Not My Romeo by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Chapter 28

JACK

Three days later, I walk into Milano’s at three o’clock in the afternoon. The place is dead—the lunch crowd gone, the early birds not here yet. All as planned.

Bernie, the maître d’, points to my usual table in the back. “Your guest is already here.”

I grimace. Of course she is.

I walk to the back and see Lawrence and my lawyer, both lingering near the bar area. I give them a nod. I need witnesses in case this thing goes haywire. Lawrence got the papers from Sophia yesterday, all signed and perfect. Is it really possible that all her bullshit is behind me?

We had a phone call where Lawrence suggested that since I have the contract, I could stand her up, but that isn’t me. I’m a man of my word, and maybe a small part of me wants to see her, to get her confirmation for myself.

She stands as she sees me, elegant and tall in a short red dress with a deep-plunging neckline. Her white-blonde hair is long and wavy, her face perfectly made up, lips curved in a slight knowing smile. A silver-chain necklace is around her neck, bolo-tie style, two perfect diamonds dangling on the ends. Classy but not ostentatious. Expensive. I should know. I bought it for her on her birthday. We broke up four months later. Bitterness pulls at me, and I inhale a deep breath.

“Jack! It’s been too long,” she says with a wide smile and attempts to give me a hug, pressing her breasts against my suit jacket. There’s a brittle gleam in her eyes, part defiance, part . . . something else.

I untangle her from me. “Please, have a seat.”

She pouts red lips as she sits. “So cold, Jack. I expected it but thought you might be at least a little happy to see me.”

My teeth grind. I must have smiled, though, because she returns it.

“I knew you’d come. Aiden was very sweet, but you . . .” She laughs, the sound tinkling. “Well, we both know this was long overdue.”

I arch a brow. Did we? I would have been happy to never see her again in my life.

She takes a sip of her white wine, thoughtful, intelligent eyes watching me. I stare back, my face carefully blank. She’s the only daughter of wealthy, doting parents; status and power rule her world. I should have seen past the pretty face to the shallow girl underneath, but she seemed genuine when I first met her. Vivacious with an outgoing personality, she filled up the empty spots when I didn’t feel like talking. People gravitated toward her, her engaging laugh, the way she smiled, and I mistook it for sincerity.

“Indeed. You got me right where you want me.”

“I signed your papers,” she breathes. “I’ll never say another word about you.”

“You did.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

I smile grimly. “I gave up trying to figure you out when you published that book, Sophia.”

“Money, of course. Half a million for that.” She pauses, her fingers drawing circles around the wineglass. “I was angry with you, Jack. I wanted you to commit to me.” Deep-brown eyes stare up at me.

“Yeah.”

“And then I met Rodney.”

“Heard that went south.”

She shrugs. “He isn’t nearly the superstar you are, but he kept me occupied. He wants me back, you know.”

“Good to have options.”

She flicks a strand of hair over her shoulder. “He’s not you, but I think he loves me.”

“Great. Lock him down. Isn’t that what you want? Marriage to a pro athlete? Money? The lifestyle?”

Her lips purse, her eyes remorseful. “I wanted that with you, but you never let me in, Jack.”

True. She never went to my apartment. I never took her to Lucy’s house. I never shared anything too deep. And I spent a year with her. There’s something not right about that, but I push it away.

“You’ve got serious commitment issues, Jack.” She sighs, brushing her gaze over my shoulders. “I imagine it’s hard and rather sad to never have the guts to fully commit to anyone.”

Her words sting because I hear the ring of truth in them.

A long sigh raises and lowers her slender shoulders. “Anyway, I wish . . . I wish we could have worked out.”

“Then why all the lies?” I snap. “Why do you want to talk to me, Sophia? You’ve gotten your revenge with the book. I didn’t think we had anything else left to discuss.”

She takes a long drink. With a shimmer of tears gleaming in her eyes, she raises them up to mine. “Jack, how can you be so immune to what we had? I loved you.” Her throat bobs, and a tear traces down her face. Seemingly embarrassed, she flutters her hands and dips her head as she reaches for tissues in her purse.

I inhale at those words. She threw them at me several times, especially those last few months, her face always begging me to return the sentiment, but I never did. I was good to her, I gave her my time and devotion, and I never looked at anyone else. I admit I might have come to love her, maybe, someday, if she’d been the person I thought she was.

Still.

Hearing her say I loved you makes me uneasy. She said I have commitment issues, and hell, she’s right about that, and part of me knows it goes deeper than just people betraying me and using my success for their own gain. All of my feelings of insecurity can be traced right back to Mama and Harvey. Love means making yourself vulnerable; it means giving power to someone to hurt you. Who needs that?

Was my inability to truly commit and love Sophia why she hurt me? No.

She did that herself; she made the choice. She’s shallow, and when something doesn’t go her way, she figures out a way to make it work.

I clear my throat. “Lies aren’t love, Sophia. You wanted to manipulate me when you left. You thought leaving me for Rodney would spur me to action. But it didn’t. And when that wasn’t enough, you hurt me. You knew how private I was.”

