Page 66 of It Happened on a Sunday
The fact that Sloane lets me hold her this way tells me more about her feelings for me than her words ever would. She doesn’t argue at all. And that tears me up all over again.
I don’t know how long we stand there in the protective canopy of the trees, but it’s long enough for the Santa Anas to set the leaves to whispering all around us.
Long enough for me to fall into the soft lavender-and-vanilla scent of her.
And definitely long enough for me to realize that I never wantto let her go.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my chest, and the fact that she feels the need to do so breaks my heart.
“I’m pretty sure it’s me and the rest of the world who should be apologizing to you,” I tell her, “and not the other way around.”
“This”—she pulls back just far enough to throw up her hands in an all-encompassing gesture—“mess isn’t what we agreed to when I made you sign all those contracts. We were supposed to calm the press down, not rile them up.”
“I signed those contracts because I thought they were what you needed to feel safe after Marquis’s bullshit stunt, and I’ll sign a million more of them if I have to. As for the press…I don’t give two shits about them, and I never have. They can say whatever they want about me as long as they leaveyoualone.”
She laughs, but there’s no amusement in the sound. “Yeah, that’s not exactly how this works.”
“Have they been bad?” I ask. “I mean, besides swarming the restaurant and chasing us down a hill? I hired a PR firm to keep an eye out for anything ugly about you in the last week—”
“You did what?” she asks, looking surprised. “Why would you do that?”
I hate that she has to ask, but considering the last guy she dated, I can see why she doesn’t understand what I’m about, especially when it comes to her. And while there are a million ways I could answer that question, I settle for the simplest. “I got you into this mess. There’s no way I’m going to just leave you in it alone.”
For long seconds, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she stares at me with wide, shocked eyes. Finally, she whispers, “They’re not going to back off.”
“I’ll make sure they do,” I tell her, jaw clenched at the idea. “You’re big news. I get that. Just like I’m beginning to get that us together is even bigger—at least for now. They want to chase usdown a hill, fine. I can live with that. But I’m not okay with them coming after you with whatever bullshit Jarrod’s rep sold them in order to keep him and his music relevant. That needs to stop.”
“Getting into it again only makes it worse,” she says. “The more you fight, the more you give them a reason to keep coming after you, the worse it gets.”
“Better to just let them do whatever they want from the start? Say whatever they want, no matter how untrue or how hurtful?” I ask, furious at the thought of her having to take any of their shit.
“Better to make yourself bulletproof. Let them think you’re as bad as they want you to be,” she shoots back. “And then succeed anyway. It doesn’t matter as long asyouknow the truth.”
And just that easily, I get another glimpse behind Sloane’s walls. “Is that what you do? Is that what all this…” I wave my hand to broadly encompass the smoky eye, wild hair, and all-black ensemble. “Is about? Living down to expectations?”
Even as I ask the question, I watch the walls slide back into place. “I’m just being me,” she says with a shrug.
I’m not so sure that’s true. Because the Sloane I’m getting to know is wry and charming and maybe even a little squishy, beneath all that armor.
The Black Widow is a lot of things, but soft and squishy aren’t among them.
Still, I’m not about to push her on it right now. She looks wiped out, and the last thing I want to do is add to it. If I say something about it, she’ll just laugh and tell me she can handle whatever I or anyone else can dish out. With everything I’ve learned about her, I know that’s more than true. But all that power comes with a cost, and I won’t be another one asking her to pay it. Just because she’s strong enough to handle something doesn’t mean she should have to.
So I pack away the multitude of questions I’ve got for her andforce myself to ask instead, “Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”
It’s the last thing I’d like to do right now, but I also don’t want her to feel like she has to stay here when she’s already been through so much today. “Is that what you want?” she asks, her gaze watchful again.
“I already told you what I want,” I say. “To spend as much time with you as I possibly can. But I understand if you just want to get away. I know you have a concert tonight, and I don’t want to jeopardize—”
“You’re not jeopardizing anything,” she tells me. And all of a sudden, the Black Widow is back in full force. Her hand is on her hip, and her lips are pursed in that mischievous, feline smile she gives her audience when she’s onstage. “Though I have to say, you sure do go to extremes to get out of buying a girl lunch.”
I’m not sure why she feels the need to retreat behind her public persona right now, but I’m not about to fight her on it. If that’s what she needs to be comfortable and continue our date, I’m plenty intrigued by this Sloane, as well. We can table the conversation until she’s feeling a bit more in control.
So instead of digging, I give her a smile I’m not quite feeling and say, “I’m not trying to get out of anything. I’ll buy you lunch, dinner, and dessert if you’ll let me. Just say the word.”
She holds my gaze for a long second, the kind that feels like a turning point. Then she says, “Let’s start with lunch. And see what happens from there.”
It’s not a touchdown. It’s not a victory dance. But it’s an opening. A chance. And I’m going to take it.
