, unyielding, and completely unsettling.
“You remember Victor,” he said, placing a kiss on my cheek as he moved slightly away from me. I almost laughed at that. Did I remember Victor? God. How could I forget? Victor stood, but didn’t come around to greet me and I was glad for the space left between us. After the week, month, and year I’d had, I didn’t think I could handle touching him even if it was just a handshake.
“Of course,” I said, offering him a smile.
He was taller than I remembered, his shoulders wider, his hair a little longer, a little lighter, with scruff on his face I didn’t remember him having. But those hazel eyes still hinted at wicked pleasures and wild sex, and the memory of all of the above made me flush and look away. I’d been with a Hollywood heartthrob for the last four and a half years, and I could still honestly say that I’d never met a man surer of himself than Victor Reuben.
“Nice to see you again,” Victor said dutifully.
“Likewise,” I replied, clearing my voice to rid myself of the scratch in it.