I think about Elena. She’s not a liar. She’d never do this kind of thing.

Sophia shakes her head, her throat bobbing. “I regret it. My family hates all the attention it garnered. Rodney hates it.”

Surprise ripples over me.

I sit back, frowning, trying to get a read on her.

She reaches out to touch my arm, and I pull back.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice gruff. “Closure?”

She sniffs, dabbing at her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s just we were together for a year, and you’d never had a girlfriend that long. I gave up on you too soon, Jack. I should have been more patient. I had to see you to see if . . . if . . .”

“What?” I say.

She winces. “If there was any feeling left for me? If maybe we could get past this and move on, maybe see each other sometimes.”

My mouth parts. “You’re joking?”

She bites her lip. Swallows. “No. I know you haven’t been seen with anyone since me—well, except for that video of you with some girl. I . . . I just wanted to . . .” She takes a deep breath and looks at me, longing in her eyes. “Jack, I still want to be with you.”

What? Confusion takes over. Does she actually believe that it would be that easy? She shredded my trust. I take a deep breath. “If we got back together, what would you do when everyone asked why you’re back with the man who hit you?”

“I’ve thought about that. I’m willing to say it wasn’t true.”

I feel off kilter. “And you think that’s all it would take for people to just forget about it?”

She nods, leaning in, her scent wafting around me, heavy and floral with a hint of jasmine. Perfume I bought her. “I do. I can say I was upset at our breakup. I can own it, Jack. For you.”

“Might mean the end of your modeling career once people know you’re a liar.”

She leans closer, her finger tracing my hand. I pull away, and she grimaces. “I’m twenty-eight, and modeling isn’t forever. And who knows—any news is good news for me. I can spin it however I want. Plus, it would be great for you—and that’s worth it to me. Those fans would eat up a story about us reconciling. I love you, Jackie. I’m willing to be with you on your terms.”

I cringe at the nickname. “I’m seeing someone.”

She freezes, a look on her face as if I slapped her. A few moments of silence tick by as we stare at each other. “You aren’t in love with her, or you wouldn’t have come. You wanted to see me.”

“I came because I said I would.”

She looks down at the table, then back up at me, her eyes pleading. “Jack, we had something good. If you’d just give me a chance, you can forgive me. I know you have a big heart. We can start all over a little at a time, and you’ll see that I mean it. I want this. I want to be a better person. I won’t ask for marriage. I won’t ask for anything but the chance to just be with you.”

Her willingness to put herself out there like that makes me do a double take. I came here thinking maybe she wanted to hold something over me one more time, but now I see that she . . .

A long exhalation leaves my chest as I realize something I hadn’t before.

I did hurt her, more than I ever realized, even though I tried not to. With my distance. With my walls. With my refusal to say words of love.

I can see the proof of it on her anxious face.

She does love me, as much as a person like her can.

I pause. How different would our relationship have been if I’d given more of myself? Would we still be together?

A thought niggles at me, sneaking in: Aren’t you just going to hurt Elena the same way you hurt Sophia?

No.

But . . . I don’t know.

Shit.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just . . .

I clear my throat, coming back to the girl across from me. “Sophia, we are finished.”

She closes her eyes, opens them, visibly shaken. “Everything I said was true. You broke my heart, Jack; you used me up and tossed me away—”

“I cared for you, Sophia. But you ruined what we had. Not me.” My gaze hardens.

“You hate me.” She pales, regret on her face as her gaze clings to mine, another tear tracing down her cheek. I hand her a napkin, and she takes it from me, her fingers grasping mine, trying to lace them together.

Untangling our hands, I let out a deep exhale. “Sophia, I don’t hate you. Be happy. Go back to Rodney or just find yourself. Live your life.”

Her voice, when it comes, is wobbly. “Are you happy?”

She’s fishing.

“I have to go, Sophia.” I stand up from the table but frown down at her, puzzling over what’s on my mind until I realize that I want to tell her . . . “The girl I’m seeing . . . she’s kind and good.”

An incredulous look crosses her face. Her eyes narrow. Maybe it was something in my tone. Maybe it’s because I’ve insinuated she isn’t a good person.

I give her a nod, and I’m turning to go, when her voice stops me.

“I have one more thing for you.” There’s a sly look on her face, and I cringe, once again disappointed in myself for being blind when I dated her.

“What?”

She stands gracefully, hips never missing a seductive sway as she glides over to me, her wineglass in her hands. She drains the liquid and sets it back on the table. Gone are the traces of her tears, yet there’s a hint of desperation on her face. “That girl in the video? Elena Riley. The librarian.”

I stiffen. She’s done her homework. “What about her?”

She laughs, and unease creeps over me.

“Stay away from her, Sophia.”

Her features harden. “I couldn’t care less about that ordinary girl. I just can’t believe you’re with her. Especially considering who she is.” She gives me a knowing smile, a glint of something in her gaze I can’t read.

“What about her?” I snap. “What game are you playing?”

A brittle laugh comes from her. “Oh, it’s so good, what I know about her, but I’m not going to tell you. You’ll figure it out on your own soon enough, I bet.”

