Page 86 of The Rehoboth Retreat
Miles’ voice, edged and brittle: “Why areyouhere?”
I cleared my throat. “Because this whole mess is because ofme. And I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. I mean, I wantedyou,but I didn’t want this media explosion. I didn’t think anyone even gave a shit about me anymore here in Rehoboth. But apparently, I still make good tabloid fodder.”
A longer silence. I could hear shuffling on the other side of the door. Maybe pacing. Maybe breaking down. Man, that did something ugly to my chest.
“You shouldn’t have dragged me into this,” he said, quieter now. “My life was… organized.”
I chuckled softly, bitter. “Yeah. I got that. You’re the human embodiment of a color-coded Google Calendar.”
No laugh from him. No smile.
I deserved that.
“But listen,” I continued, voice steadier now, “I told my people to issue a statement. Public. Strong. Saying I’m not doing anything wrong and that I stand by my choices. That includes you.”
He scoffed through the door. “Nice sentiment, but what does that fix?”
I exhaled. Here it was—the part I didn’t want to say, but I had to. My agent insisted I do this for my own sake, but really, I was doing it for Miles. I knew the only way Miles would come out of this alive and unscathed was to confess what was really going on between him and Owen. His fans, clients, and employees would surely understand. Then, things could finally go back to normal for him.
“Well… nothing,” I admitted. “Unless—unless you go public too. Let people know you’re going through a divorce. That this wasn’t some sleazy backdoor affair. That you’re not cheating on America’s imaginary idea of your perfect husband.”
He was quiet.
I imagined him standing there in those tailored joggers, probably with a glass of something citrusy and sad in one hand, trying not to scream. Or cry.
“You want me to blow up my personal life to save yours?” he said finally, voice thin and shaking.
“No,” I replied immediately. “I want tosave you. Because right now, everyone thinks you’re the villain in a drama you didn’t audition for. They don’t know Owen cheated. They don’t know he broke your heart. They have no idea you’re divorced. All they see is you kissing some asshole on a boat while, in their eyes, you’re still married."
That silenced him again.
I leaned my head against the door.
“I know this isn’t what you want,” I whispered, but loud enough for him to hopefully hear. “I know this is messy and unpredictable and disgusting in a way you probably haven’t felt since someone left a fingerprint on your stainless steel fridge. But it’s the truth, Miles. And sometimes, telling the truth is the only way to start cleaning up the mess.”
The door creaked.
Just slightly. A sliver of movement. I didn’t push it.
Then, from the other side, a small voice. Resigned. Wounded. Miles.
“You really think it’s the only way?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
A sigh. Long. Painful.
Then: “Fine. I’ll call my assistant.”
My chest cracked open. Relief flooded in, tinged with guilt, and just a tiny flicker of something I couldn’t name yet. Hope? Maybe.
“Okay,” I said, backing away. “I’ll go. I’ll give you space. Just… if you ever want to kiss the asshole on the boat again… let me know.”
I heard a quiet, almost imperceptible sound from behind the door.
A breath.
Maybe a laugh.
