Page 62 of Wes

“I’ve known you for well over ten years. Maria’s met you a couple of months ago. It’s not fair to expect her to know you as well as I do.”

My heart plunges into my stomach.

“I hate it when you’re right,” I grunt, rubbing my hands over my face.

“No, you don’t.”

“True.” An invisible fist crushes my chest as I realize I haven’t considered other aspects of Maria’s personality as well. “I’ve misjudged her too.”

He arches an eyebrow.

I shrug. “I need to give her more credit and more time to process the information. Some stranger had just dumped a bombshell on her lap and I tried to reason with her. She was in flight mode, not fight. As a passionate person, Maria tends to explode first and analyze later.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Nick interjects. “And she’s very smart. Once she calms down, she’ll see right through this bullshit story.”

I pour us tea and offer him a mug. “It’s not as hot anymore.” After taking a couple of sips and weighing Nick’s comment, I add, “God, I hope you’re right. She has to believe me. My heart won’t survive this if she doesn’t.”

The landline, my cell phone, and Nick’s ring at the same time. We exchange glances. This is never a good sign. Dropping my eyes to the screen, I don’t recognize the number. Nick has a puzzled expression as he picks up his call.

“Hello,” I grunt. “Who is this?”

“Good morning, Mr. Baron,” a cheery female voice greets me. “This is Mandy Strasberg with TMI.”

I roll my eyes at the name of a website whose collaborators chase celebrities to capture their most embarrassing moments. Sometimes, they offer not to post them in exchange for some cash. I slap my forehead when I remember the flashes going off around Maria and me.

“Look, I don’t care if you have pictures of my girlfriend and I having a public argument. Go ahead and publish them.”

She giggles. The woman fucking giggles. “We’ve already done that.”

I grip the phone so hard I hear a loud crack.

“Why the hell are you calling me for?” I bark.

“We wanted to give you a chance to confirm or deny Ms. Williams’s allegations before we run our own article about them.”

I punch the red button to end that conversation, push off the couch, and pull up the internet browser in my phone. As I do, Leni and Nick gather around me.

“A reporter wanted to talk to anyone in the staff with information on your affair,” my housekeeper informs me.

“Same here.” Nick lands a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.

Their voices dim to white noise as I scroll down the search results. Multiple news outlets published pictures of my very public breakup. They appeared alongside posts about the magnificent performance Ally had with my band in the charity concert.

I find TMI’s blog, and the ground vanishes from under my feet. Splashed in the middle of their home page is a picture of a grinning me hugging a green-eyed brunette wearing the fucking jacket Maria gave me.

“Motherfucker! Who the hell are you?” I yell at the screen.

21

MARIA

The late afternoon sun glints off the waters of the bay in the distance attracting my stare. I let my mind roam free. It’s not like I remember any of the words on the pages of the book on my lap. Even though I’ve read each paragraph at least twice. I cannot focus my attention on anything for any significant period of time.

Turning my face to the right I make out the outline of Alcatraz through the thick fog. My heart stutters. Since I shut that door on Wes, and watched his image disappear in the distance, it’s like I’ve been in prison. I’ve been cut off from the world with basically only my wayward thoughts for company. I’ve eaten my meals up here in my room. On one hand, I don’t want the kids to see me like this. And on the other, I don’t want to poison the staff’s high spirits with my black clouds. They’re my own to bear.

As are the thoughts I should be sorting out. Instead, each time I try, they run away from me, thuggish little fiends that they are. And they leave me stranded in this prison island of my own making, with my feelings for company. But I can’t trust my heart to make decisions. The old fool has fallen for the sexy drummer. And despite having been shredded by his betrayal, my heart refuses to believe Wes would do such a thing to me. My heart is a fool though. I need my mind to stop running around in circles and focus. I can’t trust my heart in this, not when the evidence of Wes’s betrayal is this overwhelming.

I drop my head on the back of the chaise longue with a thud. Those fucking pictures have multiplied on the internet like a gremlin after a midnight snack and a dip in the pool. I beat my head against the white leather cushion, bunching the silk of my pajamas in a fist over my belly. The now familiar queasiness burns my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut recalling the kids playing in my backyard, an exhilarating drive down the Pacific Highway to Los Angeles, anything to get my emotions away from this endless loop.

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