“Tell me what?” I grind out.

Swiftly, she grabs her purse, an effortless motion. Her face is smug.

My heart beats harder than it should.

“Sophia, tell me what you mean.”

She brushes past me, her hands dragging across my shoulders. Another laugh. “Don’t trust her, Jack. She isn’t who she says she is. Think about that. That’s my gift to you today.”

My body tightens as she sashays away, a clever smile on her lips. She breezes out the door and out of my life forever, and I swallow thickly. Relief and victory are mine. So why do I feel like something just went horribly wrong? A heaviness settles on my chest, like a boulder that I can’t push off.

What did she mean about Elena? What kind of betrayal was she insinuating? Did she mean the lingerie or something more sinister?

Don’t trust her,I say in my head, and it plays over and over.

I freeze, shaking myself.

Wait. Who am I thinking about not trusting—Sophia or Elena?

I can trust Elena.

Right?

After talking briefly to Lawrence and my attorney, I get in my car, my mind churning, trying to figure out what Sophia was getting at.

She isn’t who she says she is.

A text comes in. Elena. I let out a sigh of relief, needing a distraction from the emotional roller coaster that is Sophia.

You all done?

Yeah. All over. So glad.

Great.

I stare at her words.

Things haven’t been easy between us these past few days, and part of it was Sophia, and the other part was . . . me.

Maybe I need to take a breath and reassess.

Don’t trust her,she said.

But . . .

Fuck.

I want . . .

Elena.

You’ll never commit to her either,a small voice murmurs in my head, and once she figures it out, she’s going to kick you to the curb so hard, and you might not get up.

Stop.

I lock those thoughts down.

My throat feels dry as I twist the top off a bottle of water in the Porsche and chug it down. I need to see her.

Meet me at the penthouse.

Can’t. I’m at work plus play practice is at seven. Are you coming?

I’ve been so caught up in worry over this meeting that rehearsal was an afterthought.

Right. I’ll head to your house. Meet you there before practice.

Are you okay?

Am I?

I will be when I see you.

I set the phone down and start the car.

After an errand at the hardware store, I’m on the road toward Daisy and playing back Sophia’s words.

Is there something in Elena’s past she hasn’t told me?

No. I toss that idea out.

Still . . .

My teeth grit. A seed of doubt is building and growing inside me, snaking around my . . . heart.

Feeling anxious and harried, I park my car in her driveway and jog up to her door, knocking briefly and going inside. I’ve spent the last two nights here. We’ve spent long hours in her bed, talking and making love. I’ve never been this . . . desperate for a girl. I’ve given her more than I have anyone. No NDA. No holding back about who I really am. She knows about my shoulder. Fear snakes over me, and I shove it down.

I stalk in, feeling off, sweeping the room.

“In the bedroom,” she calls, and I walk down the hall and open her cracked door.

She’s standing at the foot of the bed. Hot as hell. Black lace thong is on her ass, a lace bra hugging her breasts. I shut the door firmly, wondering where Topher is. Probably upstairs.

Focus, man.

She looks at me. “You look weird.”

“Do I?”

She nods and walks over to me.

I want things to be okay.

I want this thing we have.

But on my terms . . .

And I wonder how long that’s going to last?

Shit.

What am I doing with Elena? I’m going to hurt her just like I did Sophia.

Never hurt her!

I inhale sharply—shit—trying to regroup and focusing on her as she takes my jacket off, sniffs it, and gags. “Gross. I do not like this perfume.”

Sophia picked it out, and it wasn’t my favorite, either, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing better than to bring her up right now.

Elena tilts her head up at me, a fierce look on her face. “We are not going to discuss her. It’s done. Now take that suit off. I’m wiping your memory like a Jedi mind trick. Elena is the only girl you want to see at Milano’s,” she says, waving her hands in front of my face.

A laugh comes from me, rough and unsure. “Have you been standing in that pose waiting for me to come in?”

“You bet. All planned.”

“Vixen.”

“I was giving you five more minutes, and I was going to pull out the vibrator.”

“Liar.”

She cranks up Taylor Swift as I quickly unbutton my shirt, tugging it out of my pants and tossing it aside. My pants are next. Socks gone. She hates socks on me.

She turns and jumps in my arms, her legs locked around my hips. “Let’s do this. Nice and fast before we’re star-crossed lovers.”

Finally. She is in my arms, and I didn’t even realize how much I needed it. I put my head in her neck, inhaling, all of my territorial instincts roaring to the surface. She’s mine . . .

I groan and carry her over to the end of her bed, splaying her down as I hover over her.

Ask her.

“Elena?”

“Hmm?” She smiles up at me.

“Is there anything you need to tell me?”

She stills, holding my gaze. “Like what?”

It feels so wrong to even question her. It’s . . . Elena. She’s sweet and good and kind.

“Sophia . . . shit . . . Elena, can I trust you?”

Her eyes search mine for a long time, deeply. She knows what I mean, talking about me, selling a story if we don’t work out—

“Yes,” she says softly, and I close my eyes and kiss her.