Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ivy
Despite the buzz outside, no one interrupts me. The Galante-Flores family is either slow on the uptake or awfully respectful of privacy. Or maybe they're a typical west coast family. The kind who would rather sweep problems under the rug.
If only I could do that now.
If only I could go back in time, before some Orange County Register reporter picked up an anonymous comment on Reddit and started digging.
The digital sleuths haven’t worked it out yet. They don’t know Doctor O is Ivy Vaughn. But they’re close. They’ve narrowed her identity down to someone in my graduating class.
Sure, it’s a school of twenty-thousand, but how many women went on to study sex? There can’t be many of us. I might be the only one.
And Romeo—
They’re not sure who he is yet, but they’re close there too. They know he’s a mixed-race business-school dropout with plans to start a local business. Even if the public doesn’t put the pieces together, someone in his family will.
My phone buzzes with another call from Meredith. She's left a dozen messages at this point.
She's the one who spilled the beans. It was an accident. Too much to drink. A guy at her meditation retreat who seemed safe. Who would have thought he would go post about us online?
Damn Reddit.
I answer the call.
"Oh my god, Ives, I'm so sorry." She launches into a long apology without waiting for a response. "I'm on the way to the airport now. I caught a ride with my roomie, then there's a train to the city. I can fly back tonight."
I look at the backyard, where Romeo is talking to Cynthia. For my personal growth, I should stay and face this. I should do the responsible thing and discuss my deception.
But for his ruse?
I have to go before I draw more attention to myself.
If I stay, they’ll ask questions, and I won’t be able to lie. If I go, they’ll know I’m a secret super freak, but they might not realize my episodes on fulfillment with a sex worker are about Romeo.
It’s possible, at least.
"Why don't I fly to New York?" I offer.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Positive. I'll grab a hotel. We'll figure it out." I need to get the fuck out of here.
For him, yes. And because I can’t face this. I can’t look him in the eyes.
What would I say?
How can I explain this?
No, I need to go, now, before I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, make this worse somehow.
Better to go now, before it hurts worse, before it’s even messier.
I end the call.
I pack my stuff.I move down the stairs as quietly as possible.
I don’t hear a peep as I step out the door.
But I’m too slow. Romeo is there, outside, in front of my car. He figured it out. He saw the article. Or someone else did.
Does his family know? Did I ruin this for him?
His dark eyes fix on me. He expected me to run. He expected me to leave. He expected my cowardice.
I don’t know what to say, so I hug my bag a little closer.
He stares at me, giving me time to explain, to expand, to somehow justify my deception.
I don’t have anything, so I say what I can. “I didn’t mean for this to get so complicated.”
“No, better to keep it simple. Use me for your show. Leave before anyone figures it out.”
Is that really what he thinks this was? Does he think that little of me? “I’m operating under the terms of our agreement.”
“Really? I missed the part where you told me you’re broadcasting this to two million listeners.” There’s an edge to his tone. An anger I’ve never heard in it.
I don’t like it. I don’t like that I deserve it. I reach for something to balance myself. Proof things are fair. “You said anyone. As many people as I want.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. His brow furrows. His shoulders stiffen. “You should have told me.”
Maybe. But I didn’t owe him anything when we agreed to this. “I thought you understood our agreement.”
Hurt streaks his eyes for a moment, then he stands up straighter, stiffer, locking me out. “Of course. You just wanted a good fuck. I wanted someone to take home. A fair arrangement. And now that you got what you wanted, you’re leaving.”
It’s not like that, but I don’t correct him. “I have to talk to Mer. I have to fix this. To make sure you’re not outed.”
“Is that really why you’re leaving?”
I nod, and I break his gaze, and I get in my car, and I try not to watch him as I walk away—around the corner, to somewhere I can call a car without looking at him.
But I do. I see the heartbreak on his face. I see the bullshit.
He doesn’t believe me.