“Maybe I’m afraid of being left with nothing because you’re too scared to give me a real shot at proving to you that I am in this. You. Me. Kit-Kat. You’ve met my mum. You get along with my brother. My mates think you’re cool. Our families spent the holidays together. You haven’t moved any of your things out of our room, which tells me that you want to sleep with me every night and wake up next to me every morning. I know what makes you tick, inside and out. I know your pleasures, your pains, the things that nobody else does because you trust me with that knowledge. I am asking you for one thing and one thing only.”
Heart thumping with adrenaline, I ask, “And what is that?”
Stepping up to me, he cups my face and brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. “Give me a chance to love you fully. I’m already well over halfway there.”
I shudder a breath. “You love me?”
His smile is warm, not cocky. “You make it easy.” I stare at him, our eyes never moving away from each other as I absorb every word. “I don’t want or expect you to say anything right now. Think about it. We’re already married, might as well take our time.”
Brushing his fingers through my hair, he bends down for a chaste kiss and inhales the wild cherry scent I’m sure to be radiating from the Lifesavers I stole from his stash on the way here.
“Garrick,” I whisper when he pulls me in for a hug.
“Hmm?”
“Can we take Kit-Kat home?”
I hear the smile in his voice the second he says, “I thought you’d never ask.”
31
Garrick
January passes by with radio interviews, photoshoots, and album promotions leading up to its drop in the beginning of March. Two more songs released, one that hit the number one spot for three weeks in a row on the Billboard charts, and another that barely scraped into the top ten.
Michael has been on my ass about the upcoming Golden Globes that I’m supposed to appear at to give one award. And considering he hasn’t addressed my ultimatum about scheduling Rylee in to see the same renown designer who styles me for bullshit like this, it’s looking more and more like the award ceremony is going to need a backup.
My manager has been especially nippy because of the limitations Violet Wonders set for interviews. There’s a script to follow, questions we get in advance and prepare for so there’s no surprises about the shit still lingering in the background about our lives. Our last interview ended with me storming out after the host boldly said, “People have been seeing old photos resurface of your bride and best friend looking awfully cozy. It must make working together difficult at times if there’s still feelings there.”
I’d given one look at the beer-gutted, red-faced asshole asking me and the guys’ questions before answering, “Not that it’s anybody’s business, but there’s no hard feelings regarding the past. Rylee and I are quite happy. Zayne and I are doing fine. This interview is over.”
I’d slid the headphones off, stood up, and walked out not knowing or caring what would happen after my departure. The guys all followed close behind, with a slew of people calling after us as we left the building and got into the car that’d brought us there.
None of us spoke all the way to my house, where we all gathered inside to watch Rylee play with Kit-Kat. It took five minutes for Jax to bow out after sneezing and cursing my name, with Manning and Cal leaving close behind him. I tried not to study them too closely, how they were never far from each other, always whispering to one another, and how their plans always coincided.
Mum was right. I’m an idiot.
With old pictures of Zayne and Rylee making their way around the media, there’s been a rise in conversations about our marriage. And considering I’ve asked Michael to take care of the tabloids that have blatantly slandered our names, little has been done.
Garrick Matthews in Open Marriage
It’s Not Over Yet, Ladies!
Wife of Garrick Matthews Having Affair with Zayne Gray
The Woman Behind the Breakup of Violet Wonders
Which Man Will She Choose?
I close myself in my room that now smells like sugar and spice and is littered with Rylee’s belongings that look oddly good spread across the space and dial the number I’ve been dreading dialing all day since I get nowhere with the man who’s managed me for years.
“You promised,” I tell Michael, venom in my tone after his long-winded rant about them not being able to take control of the free press.
“We can spin a story on you and the band, but anything else is—”
“She’s not just anybody else,” I cut him off for the hundredth time. “I seem to recall telling you that before, yet you don’t hear me. Who pays you?”
He pauses.
“Who. Pays. You?”
“You do.”
“So who should you listen to?”
He sighs. “Garrick, I’m trying to be reasonable here. You know that people are going to come after her no matter what since you both have refused to sit down and talk with any reputable source. That’s the best I can get you. Maybe Hot in Hollywood or one of the morning talk shows will allow you to come on, but you can’t pull the same stunt you did with Penny Gomez or they’ll never ask you back.”
Good.
Rylee doesn’t want to go on live TV, and I won’t force her too. There’s a lot of prepping for interviews that she’d need to go through, and she’s told me countless times she doesn’t want to be a public figure. Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t have much of a choice since signing her name next to mine on the marriage certificate.
“They’re defaming her,” I point out.
“She wouldn’t be the first one.”
“She doesn’t deserve it.”
“For Christ’s sakes, Garrick. Most of the people who’ve gotten dragged through the mud don’t, especially not
