How can she be so casual about this? “Stop calling yourself my nanny. You’re more than that. You’re my fucking wife.”
Her cold, detached laugh hurts. “It’s almost like you just remembered we got married.” She pushes out of the bed. “But I don’t feel like your wife. I don’t even feel like your girlfriend anymore. That died when you and Marlowe flirted in front of me for a solid hour this afternoon. You have your reasons. Fine. But I don’t have to accept them. Can you appreciate that I had to come back to the hotel and rewatch all that footage?”
“I’m so sorry.” I’ll say it as many times as I have to.
She grabs her phone and swipes the screen. “Your fans aren’t the only people who’ve seen your social media. Taylor texted me tonight. She said, and I quote, ‘Looks like your boyfriend’s fucking this singer Marlowe. How does it feel to have history repeat itself? Don’t worry, sis. She’s probably a better match for him.’ How much do you want to bet she’s playing those videos for my father?”
Fuuuuck.“Baby.” Jesus, I’ve royally screwed up. “I can explain everything to your dad so he knows nothing’s going on with Marlowe. That it’s just a way to get publicity.” I rub the back of my neck as I think about what my brother told me. “Why’d you write those captions? We’ve never posted anything that over the top before.”
Her expression turns to stone. “I wrote what your new PR team told me to write. They wanted me to ‘push the narrative.’”
“So ignore them. I still have final say on what we post.”
“Here’s the thing, Jace. I don’t care anymore. You’re going to let Marlowe sit in your lap like she did last weekend? Fine. You want the whole world to think you’re fucking your ex? Go for it.I’m just here to take care of your daughter. But from here on out, do me a favor and call me what I am to you—your nanny with benefits.”
“Rory.” This is starting to piss me off. “She just plopped down on me at the meet and greet. What was I supposed to do? Dump her on her ass? I told her to get the fuck off me.”
Rory stares at me, her expression remote. “Look on the bright side. It probably won’t be that hard to find another babysitter who lets you fuck her.”
Is that really what she thinks of me? That I used her? That I broke my fast simply so I could fuck my nanny?
I thought maybe Aurora loved me. I thought we were building something together. I thought we had a future.
But when she locks herself in the bathroom, I realize she’s gonna leave soon just like Marlowe did.
Except the thought of losing Rory is nothing like losing Marlowe.
It’s worse.
It’s everything.
48
JACE
For the next two days,I go through the motions. Wake up at dawn with Layla. Feed her. Play with her for a few hours. Get to the studio.
We end up getting an extra day to record, which is a blessing and a curse because we spend half of it filming a music video for “Red Light.” The rest of the time, we argue over arrangements and instrumentation and harmonies.
All the while I’m thinking, is this worth losing Rory? Is this worth dragging Layla around the country for the rest of the year? Can I repair the shit I’ve screwed up with my wife?
It’s clear as day now—I love Aurora. But I don’t want to use those words to coerce her into staying or doing something she doesn’t want to do.
Because I did that once. I begged my mother to stay. Swore I loved her enough to make up for my asshole father. With her luggage in one hand, she kissed me on my forehead, told me to be a good boy, and walked out our front door. I never saw her again.
So no, I won’t leverage those words against Rory. That feels manipulative.
I hurt her. Badly. Now that I’ve had a little more sleep and time to calm down, I can appreciate the scope of how I’ve fucked this up. We were doing so good on Sunday at her stepsister’s reception, but not checking in with her every day detonated a bomb in our relationship, and now I’m trying to pick up the broken pieces.
Thinking back over the last week, I look for ways I could’ve done things differently. I couldn’t leave the studio again in the middle of things, and I didn’t have my phone.
I guess I thought Rory trusted me. And maybe that would be true if we’d had more time to build trust. If we’d been together longer or if this wasn’t such a pressure cooker.
I don’t know how to fix this. My only hope is that once we’re back on the bus and holed up together in that back bedroom, we’ll hash things out.
Because sleeping on two queen-sized beds is too much space. She won’t sleep next to me anymore, and even though we’re only a few feet apart, she feels a million miles away.
By checkout on Saturday, when Rory’s icy demeanor hasn’t softened at all, I start to wonder if I’m gonna have to finish this tour without her. I have a difficult time envisioning that. In such a short time, she’s become my best friend.
