“Change of plans,” he says in a clipped tone. “I have a damn magazine interview in L.A., and apparently I can’t do it by phone after all. I need to talk to the pilot about changing our route. I know you want to get back to Tucson so you can focus on what to do with your mom. Are you okay to wait a few more hours?”
“Of course. I’ll wait for you in Malibu while you do your interview. As long as you come home to me afterward.”
Chapter Thirty
Dylan’s been pulling back from me since we stepped onto the plane. He was quiet the entire flight, and now that we’re back in L.A., he’s distant and edgy. He’s not telling me why, but I’m guessing it was something to do with that phone call from Tim.
Desperate for a distraction while he’s at his interview, I take out my bag of clay and start sculpting.
* * *
“What are you doing hiding in here?” Dylan says two hours later when he finds me in his bedroom walk-in closet.
I’m on the ground with a sculpture.
“I’m not getting any clay on your carpet. I swear.”
I show him the contraption I’ve concocted. It consists of one of his bath towels followed by an alarmingly-voluminous layer of paper towels.
“I tried to pick out your oldest towel,” I explain to him as he takes a seat next to me. “But it was hard. I don’t think I own a towel half as new as any of yours.”
“Don’t worry about dirtying stuff. It’s no big deal.” He looks at my sculpture of a bald man with sunken eyes and a drooping chin. “What’s it supposed to be?”
“Death,” I answer him before I can stop myself.
But Dylan doesn’t flinch. “Interesting take. I love that you can just express yourself like that. I’m envious.”
I go to the bathroom to wash up. When I return, Dylan’s sitting on his bed, staring into space.
“Dylan.” I take his hand. “Hey. Talk to me. Something’s going on. Please tell me what it is.”
He hesitates like he’s not sure he knows what to say. He turns away from me and pulls at his hair like he’s going to tear it right out of his head. When he turns back, his dark eyes are distant in a way I’ve never once seen him be with me.
Cold dread shoots through my chest.
He’s going to break up with me.
“Tim called with some news.”
“Okay.”
“I received a death threat.”
I gasp. “Oh my God! From who?”
“A ‘fan.’” He puts the word in air quotes as he rolls his eyes. “She saw all the pictures of you and me in Tucson. She’s jealous. Apparently she thinks—in her mind—that she and I are fucking married, and so she’s decided I was cheating on her with you.”
“What? That’s insane.”
“Exactly.”
“So what are the authorities doing about it?”
“Trying to locate her. She’s gone underground. So now I have security around the clock. They’re outside the house right now.” He takes a deep breath. “And I’ve hired security for you, too, Jasalie. Twenty-four seven. Because even though her threat was only directed at me, you’re in the line of fire by association. And especially because of her delusion that she’s my fucking wife.” He shudders as he says the word, and I reach out to comfort him.
I freeze when he pulls away like he’s allergic to me. That’s when he delivers his real blow. “You’re not safe with me, Jasalie. As much and as hard as I would try to, I can’t promise to keep you safe right now. Until this crazy stalker is caught and behind bars, I think we should take a break. It’s the only way I can be sure you’ll be okay.”
My heart threatens to shut down, but I keep fighting. I’m not about to give up on us.
