Page 52 of One Small Secret

Ruben’s voice is closer, and the hand on my shoulder squeezes. “My world shifted in that moment, and my heart opened up a space for her. No one else has ever come close to claiming it.”

I want to throw an elbow into Ruben’s side. No one is going to believe he fell in love with me because of that.

Bernard doesn’t seem to be buying it either. “That’s a great story, but what about the photographic evidence?”

“Oh, that?” Ruben leans forward and places another one of those soft kisses on my shoulder. It sends a shiver down my spine and I’m immediately transported back to Ben’s den. Can you become an addict after one exposure to a drug? And if so, why wasn’t I at least a tiny bit addictive for him?

Ruben rests his chin just above my ear and wraps both of his arms over my shoulders so he's crossing his arms over my collarbone and holding me in place. “Just at that pivotal moment—” His voice is low and everyone is leaning forward, trying to catch every word over the music. “When I realized exactly how I felt about Miss Cadence here, our school photographer stepped into the classroom and took a picture of me staring at her.”

There’s a very brief silence until Amira slaps her hand on the table. “Shut up.” Her mouth turns into the tiniest of bows. “Your Teen Heartthrob picture?”

I feel Ruben nodding against my hair. “That’s the one.”

Daphne’s smile is crooked. “So, you pretty much owe her everything?”

Ruben gives me a soft squeeze, and I know he’s pretending. I know it. But I’m having a hard time breathing. “I won’t disagree with that.” I can hear the smile in his voice. What’s worse, I know that smile. It’s the “this is all old news” smile of a man who is confident and secure in his relationship. I make an attempt at the same comfortable smile but I don’t think I’m pulling it off. This is fine. This is normal. Ruben and I talk like this every day. His words don’t break my heart with their quiet devotion. Being wrapped in his arms isn't setting me on fire. It’s such a common occurrence, it’s like breathing. I keep that smile on my face, but something inside of me is cracking. I’m back in Ben’s den answering a question very differently.

Real.

What would this evening be like if I'd said real? If I had, leaning back into him and feeling his warmth against my bare back might mean something more than just selling hotel suites and keeping followers. But I can’t go back, and my smile isn’t the only one that’s fake. Nothing about our relationship is long term or devoted. I don’t know how he thought to tie his Heartthrob picture to me, but it was brilliant, and both of the women listening are eating it up like it’s the last cookie on the planet and they’ve only eaten kale for three weeks.

Ruben should have been an actor.

We're perfect. The cutest little wholesome couple they have ever seen. And then my heart breaks for another reason. Because Ruben is an actor. A dang good one. And after he admitted he was tired of it, I made him act one more time. So here he is, lying to his friends all over again.

We talk for another fifteen minutes, and all the while Ruben’s arms hold me tight against him. The volume in the room starts to rise, like more and more people are talking over each other. When there’s only a minute until midnight, everyone starts working their way to the windows to watch the ball drop. Amira and Daphne stand, and I reluctantly do the same. The air feels empty and cold against my skin without Ruben as a backrest.

Suddenly a wave of party-goers rush forward and I’m pulled to the left. Ruben’s arm reaches for mine, but I just miss it. He's pulled away in the crowd.

“Ten.” People shout in unison.

“Nine.” I’m pressed between a socialite wearing too much perfume and a man that could use a bit more antiperspirant. I try to step toward where I saw Ruben last, but an even larger man pushes next to me.

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

I slide past the large man and someone grabs my hand from behind. My stomach flips and I turn, but it’s Bernard. He smiles at me, but the last thing I want is to be with him when the ball drops. “Have you seen Ruben?” I yell.

He just shakes his head. “Three.” I read his lips, because it’s too loud to hear. He pulls me just a bit closer and I hope it’s to protect me from strangers and not because he's hoping for a kiss.

“Two.”

A hand wraps around my waist and turns me around. I let out a breath of relief. I would know the weight of that hand anywhere.

“One,” Ruben says as our eyes meet. I’ve been dying to see Ruben’s face ever since he told that crazy story to his friends. But now that I can, I’m grateful I wasn’t forced to gaze lovingly into those stormy eyes as he told it. I’m not sure it would have felt like pretending.

Everyone is cheering, noisemakers going off way too close to my ears, but it all fades away the moment Ruben’s lips touch mine. Ruben’s kiss is quiet, like an evening at the lake, or the sound Axley makes right after he drifts off to sleep. It is soft and hesitant, like maybe he knows his story has undone me and he needs to be careful. His arm at my waist is firm, cradling me safely in the surrounding madness.

I lean forward and grab his lapel in one hand and brace myself with his elbow in the other. I don’t want to be protected from the craziness that is Ruben’s life. Just for this moment, can’t I be a part of it instead?

Ruben’s hand comes to my cheek, fingers splayed beneath my ear and jaw. He tips my chin upward, angling my mouth to make it more accessible. Then in a move that belongs in the movies, he dips his chin to bring us closer. I push aside the whispered warning that his touches are for show and let myself sink into him. If it’s a show Ruben wants, I’m going to give it to him.

And I’ll deal with him treating me like a business associate later.

His scent is musky and masculine, and as much as I love cinnamon, this fragrance smells like New York, private jets, and the slip of satin on the lapel I’m currently clutching in my right hand. I push his arm upward, and his fingers slide to the nape of my neck and find purchase there. This time I'm the one to angle my mouth to the side, and his response is electric. The arm around my waist no longer holds me safe from everyone else—it crushes me against him. His lips move possessively over mine. If Bernard would have stolen a kiss, this Ruben would have killed him for it. Ruben’s fingertips tremble in my hair and his breathing matches mine. In an instant my body is on fire, a dry forest with no protection against him. If we keep this up much longer, the only thing left will be a pile of ash for Ruben to sweep up and take home as a trophy.

Not a bad way to go.

---