Page 115 of The Oscar Escape
“That’s different.”
“It’s not. You promised me no secrets and no distance. And look at that. You’ve got a secret trip that’ll put miles and miles of distance between us coming up in a handful of weeks.” And then it hit her as a painful truth revealed itself. She couldn’t miss it. It was written all over his face. “You don’t want to put down roots with me. You can’t. You like to run.”
“To run?”
“From the pain you carry in your heart. The pain you love more than me. You’ll always be running from it. But that’s what you want. That’s your cycle. Until you decide to stop, you’ll never find peace. This escape to Havenmatch Island was merely a respite. You thought it was for me. But it was also for you. You got to play the doting husband. But it wasn’t real. It was a facade. You never let go of the pain. It was always right there, under the surface, waiting for you to wallow in it, itching to trigger your next escape.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” she replied, willing her voice not to shake. “You know my path, Oscar. You know who I am. You know who my parents are. You know my aunt and uncle. You know what’s expected of me. I thought you wanted to travel that road with me. I believed you understood that.”
“I married you because I love you,” he rasped through gritted teeth.
She shook her head and pressed her fingertips to her eyelids.
“There’s no legal record of a marriage. I checked. I figured you’d want to know,” Dom said gently.
A sudden heaviness took hold. “We never signed the marriage license or paid the fee,” she whispered, dropping her hands and opening her eyes.
“Aria,” Oscar bit out, the syllables infused with agony and overlapped with another sound.
Footsteps.
She checked the trail and found Etta, Georgia, and the judge headed their way.
“Aria, dear, we saw what was written online about you. You’re famous,” Etta said, wide-eyed. “There are boats—so many boats with photographers and cameramen clambering to get on the island. They appear to be looking for you.”
Aria pressed her hand to her chest. This was her worst nightmare come to life. It was as if her body was collapsing in on itself. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t truthful with you about my identity. But I’ll fix this.”
“Let us help you,” Georgia said. Concern coated her words.
Aria manufactured a placating grin as her vision grew blurry. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “You’re kind to offer to help, but I’m the only one who can get rid of them. I have to leave the island. The paparazzi will follow me. It’s the only way to ensure this media circus doesn’t ruin the festival. I hate to go like this.” She turned to the judge. “I know I’m not abiding by our arrangement, but it serves the island better if I’m not on it.” Her words hit like arrows to her heart. But it was the awful truth.
“There’s no other way,” Oscar agreed. “We have to go. Ivy’s with Del. I’ll be back to get her once things cool off with the paparazzi.”
She held Oscar’s gaze. “You’re not coming with me, Oscar. I’m leaving with Dom and Malik.”
“But I’m your husband,” he rasped.
How much could she endure?
The tortured sound of his words cut like a knife through her bruised and battered heart. She steadied herself and took a step toward him. “You aren’t my husband.” She turned to the judge, Georgia, and Etta. “Oscar and I aren’t newlyweds. We lied to you.”
“I lied. I was the one who said we were married,” Oscar corrected, biting out the bitter words.
The judge’s expression gave nothing away. “I see.” He studied Oscar. His expression softened before returning to his usual jowly, perceptive countenance. He peered at the circling helicopters. “Under these exceptional circumstances, I’ll grant you permission to leave,Ms. Paige-Grant.”
It took her a second to comprehend that he was talking to her.
She was Ms. Paige-Grant, not Mrs. Elliott.
She swallowed back her agony. She didn’t have time to dwell on her name. She had to act. There wasn’t a second to lose.
She touched Dom’s arm. “Text a few of the paparazzi and tell them I’m leaving. Make it juicy. Say you want to give them the exclusive. Once one starts running, the others will follow.” She sighed, suddenly so tired. “Where’s your boat, Dom?”
“It’s in a cove on the other side of the island. There were several boats there when we arrived.”
“Then that’s our exit route. Let the paparazzi know that’s where I’ll be.”
