Page 151 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“The Royal College of Art in London?” he stammered.
“That’s the one! Ms. Ames has confirmed that she’s attending our workshop, but she hasn’t returned our emails regarding her travel plans. As part of her scholarship, her airfare is covered. And with the start of the intensive workshop coming up so soon, I wanted to call and speak with her directly.”
“Workshop?” he repeated. He had to remind himself to breathe as it came back to him. The night he’d whisked her away in a helicopter, her professor had mentioned a photography workshop. But Charlotte had downplayed it—like it was some local event—not a huge endeavor that would take her across the ocean.
He swallowed hard. “And what are the dates of the workshop?”
“The two-week intensive begins a week from today. We’d like to arrange her travel as soon as possible,” the woman reiterated.
“I see,” he answered, and the rage that had permeated every cell in his body flared.
“Might I ask, are you her husband?” the woman continued.
Husband?
“Excuse me?” he bit out.
“I ask because everyone on the selection committee is keen to know the identity of the man in her submission photo. It’s a breathtaking shot of a gentleman,” the woman explained.
His pulse raced. He had a good idea of the shot she described. And not because he’d seen it, but because he’d felt the magic in the air when Charlotte had snapped it—that moment with the scent of pizza in the air and tequila on her breath when he knew his life would never be the same. “Is there a truck in the background—a food truck?” he bit out.
“There is! So, you are the man in the photo.”
The woman prattled on, but he couldn’t hear her over the roar of blood pounding through his ears. “I’ll let Charlotte know you called,” he blurted, cutting her off, then ended the call.
Thoughts bombarded his mind as he put the pieces together, and his battered heart hardened.
Charlotte had lied to him. She’d deceived him. What was she planning to do—sneak out of the house in the dead of night and hop a flight across the Atlantic Ocean and leave him when he needed her the most?
“Hey,” came a voice, Charlotte’s voice. She looked better. The color had returned to her cheeks. She took a step toward him, then stopped dead in her tracks. “Did something happen? Did the camp call?”
His gaze bounced from her face to her phone in his hand. He dropped it into her bag like a lump of hot coal. “Did you submit the picture you’d taken of me when we were on the bench that first night to the Royal College of Art for a photography workshop?”
Her lips parted, opening and closing once, then twice before one syllable slipped out. “What?”
“The night that I found you at that speed date event. The night we ate food truck pizza on the bench. You took my picture. Did you use that in an application for a workshop in London?”
“How do you know about that?” she asked, confusion marring her beautiful face.
Red.
All he could see was red.
“They called. They need to speak to you so they can arrange your travel,” he spit out, venom infused in his words.
She raised her hands defensively. “I can explain. I was given a scholarship to attend the workshop, and my professor told the committee that I’d agreed to go. Everything happened so quickly. I’ve wanted to tell you about it, but I couldn’t find the right time.”
“The right time?” he barked. “It starts in a week! You were going to leave Oscar and me for two weeks. This was supposed to be our time to finish the book. And school ends after camp. We talked about telling Oscar about us as soon as the school year ended. We made plans, fucking promises. But I see now what’s been weighing you down. You want to leave me. You want to go.”
She stared at the ceiling like she’d expected the justification for her betrayal to be spray-painted in neon colors. “It’s not like that. It’s not that simple.” She met his gaze head-on. “I decided to tell them that I wouldn’t attend. I swear, Mitch. That’s what I had to work out in my head just now. I needed to figure out a way to tell you.”
He gnashed his teeth, damn close to busting a molar. “Just now?” he snapped. “Your professor told them you were coming weeks ago, didn’t she? That night at the carnival? But you brushed it off like it was nothing. It never crossed your mind to cancel earlier. Tell me the damned truth, Charlotte!”
“Okay, here’s the truth,” she said, lifting her chin. “A part of me wanted it. It’s an honor to be accepted to the program—let alone earn a full-ride scholarship. I didn’t say anything because I thought there was a chance that we’d finish the book early. And then you wouldn’t have that on your plate anymore. The workshop is only for two weeks. We could have told Oscar after it ended. It’s not an eternity.” She paced the length of the room. “I kept running scenarios in my head, trying to see if there was a way to do both.”
“No, you lied, Charlotte. You looked me in the eye at the carnival and said that the workshop wasn’t important.”
“I screwed up. But I never meant for you to find out like this. I didn’t want you to think I was like…” she couldn’t say it. But he could. The anger pumping through his veins couldn’t hold back.
