Page 169 of The Renegade Billionaire
“Then—then what happens?” Tears fall from my eyes. Real tears.
He looks at me as if he wants to hold me, like he wants to make this better, but then he lowers his head and presses into that spot on his chest. “We don’t. I’m heading back to California tonight and—and maybe we should put the brakes on before you get hurt.”
“Too late.” The words blend with a sob. His shoulders tense, but he won’t look at me.
It’s too hard to remember that this is pretend. I just want him to hug me, hold me, and tell me everything will be okay.
But he doesn’t. Of courses he doesn’t. That’s not the plan, and we have to stick to the plan.
“You’re just like the rest of your family, you know that?” His face pales at my accusation. “You’re no better than any of them, you just have more money to throw around in people’s faces, thinking it will solve all your problems. Well, news flash,Brax.” My voice breaks, and I take a step back to give myself more space from him. “I never wanted any of your money or what it could buy. I only wanted you, and look at me now.” I point to my tear-stained face. “This is what your money does. Are you proud of yourself?”
Real anguish dims his expression before he lowers his lashes and stares at the floor. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he mutters. “Goodbye, Madison.”
His footsteps echo on the floor because no one else is making a sound.
“I’m going to fecking kill you,” Cian growls.
Braxton doesn’t say a word. The next sound I hear is the door slamming shut, and my soul breaks in half.
I sit in his spot at the sewing machine, thankful now that it faces a wall, and moments later, Clover, Savvy, and Elle are at my side.
“It wasn’t real,” Clover whispers. “But you both could have won an award for that performance. I think he just broke everyone’s hearts.”
Half sob, half laugh escapes me, but we get to work on the booth without saying another word. Soon, the town will start gossiping, feeling sorry for the girl who had her heart shattered so publicly again, but for now, they give me space and time to regroup.
If I have any chance of getting through this festival and the mess that’s about to swirl around faster than a tornado, I need to have my head on right.
“We’ve got you,” Elle says, sitting on the floor with a paintbrush in hand. “We’ve always got you.”
It happens on Thursday.
Clover and I stayed home while my friends and neighbors finished the booth for the Chug and the inn. They thought it was because I was too upset to see anyone, but in reality, it was so I could stay home and watch Braxton’s press conference on TV.
And he was right. Within hours, their faces were plastered on every website. They showed up in my social media feed so often I had to unplug from them all.
By Friday morning, it was all anyone was talking about, even in our little town—maybe especially in our tiny town because now they all know who he is—and not one person has said another nice word about him since he left town.
At least not to me. While I appreciate that they have my back, it hurts to hear them talk about Braxton that way.
“Are you doing okay?” he asks. I answered his FaceTime call on my iPad, so his face was life-size—that’s how pathetic I am these days.
“I’m fine. I hate lying to everyone, but they’ll come around. Have you slept at all though?”
“I haven’t,” he admits. “Since we got the DNA results back, things have gotten messy, but as long as nothing falls back on you, we’ll be able to handle it.”
“Savvy and Elle have been strolling through town a few times a day, and they haven’t seen anyone who looks suspicious.”
“Good. That’s good. I didn’t think this would be so hard. I hate being so far away from you.”
“It hasn’t been a walk in the park for me either. I’m worried I’m too attached to you.”
His eyes glow like a cat’s at night. “You can never be too attached.”
“We’ll see what you think when you come home and I glue myself to your side.”
“I can’t wait.”
We’re quiet for a few moments, staring at each other, memorizing every eyelash and crease. It’s just not the same as having him in the house with me.
