“And now they might anyway.”
I press my hand to my forehead. “What do you want me to do?”
He exhales sharply. “You should’ve handled this differently.”
The line goes dead, and he’s hung up on me. Great.
Silence fills the cottage. Birdie is watching out the window and Wilby is on his phone firing off texts.
“Wilby, get the jet ready for tomorrow, please.”
“We’re leaving?” he blinks.
“Maybe if I go back to New York, they’ll follow me.”
Birdie steps forward. “And what about Cal?”
My throat tightens. “We have to go.”
I feel so bad for Carly. She didn’t ask for this. Cal didn’t ask for this. I shouldn’t have done this. And now I’m in a place where I can’t walk away, or I will lose everything. And if I stay, I’ll ruin their lives.
“I don’t think you should run,” Wilby says quietly.
“I’m not running.”
But I might have to. I can’t do this to them.
It’s late. Wilby went back to Birdie’s to pack and get ready. He got the jet to come pick us up tonight so we could hopefully leave in secret and not alert the paparazzi. Cal’s cottage is quiet. The paparazzi seems to have gone for now.
I’ve packed a small suitcase, and I’m waiting for Cal to finish up at the bar and get home.
I hear his truck pull up and park, and I wait, on the couch, my feet tucked under me.
He opens the door and kicks off his shoes, eyeing my suitcase and looking over at me.
“I’m going to New York,” I say.
He doesn’t respond right away. He swallows and looks away, pissed.
Silence passes between us and the tension is thick.
“I don’t understand why you’re leaving,” he finally says.
I swallow. “If I go back, they’ll follow me.”
“We handle this together,” he says in a steady voice as he sets his keys on the table by the door.
And that makes this worse because even though I denied it, I am running.
“You shouldn’t have to handle this,” I say. “This is my mess.”
He turns then, and his eyes are dark, hurt, and confused. “We’re married.”
“Fake married,” I add softly.
“Married,” he says firmly.
“And you didn’t sign up for this.”
