Page 20 of So Wrong It's Right

“What the hell is going on, Stella?”

She winces. “I can explain.”

I move deeper into her apartment, and she stays plastered against her door.

And I thought the office was bad.

Everything in her living room is shades of gold and creamy white. And sparkly. There are more throw pillows than actual couch, and all of her furniture looks flea market chic and gilded.

On the wall are hand-painted stars in various sizes. Not framed art, like normal people have, but stars painted right on the goddamn wall.

Over the breakfast bar, her kitchen is an explosion of color. It looks more like a candy store than a kitchen. I turn, having expected her to have followed me, but she is still plastered to the door.

For a moment, I forget I am mad, and I want to press myself against her in the doorway.

“Stella,” I begin calmly. “Please tell me what the hell is going on.” I sit on her couch and begin counting stars. They are everywhere in this apartment. I get to twenty when she joins me in the living area.

“How much did you hear? At the bar?”

If she thinks she’s getting out of it that easily, she’s wrong. I need to know everything. “Just start at the beginning.”

She swallows, that beautiful throat working hard around whatever emotion she’s trying to tamp down. I imagine that throat swallowing me whole. I want to touch her so badly. But I won’t. I can’t.

“Before you came to town, my sister was pressuring me to give her the name of my date to her wedding.”

I don’t know what to do, so I nod. I’ve seen enough of her interactions with her sister to realize that she really does mean pressure.

“She wanted me to bring my ex-boyfriend, Devon.”

I get a sick feeling in my gut. A premonition. Hell, a dark omen. I already know, but I ask anyway, “Is that the jerk you were talking to downstairs?”

I think she’s counting stars, too. Anything to avoid looking at me. “Obviously, I didn’t want to bring him, but she wouldn’t let up. I was disappointing her, the whole family. I wasn’t trying hard enough or something.”

“Devon is a giant ass. Why would she want him anywhere near you?”

“He cleans up well. He doesn’t always act like...like he was tonight. Not in front of people, anyway.”

Stella shrinks into herself, curling inward, and I hate it. She doesn’t actually believe that guy, does she? Not my fearless, troublemaking, giant pain in my behind Stella. For the past few weeks, I thought that all I wanted was less trouble. But not like this.

I hate this.

“I told her I met someone. It was just a throwaway line. Something to get her off my back. But she wanted details.” Stella is blushing. I liked it better when her blush was from my kiss. “I was on Dr. Rivers’ website that day. There was a fuzzy picture of their newest doctor. Your name was right in front of me, so I told her I met a man named Christopher on the internet. Of course, she made a big deal about it even though I asked her not to tell anyone, so I figured I’d just break up with him before—”

“Me.”

“What?”

“Break up withme. I was him.” I want to make sure I am following this correctly.

“It wasn’tyou, yet. This Christopher was just a figment of my imagination. My friends and I made up a whole backstory for him. It was kind of fun, you know.” She worries her hands together, and I want to cover them with my own. But I don’t. “It was the best relationship I’ve ever been in. He was really nice to me. Didn’t care that I was...well, me. Thought I was perfect the way I am.”

“There is nothing wrong with the way you are.” I’m having a hard time holding on to my anger. Which pisses me off.

Finally, she looks at me. “Please. You can’t stand me.”

But the pretend Christopher did. The pretend Christopher is probably a better man than I am. Easier to get along with. More fun. More accepting. Less of a jerk to her. And just like that, I’m jealous of Pretend Christopher.

My life is really out of control.

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