Page 60 of Broken Chords
He gives me a squeeze and lifts up on one arm, letting me go to rub his eyes and reach for his glasses. “What time is it?” Reaching across me again, he hits the button on my phone, the one closest to the edge, and picks it up to read the time, letting out a groan. “God. Why did we decide to get the early flight again?” He drops his head back to the bed, snuggling against me again.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “You thought it’d be nice to have time to relax in the room before the cocktail party scheduled for tonight.”
“I’ve never been to a wedding where there’s a cocktail party for anyone and everyone instead of just a rehearsal dinner for the wedding party.” His voice is muffled against my back.
“You’ve never been to a celebrity wedding where they’ve rented out an entire resort in Montecito and have a specific and detailed plan for managing media attention and who gets first crack at the wedding photos.”
He lifts his head again. “And you have?”
“What?”
“You sound like you’ve done something like this before.”
“Oh, uh, no.” Now I’m just lying, which makes me feel like shit, especially after yesterday’s conversation with Lauren. But how would I explain that? And now, when we’re supposed to be getting up to catch a plane soon, is not the time for that conversation even if I wanted to have it. Which I don’t. Yet. Soon. Maybe. I need to figure that out. Because I don’t like lying and withholding. But I also don’t want to change the dynamic of our relationship.
“Lauren’s in the wedding party, you know. She’s talked a lot about the planning. That’s all.”
“Oh, right. Of course. That makes sense.” He sits up, stretching. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
Watching him stride into my bathroom, my gut churns with the thought of telling him everything. Filling him in on all the details of my past and the real reason I barely talk to my parents and why my mom was always so concerned about my weight and eating habits. I know I’ve made her out to sound like a horrible, evil bitch in his mind. To the point that he no longer asks about my parents or if I’ve talked to them or suggests attempting to patch things up. The more little bits I’ve revealed, the more he’s grown to think I’ve escaped the clutches of hyper-controlling psychos and managed to be somewhat normal.
That’s not terribly far off from reality, but it’s not the whole truth. A weird burst of laughter bubbles up at the idea of me being normal. I pass as normal here, but that’d vanish in the flash of a high-end camera if my identity was revealed.
No. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe after the wedding. When there’s some time for his initial shock to wear off before school starts again. Because Damian has the worst poker face. And he’s congenitally unable to tell a convincing lie. I saw him try to lie to his roommates once, and they saw through him as soon as he started talking. It was funny at the time.
But if he tried to cover his shock with them …
No.
It’s too much of a risk. I trust Damian not to sell me out once he gets a chance to come to terms with the new information. But his roommates? I don’t know them well enough to make that call. And even if they didn’t directly call up TMZ, who knows who’d they leak the information to? Once word gets around, there’s no stuffing it back in. My cover would be blown and this life would be over.
After we get back. We’ll have some time to ourselves. That’s when I’ll do it.
