Page 69 of Broken Chords
“Why?”
Her eyes reconnect with mine. “Why what?”
I make a broad, encompassing gesture with my hand. “All of it. Why come to Marycliff? Why date me? Why the subterfuge? Why not tell me the truth? What else have you lied to me about?”
“Nothing.” She steps forward and grabs my hand. “Damian, you have to believe me. I haven’t lied to you about anything.”
“Except who you are. That seems like a pretty big thing, no?”
She shakes her head hard, her eyes filling with tears, her lips forming the wordNobut no sound coming out. She sucks in a breath, a tear leaving a glimmering track on her cheek. So perfect, so beautiful, even in distress.
“No, Damian. I left out a detail. I didn’t lie.”
I laugh then. A real laugh. “A detail? You call being one of the biggest popstars in the world a detail?”
She drops my hand and takes a step back. “It’s …” She looks around, as though inspiration for a winning explanation will come from the walls. Her gaze meets mine again, her face composed, her hands still and folded in front of her, the picture of polite and presentable. “I want to say that it’s not that big of a deal, but clearly it is to you.” She gestures at me, and it looks so polished, so practiced. And it hits me that she’s using her experiences handling unwanted attention to deal with me.
My diaphragm freezes, and I can’t breathe. This. All of this. Is an act. But how much of what I know is real? And how much is this—this facade?
I shake my head, taking a step back. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“Yes.” She takes a step toward me again, her hands reaching out, but they drop when I hold my hands up, palms out. But she continues, eyes determined, voice urgent. “Yes, you do. I’m Charlie. I’m the girl who loves you. Everything you know about me is true.”
“No.” My voice is dead sounding. “No. I don’t think I know anything about you. I don’t know what’s real and what’s an act. I can’t …” I look away, past her, at the open ballroom doors where sounds of music and laughter spill out, a sharp contrast to the detonation of everything I thought I knew about my relationship happening right now.
“We came for a wedding. For our friends. Well, your friends. Gabby’s my friend. Or was my friend. I don’t feel like I know her all that much either, right now. Apparently you know her better than me. Which is”—I shake my head again, slowly—“extremely weird. I don’t know what to do with that piece of information.”
“It’s not …” Tears shimmer over her blue eyes, but she looks up and blinks them away. Her gaze is clear when it lands on me again. Further proof that she’s a masterful actress as well as whatever else she may be. Pop princess. Superstar.
“I met Gabby through Jonathan. Jonathan and his brothers were on tour with me when Brash had their big hit. Do you remember that?”
I nod, more out of ingrained politeness than actual answer, but she continues.
“Right. We became friends. There was some stunt where our moms decided it would be good publicity for both of us if we were dating, so they had us go out. But Jonathan was always more like the big brother I never had. We never had any kind of chemistry. And we stayed friends, even after their star faded and mine continued to rise.” She blinks a few more times and swallows hard. “I’ve hung out with them together a handful of times, more since Gabby joined Jonathan’s tour. And we’ve talked on the phone quite a bit, especially when I was applying to Marycliff. Gabby introduced me to Lauren, helped me prepare my audition for the music department, and came house shopping with Lauren and me after I got accepted.”
I jerk at that. “Shopping? You own that house?”
She gives the barest nod, as though she’s loathe to admit that. “Yes,” she whispers. “It seemed like the easiest thing to do.” A shrug, a hand lifted in a gesture almost like helplessness. “I can afford it, so …”
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. She’s talking about buying a house out of convenience. I can’t even fathom what that’s like.
Taking another step back, I shake my head again. “I can’t do this right now. I need to think. I need some time.”
This time she grabs my hand again. “Please, Damian. Please don’t end this. I love you.”
I wrench my hand away. “Do you? Because keeping a huge secret like this isn’t the kind of thing you’d do to someone you love.” I jab my finger into my chest. “Ifell in love with you. Or at least whatever version of you that you’ve been playing the last few months. But this? The you that guy in there dated to get a leg up in his career? I have no idea who that girl is. And honestly? I’m not sure I want to. I can’t—” I hold my hands up again. “I’ve been completely honest and open with you. I’ve taken you to meet my family. You’ve heard all my embarrassing stories. You know my entire sexual history. You know everything about me. I barely know anything about you, about your history. And it turns out, I know even less than I thought. You’re a vault, Charlie. Or should I call you Charlotte?” She starts shaking her head, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. “That just proves my point, though. I don’t even know which name people call you. I don’t know anything about you.”
“People I care about call me Charlie,” she whispers.
“Maybe I should call you Charlotte, then,” I respond, my voice barely louder than hers. “Because you don’t care enough about me to tell me the truth. I’m not sure you really care about me at all.”
At her stricken look, I want to call the words back as soon as they’re out of my mouth. But I can’t unsay them.
I open my mouth to say something—anything. But no words come. I don’t know how to follow that up. So I close it again, clearing my throat and looking away.
“Well,” she says, her voice steady now, almost normal.
If I didn’t know her better, I’d think it was normal.But do I really know her better?
“I’ll give you time. Since that’s what you said you need.” With that, she turns and heads back to the ballroom.
I stare after her for a moment, astonished that she’s going back to the party. And then I see her smile at someone in greeting, acting like nothing’s wrong.
My heart cracks. Audibly. A popping sound in my ears.
I blink a few times as she vanishes back into the room full of people, staring at the space she just occupied. Watching as others move into the void. And it seems fitting. Symbolic.
But I don’t know if anyone will ever fill the void she’s left inside me.
