Page 11 of Oops I Fell For The Mountain Man Next Door

"What?" I push his chest harder this time, and he drops his arms, freeing me from his grip.

"This week." He shrugs. "It was fun, but it wasn't real."

All I can do is stare at him in utter disbelief. How could our time together have been a mistake? "What are you talking about?" I grip the blanket tighter around my naked body.

"I have to return to my life."

"What about me?" I hate how pathetic I sound.

"You go back to yours."

I can't breathe. I’m really just a rebound for him.

Each word he says pushes me further away, yet every memory from this week makes me want to stay.

"You asked me to come." I finally manage to say.

"I know."

"You asked me to stay." I poke my finger into his chest.

"I know," Marx repeats the two words I’ve come to hate.

"You told me you didn't regret me." I reach for any lifeline I can find.

"I don't."

"Then why are you doing this?" I lift my chin and hold his gaze.

His jaw tightens. "Because this ends here."

My eyes burn with unshed tears. "You don't want me?"

His eyes close for half a second, then he says, "No."

He can't look me in the eye when he says it. My heart senses the lie, but the pain is too new for me to trust myself.

“Fuck you, Marx,” I say, wanting to hurt him as much as he hurt me.

"Lana." He reaches for me, but I push his hand away and jump out of bed, clutching the blanket to my chest.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry," he starts to say, but I stop him.

"You don't get to be sorry." I reach the door and turn—some foolish part of me still waits for him to stop me. "Was any of it real?"

His silence speaks louder than words. Then he says quietly, "It shouldn't have happened." This time, his eyes stay locked on mine, and my heart breaks.

Marx throws on a T-shirt and jogging pants, then walks out of the cabin, leaving me alone to pack. It isn’t long before a driver pulls up in front of the cabin, waiting to take me back to the winery and leave Marx behind for good.

I wait for Marx to reappear, at least to say goodbye, but when he doesn’t, I climb into the car and vow never to let another man hurt me again like Marx just did.

***

Marx

I watch from the trees as Lana gets into the waiting car and closes the door. I don't chase her, even though my heart is urging me to. Instead, I call my publicist.