I broke off, blinking back real tears this time.
“I understand,” he whispered. “You know I do.”
“Thanks for letting me come.”
He grinned. “Thanks for not dumping me when I was an ass.”
“Thanks for loving me.”
“Thanks for loving me back.”
His lips came down onto mine and he kissed me. I forgot about his parents and the hot stove, I forgot about the evil tortilla maker and the shredded pork and the crumbled cheese. I got lost in the feel of Damon, in the taste of his mouth, in his spicy smell, in the way his body felt pressed to mine.
I forgot about everything.
Except what was most important.
Damon.
But because I’d forgotten about everything, I didn’t realize my cell wasn’t in my pocket, that it was in his car when my agent tried to reach me.
Then Maggie.
Neither Damon nor I knew that my world was imploding around me.
Seventeen
Damon
My cell rang from its place on the nightstand.
Groaning and feeling like I’d just fallen asleep, I saw it was just after three in the morning.
And my sister Colleen was calling.
Even though she lived on the East Coast, it was only six there, and my sister was not a morning person.
“Hello?” I answered, heart in my throat.
“Damon,” she said quickly. “Mom—uh—mentioned you were dating Eden Larsen. Is that right?”
Okay, not the conversational starting point I’d expected. I sat up, slipping out of bed and into the hall so as to not wake Eden. What, did she want premiere tickets or perhaps a hookup on some new fashion trend? Colleen did have an obsession with fancy heels. “We’re dating,” I confirmed cautiously.
“Right.” Her voice was troubled. “Well, I just . . . I guess I wanted to see if she was okay.”
My heart had been in my throat. Now it dropped somewhere in the direction of the floor. “What are you saying, Collie?”
“Just . . . with the stories in the news and—”
Forget the floor.
My heart was sinking into the fucking foundation.
“What stories?”
“The ones about her . . . um . . . child marriage.”
“Please, tell me this is one of your jokes.”
Silence.
“Collie.” Yes, I was begging.
And my sister knew it. “Damon, you know I wouldn’t use something like this as a joke. It’s . . . they’re everywhere.”
“Oh God,” I said. “Fuck. Where’s everywhere? What networks are the stories on?”
“All the morning shows,” she said. “But I saw it on Facebook when I woke up this morning. It’s . . . I know I shouldn't be on my phone first thing, but I was and it’s there and . . . in the Times, too, Damon.” Her voice was gentle. “It’s the front-page story everywhere.”
I’d dropped to my knees, not having realized it until Eden was in front of me, crouching down, eyes wide and face concerned. “What’s the matter?”
“I have to go, Collie,” I said into the phone.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Tell her I’m so sorry this is happening.”
“I will,” I forced out between numb lips and hung up.
“Damon?” Eden placed her palm on my cheek. “What’s the matter?”
She was comforting me. Eden’s life had imploded, and she was comforting me. Of course, she didn’t know her life had imploded because—
Fuck.
I jumped up, took her hand. “Come back into my room,” I said. “We need to get your publicist on the phone, first thing.”
“Damon?” she asked again, concern clouding her eyes.
“Now, baby.” Shit. How could I tell her this? “There are some news stories.”
Eden laughed, that concern disappearing. “News stories? Is that all? Baby, there are always stories online and on the gossip shows about me. Trust me, this isn’t something to be concerned about.”
I kept tugging her hand until she was back in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the queen-sized bed my parents had put in after they’d relegated my sports trophies and swimsuit posters to boxes in the garage. Only when she was sitting did I crouch in front of her, my hands on her knees. “Sweetheart,” I said. “I need your phone.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but Eden, we need to call your publicist. Right now.”
She nodded, cheeks gone pale, moisture clouding the green of her eyes. “It should be in my purse?” She snagged it, emptying the contents onto the bed. But no phone. “Or maybe my bag?”
But when I’d emptied that, it wasn’t there either.
“When did you last have it?”
“Damon, you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Phone first, baby,” I said. “Then—” I shook my head. “Did you have it at dinner?”
Her brows drew together. “No, I didn’t. I don’t think I had it all afternoon.” She stared at her hands for a few seconds. “I don’t think I’ve used it since the car ride.”
I nodded, jumped to my feet and grabbed my keys. “I’ll go get it.”
“Okay.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I ran down the hall and out the front door. Less than two minutes later, I’d found it in the cup holder and brought it straight back upstairs.
But I’d been too slow.
I heard the voice of the news reporter as I hit the top of the stairs . . .
“Shocking news today as early reports of Eden Larsen’s child marriage appears to be true. According to state records, she was wed at thirteen to a Tim Williams, who was twenty-seven years her senior. The controversy of this has been unparalleled, especially as Ms. Larsen has not yet issued a statement. I have an expert on the state-by-state laws of under-aged marriage on the line, let’s go to her now . . .”
“Shit,” I said, bursting into the room.
Eden was already on her feet, yanking a sweatshirt from her bag and slipping it over her head.
“Baby—”
“I trusted you,” she said, pain turning her features severe. “I confided in you, and you told someone.”
“I didn’t—”
Her hands worked in rapid succession, shoving items back into her purse, her feet into her shoes, and all the while the
