Page 114 of Detectives in Love
“How long have you been engaged?”
“What does her return say about you and Xavier?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a black cab parked across the street. I don’t hesitate—I head straight for it, pushing through the crowd, tuning everything out.
The cameraman won’t back off, walking sideways to keep us in frame. Beside him, a woman with a press badge fires questions rapid-fire, hoping to trip us up.
“Mr. Doherty, was it ever more than friendship? Did you really love Xavier Ormond? Or was the whole thing just for publicity?”
“Enough,” I mutter. “I’m not saying a word.”
I finally step off the curb and into the street. Xavier’s beside me, silent, his face unreadable. There are dark smudges under his eyes, his shoulders low, like he’s barely holding it together.
We reach the cab and slide into the backseat, slamming the doors shut. Outside, the reporter’s still shouting, her mouth moving as she peers through the tinted glass, but I don’t hear a word of it.
As the car pulls away, the paparazzi drift back to the sidewalk, their disappointment almost palpable.
“You okay?” I ask, turning to Xavier.
He gives a stiff nod, eyes still on the window—but he doesn’t look okay at all. His cheeks are flushed with fever, his eyes rimmed red, lips too pale. He shouldn’t be out like this.
He stays distant, tucked into the far corner of the seat, arms crossed, one leg slung over the other. His gaze doesn’t move, fixed on the passing blur of the city, gray and flickering like an old film reel.
He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I—not at first. The only sounds are the low hum of the engine and the soft murmur of the radio filling the space between us.
“What the hell was that about?” I say finally, breaking the silence.
Xavier glances over, then pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to me without a word.
I frown, confused—until I see the headline on the screen. My heart skips a beat.
Will Newt Doherty Leave Hickory Road?
I skim the article, pulse thudding in my ears. It’s the usual trash, painting me as some notorious womanizer, now supposedly engaged to Katie Fairfax.
“…Newt Doherty has built a reputation as something of a heartbreaker—rumored to have dated everyone from Hollywood starlets to Russian models. But despite the headlines, none of these alleged romances ever seemed to stick, perhaps explaining why his cohabitation with Xavier Ormond caused such a stir online.
Now, whispers of a deeper connection between the two—fueled by reports that Ormond may have confessed his feelings—have sent fans into a frenzy. Theories abound, with some speculating that Ormond is in love, while others claim Doherty was just in it for the fun.
But it appears the mystery of Newt Doherty’s love life has finally been solved. According to a source close to the couple, Doherty has proposed to his longtime friend and former classmate, Katie Fairfax—a researcher at the Rishetor Center.
By all accounts, it’s a picture-perfect match: two bright, attractive, and successful individuals finally finding happiness together.
Still, one question lingers: where does that leave Xavier Ormond?”
A laugh bursts out of me, too sudden to hold back. I’m gone, laughing so hard I’m nearly hysterical. Who even writes this crap? I’ve dated maybe five women in the past four years—none of them actresses, none of them Russian models—which makes the whole thing even more absurd.
I mean, sure, it’s all clearly made up, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone close to me—someone who doesn’t know the full picture anymore, like my mom or even Ernest—might read this and think parts of it could be true. That would normally piss me off. But for some reason, not today. Maybe because today, I have too many other things on my mind.
I’m still trying to catch my breath when Xavier finally looks up, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his otherwise grim expression.
“What’s so funny?” he mutters, still brooding.
“This,” I say, breathless, handing his phone back. “You do realize I’m not actually engaged to Katie Fairfax, right?”
He nods, but I catch the way his shoulders loosen, just slightly. He shifts a little closer.
“Well, at least they’ve stopped speculating about your sexuality,” he says.
