Page 127 of Where There's Smoke

I madeit back to the hotel around five thirty and knew as soon as I stepped into the lobby that something had happened.

The obligatory paparazzi and reporters were in the lobby and parking lot, most on cell phones or otherwise milling around like they were waiting for somethingelseto happen. The hotel lobby was abuzz with rumors, and Jesse and Simone’s names were on everyone’s lips. Shit. Not good.Notgood.

I hurried out of the lobby and upstairs and ran into Ranya outside the elevator.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Ranya gestured down the hall. “Jesse came in at oh dark thirty, and then he and Simone got in a fight that I think everyone in the building heard.”

I cringed. Definitely not good. “Where’s Jesse now?”

“Asleep, I guess.” She shrugged. “He left the room, swam for a while, then went back after Simone left. Haven’t seen either of them since, and he’s not answering his phone or door, so I assume he’s asleep.”

“Great.” I was way too tired to do anything remotely resembling damage control, but I’d made part of this bed, so I had to lie in it too. I pulled out my cell and muttered, “Guess we should see what word on the street is…”

“I’ve been afraid to look,” Ranya said. “Don’t even want to know what these idiots have to say.”

Scrolling through my browser, I said, “I don’t either, but—”

Oh.Fuck.

The first headline stopped my breath in my chest, but I got just enough air moving to murmur aloud, “‘Cameron: Abuse Crusader—or Victim?’What the hell…” I clicked to another news site and read, “‘Golden Couple, Iron Fist?’”

“What’s wrong?” Ranya craned her neck to look at my phone, and we both tensed as I scrolled farther: “‘Simone Lancaster’s Notoriously Violent Temper—Shocking Twist!’”

“Oh no,” I breathed. Heart in my throat, I continued down to the article. My exhausted eyes could barely make sense of the microscopic text, but it was the photo that almost knocked my knees out from under me.

Someone had snapped him walking down to the pool with his towel draped loosely around his shoulders, and like the shots of his bare ring finger, they’d zoomed in on his neck.

Ranya leaned in closer. “Is that…”

My throat constricted. Furrowing my brow, I stared, my heart pounding. That wasn’t just the light or some oddly placed shadow on the side of Jesse’s neck. No, there was no mistaking it:

A bruise.

An obvious, eyebrow-raising bruise.

Ice water filled my veins, and I damn near dropped my phone. Oh. Fuck. I knew we’d gotten carried away last night—that was, after all, the point—but I’d left a visible goddamned mark.

“I need to talk to him.” I started down the hall toward Jesse’s room.

“Do you want me to tell the press anything?” Ranya called after me.

“No,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll deal with them after I talk to Jesse. Just…” I stopped in my tracks. “Tell them Jesse isn’t available for comment yet. Leave it at that for now.”

She nodded. “Will do.”

As she went downstairs, I continued to Jesse’s room. When I knocked, I said, “Jesse, it’s Anthony. Open up.”

Movement on the other side of the door ratcheted up my heart rate. Did he know already? Had he heard? Had he seen the pictures?

The deadbolt clicked, and Jesse opened the door. He was dressed, but his eyes were red and his eyelids heavy, his damp hair disheveled, so he must have fallen asleep after his swim or a shower.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You don’t know?”

His eyes widened. “Know what?” He held my gaze for a moment, then cringed. “Fuck, I should’ve known this day would only get worse.” He stepped aside and gestured for me to come in. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s going on?”

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