Page 79 of Away We Go

Serena slips my shoes off and then turns to rummage through her purse. “None of this is your fault. The paparazzi out there are like a bunch of wild animals. They’re out of control.”

“But the article about me and Nicky…it is my fault. I forced him to dance with me in Miami and I forced him to go for a walk in Imola…”

She shakes her head, her spiral curls flying around her pretty face. “No way. He’s his own man. You haven’t forced him to do anything. From where I’m standing, the two of you spending time together is mostly his doing.” She holds up her hand, stopping theobjections about to fly out of my mouth. “And the media are always looking to publish stuff about Nicky because he’s such a closed book. None of this is on you.”

I shake my head, so she continues. “Don’t worry, it will all die down. Here, take these. It will help with the pain.”

I swallow the tablets she hands me and lean back on my hands, my mind taking a rollercoaster ride along with my stomach.

“It will all be fine,” she repeats. “Just don’t look at your phone for a few days.”

My phone has been vibrating incessantly in my bag and I nod. Reading whatever is flying into my inbox and social media feed right now will make a bad situation so much worse.

“Cherry?”

We turn toward Nicky’s voice coming through the door.

“Can I come in?”

Serena raises her eyebrow at me and I nod. Of course he can come in.

“How is she?” he asks from the doorway, his usually olive complexion pale except for the slashes of red painting his cheekbones.

“She’s alright, Nicky.” My friend rubs his arm, and he offers her a half smile.

“Can you give us a few minutes?”

Serena looks between us while I turn his question over in my mind.He only wants to stay with me for afewminutes?

“Of course.” She picks up her bag and leans over to hug me. “I’ll come back and see you later.”

I watch her close the door and then focus on the man in front of it. He’s standing statue still, and yet I can feel the furious energy oozing off him in waves.

“Nicky?”

He startles and crosses the room to me in three quick strides. “How’s your cheek?”

“Better,” I lie. It’s throbbing like I’ve been punched in the face. “How are you?”

He sinks to his knees on the floor in front of me, bringing his eyes in line with mine.

“I’m not great,” he admits.

Acting on instinct, I run my fingers through the curls on the back of his head. He leans forward and rests his forehead on my shoulder, letting out a low groan.

“That shouldn’t have happened. Frieda warned me this may be a thing, and I selfishly spent time out with you anyway,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I squeeze his shoulders, feeling his muscles bunched up tight under my fingers.

He leans back, his eyes tracing a path over the bruise blooming on my cheek. His lips flatten into a grim line and his hands grip my hips tightly. “I knew something like this could happen, it’s what I’ve been dealing with for years, and I still put you in this situation. It’s like I’ve thrown you into the pack.”

“But we’re not together. We’ve done nothing wrong,” I argue.

His laugh is a sharp, unhappy sound. “It doesn’t matter. It just matters what itlookslike. They don’t care about what’s true, as long as they can sell their photos and their stories.”

I stroke my cold hand up and down his arm, my heart hurting for him at the bitterness in his voice. He’s been living under this microscope for his entire adult life; it must be almost impossible to live a normal life with this level of constant scrutiny.

“They’ve got us in their sights and after that scene out there, it’s only going to get worse.”

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