Fiancée for Rent by Elizabeth Grey

Chapter 20

Liam

I managed to creep from the bedroom without waking Kylie up early the following day, only to be greeted by her parents already in the kitchen. I forced myself to be polite but grabbed a cup of coffee and headed to the porch for some privacy. Apparently, I didn't sleep off my sour mood from last night. I wasn't in the frame of mind to talk about our exes. Isabelle. David. I wanted to look toward the future rather than the past, but after being here, part of this family, my future seemed so unsure.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" Kylie asked, wrapped in a blanket from the back of the couch as she stood in the doorway with her own cup. "Dad said you didn't seem too talkative. Did you not get much sleep?"

"I'm fine. Just grabbed some alone time, not a crime," I spat, regret stirring the pot of my angry stomach.

"Sorry I asked," she stated. "I can hear you're just fine."

My phone went off in my pocket, so I reached for it, welcoming the distraction. As I began to read a message from Jake, Kylie's phone went off too. Assuming it was Cynthia, I'd have sworn our two managers were dating the way they messaged us simultaneously.

Yet, what I read in the message made my coffee want to come back up.

"They found pictures of you as a stripper," I yelled to her already ashen face.

I should've cared that her lips had gone white, and she looked about to both burst into tears and pass out at the same time.

"I was broke. After David died, I didn't want to come home. A girl I knew put out the offer..." she managed.

"You didn't think to tell me when I proposed marriage?"

"I hoped no one would ever find out. I'd kind of forced myself to forget, too."

"Well, you should've remembered. You should've told me. I have a reputation!" I yelled.

"Reputation, as in bad boy who sleeps with a different woman every night and gets so drunk he punches members of the press?"

"The point to all of this was to fix my reputation, not fuck it up even more."

"Liam, I'm so sorry. I didn't think..."

"You didn't think people would start looking into you once you were dating me, that they wouldn't find these photos? I mean, look at them! Every person in America now knows what you look like naked. What would my parents think if they were still alive? What will Isabelle think?"

"What the fuck do I care what Isabelle thinks? Why do you? She moved on, Liam. So should you!"

"What's going on here?" Kylie's father stepped out onto the porch, his mouth set, her mother right behind him.

"Ask your daughter," I spat, then lowered my voice. "Sorry sir, I'm just upset by the news."

"What news?" Mrs. Davis asked.

"Kylie, tell us right now what is going on here. I won't have yelling in my home for any reason."

I stood there, fuming, scrolling through one horrible news story after the other while Kylie did her version of explaining to her parents. The coffee had long turned to acid in my stomach and rose to burn a hole in my esophagus as I swallowed hard to keep it down, to control my temper around the only man who'd treated me like a son.

At that moment, it dawned on me that I was tired of being in second place. I'd been second to my parents' careers. I'd ended up second place with Isabelle. And now, with Kylie, I felt second place to a dead guy, the late great David. To add insult to injury, our plan to heal my reputation had exploded in my face.

"I wish you would've come to us if you'd needed help," Kylie's father said as his head dropped and he stepped back into the house.

As her mother followed, Kylie called out to them in a tiny voice before she turned back to me and yelled with a reduced volume not to bring her parents back out.

Her face was as red as the Christmas blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She growled, "Why do you care so much about appearances? Why do you care what people think? Were you even upset that you lost someone like Isabelle? Or were you just embarrassed that someone cheated on the great Liam Hendrix, billionaire rock star?"

I'd stood there, intended to stand my ground, to counter her argument, but it hit hard, burrowed down deep until it struck a bit of truth I'd hid even from myself. I was grateful I only had coffee in my stomach because anger on the verge of rage brewed inside me.

"I don't want to be here anymore. I won't spend another moment with you. If I cared about my appearance, I would've picked someone better than a B-list actress known for bimbo roles who comes from some farm in the middle of bum fuck Montana," I lied to lash out, unsure where my truth and the truth I wore for the world began and ended.

As guilt struck hard, I brushed past her to pack my bags as I brought up Jake on my phone, texted him to get me a plane ticket to avoid contact with her parents in the kitchen. Kylie followed me through the house and up the stairs.

As soon as we hit the bedroom, she hissed, "So that's it? One little thing, and you bail? We have a few more days here. What am I supposed to tell my parents?"

"I don't really care. I need to be alone right now. I'll see you in LA."