Page 4 of Hate Wrecked

EUPHORIA

RILEY

It’s been challengingfor me to be here, living in her world.

For the past week, I’ve put on a brave face and shot my scenes, knowing there’s no one better to play a young Desi Monroe than me. My sisters resemble our father more, but I’m nearly a spitting image of our mother, with traces of my famous father, although not as dominant. Growing up, I always felt strange about my looks, and the tabloids didn’t help. I’m constantly compared to her and always in her larger-than-life shadow.

I never expected the part of her world that would be the hardest to navigate would be her bodyguard’s presence.

After filming a particularly grueling scene, I retreat to the dressing room, with Rowan behind me, checking the perimeter for any threats. I think it’s excessive, but I don’t say anything. I’ve made a point of saying very little to him throughout this past week. Perhaps I’ve felt a sense of betrayal since I saw my mother’s manuscript the day he brought me here a week ago. Maybe I’m over the charade of him being here. Is it wise for me to have security? Yes. But I’m not my mother, and I’m not my father. Some people don’t even know who I am, especially not here, cut off from the rest of the US. I feel as if he’s only here to spy on me, to ensure I read her words. But I won’t.

I decide then and there that if I am going to be tortured by his presence here, maybe I can torture him, too.

When Rowan shuts the dressing room door, I slowly remove my dress and pull the zipper down. I aim to wound him as I turn around, the dress slouching forward, and I almost laugh when he turns away, a look of disdain on his face. The week of silence has been brutal. Maybe a part of me hoped the mystery of everything left unsaid would make Rowan push for something—anything—between us. I’d take friendship if he offered it. But he won’t. So, I decide to try a different tactic. “Not like you haven’t seen it before,” I remark.

Rowan laughs at that. “I was wondering when you’d snap out of it and start acting like your old self again.”

“Miss the old me?” I ask.

He stares at me with cold indifference. “No.”

The sharp reminder that our past feels unfinished is like a cold bucket of water. I shiver, but it’s lost on him. So many things in my life have been done for show, for an audience, and he won’t give me that. Behind closed doors, he stays true to his purpose here.

“What are you doing when you’re finished here?” I ask, pretending as though his words didn’t just pierce my heart.

“Taking a vacation,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder. Then, when he sees I’m in just my panties, he rolls his eyes and turns back around.

“Where to?” I grab my robe, covering my small breasts. “And I’m not naked anymore. You can turn around.”

He waits a second before daring to look back, and when he sees I’m covered, he turns around, crossing his arms and standing straight—like a sentinel. “An island, or rather, an atoll, about seven hours away by boat.”

“What’s there? Nice little resort?” It’s been so long since I’ve seen Rowan relaxed. I miss the smiles he gave me when I wasn’t pissing him off and causing him pain.

“No. Not much is there. I want to look around, camp a couple nights, then I’ll be back.”

I gather my things, watching him in the large mirror before me. “Rough it? Why? What’s so special about this island?” He stares, and I roll my eyes. “Sorry,atoll.”

Rowan clears his throat, and the look in his eyes unsettles me. He looks hurt, as if I should remember something. Finally, he answers. “Double murder.”

I turn around, intrigued. “What?”

He smiles briefly, and I savor it for the moment he allows me to. “Don’t worry about it, Riley. It’s nowhere you’d want to go.” His tone is final.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” I say, desperately wishing I existed in a reality where he would ask me to go with him. I would drop every plan or commitment I have to explore the atoll with him, to see his face light up when he’s excited again, to see any glimmer of the Rowan I once knew.

I don’t deserve it. But I want it.

“When are you leaving?” I ask.

“As soon as I drop you off at the airport. When the job is done.”

I stiffen at his words—thejob. I’m a paycheck. I’m the past. Not his future.

I must be staring because Rowan’s stoic face falters slightly, his blue eyes squinting. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Subtlety isn’t going to work. “Maybe it’s somewhere I’d like to go. Take me with you.”

Rowan shakes his head, a wry smile coming over him. “Absolutely not.”

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