Page 57 of Meant to Be

CHAPTER 14

Cate

After I slept with Joe that first time, the floodgates opened. We saw each other nearly every day, but always in secret, at my insistence. I told him that I didn’t want any drama—and that was true.

What Ididn’ttell him was that I knew his interest in me had a shelf life, and I believed that whatever spell I’d managed to cast over him would be broken the second people found out about us—and the truth about me. There was no way that his feelings for me could withstand the scrutiny of his inner circle, let alone the tabloid press and millions of people obsessed with the Kingsley family. Eventually, it would be pointed out to him—or he would otherwise figure out—that we just weren’t compatible in any real way. In the meantime, our secret also felt like an insurance policy against public humiliation. I might very well fall in love with Joe, but I wasn’t going to let the whole world watch me crash and burn when the inevitable happened.

For days, which then turned into weeks, I remained vigilant. Other than Elna, I didn’t tell anyone about Joe. Not Curtis or Wendy or even my mom when I took her to lunch for herbirthday and knew the news would make the best gift, even better than the diamond cross necklace I’d given her. I just couldn’t take the chance that Chip would find out and somehow try to sabotage me. It was sad—tragic—that his abuse rendered my relationship with my mom so superficial, even strained. If he weren’t in the picture, I truly think I would have been sharing everything with her. She would have been the first call I made when Joe and I met on the beach, and when he showed up in Paris. But I’d long since learned that I could only be so close to her and that there was really nothing I could do until she was ready to leave him. You simply can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

Meanwhile, I was super careful with the paparazzi who occasionally lingered outside Joe’s building. Whenever I spotted anyone even vaguely suspicious, I’d walk on by, returning only when the coast was completely clear. Sometimes I’d just head home for good, which had the added benefit of driving Joe crazy. It’s not that I wanted to play mind games with him, but I was keenly aware of keeping a level playing field. So no matter what I was feeling, which was getting to be quite a lot, I did my best to appear blasé. It was the only way to protect myself.

I think the concept of a completely clandestine relationship intrigued Joe at first, as he mentioned several times that our hiding felt romantic. He also loved getting one over on the tabloid press. Based on stories he’d told me, his relationship with the paparazzi could get contentious, but even when it didn’t, Joe still wanted to win the cat-and-mouse game.

A cynical part of me wondered if Joe liked skipping all the wining and dining and going straight to the bedroom. I mean, what guy wouldn’t like having no-strings-attached sex, especially if you knew the relationship couldn’t go anywhere?

Eventually, though, he started pressuring me to go out inpublic with him. It was reassuring, evidence that he really did like me, but I still dragged my feet, wanting to live in our limbo fantasyland for as long as I could.

Then, one night, when he begged to take me out to dinner, I finally relented. As we left his apartment and walked openly through the streets of SoHo and then into Tribeca, I was more than a little apprehensive, hyperaware of all the double takes and outright stares. At one point, I even trailed a few steps behind him, just to play it safe.

“What are you doing back there?” Joe said, laughing, seemingly oblivious to the attention that followed him everywhere.

I shooed him ahead, but he insisted on waiting for me. Even after I caught up, though, I tried to appear as if I wasn’t really with him. But by the time we’d settled into a back corner of the restaurant with chips and salsa and a pitcher of margaritas, I could feel myself start to relax. Joe must have noticed the change because he reached for my hand across the table, giving it a little squeeze.

“See?” he said. “Look at us. Totally under the radar.”

I glanced around and had to admit that he was right. The restaurant was packed, but nobody was paying any attention to us. It was an advantage of a trendy downtown spot; the crowd was too hip to stare at a celebrity.

“So, what do you think about doing this more often?”

“Going out to dinner?”

“Yes. And just—making things official.”

“And what does that entail?” I said. “A press release?”

I was making a joke, but apparently it wasn’t such a far-fetched concept. “Well, not apressrelease per se,” he said. “But maybe a statement of some kind…”

“Wait. Seriously?” I said, nervously reaching for a chip.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “You know, we could just issue a brief statement confirming our relationship.”

“And why is that necessary?”

“It’s notnecessary. We can always stick to ‘no comment’ if you prefer…but sometimes silence backfires.”

“How so?”

“People draw their own conclusions about what’s going on.”

I swallowed, feeling a wave of nervousness, and suddenly wishing we were just back in his apartment, hunkered down on the sofa, still playing make-believe.

“Look. I really don’t care what anyone thinks,” he continued. “I just want to be able todothings with you.”

“We have been doing things,” I said with a knowing smile.

He smiled back at me and said, “Yes. And I’ve greatly enjoyed those things. Believe me. But I’d like to do other stuff, too. Go to dinner and events and parties and ball games.”

I nodded, listening, thinking.

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