The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

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      All the venom was there. The vile things people said, carping about him being with her. Some celebrity psychologist had even done a boxed opinion piece on ‘why do the good guys always want to redeem wayward women?’. The opposite of the good-girls going for bad-boys. Somehow, it was always the woman’s fault. The good girls were labelled stupid for thinking they could change someone. Yet the good guy was heroic for trying to pull back the titanium-tits bitch.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ James switched the screen to black. ‘Don’t look at it. Don’t go there.’

      ‘I don’t understand how they knew we were there.’ Horrified, she stared at him.

      His brows drew together and he stared back at her. ‘Don’t think I told them.’

      ‘You didn’t?’

      He looked appalled. Then irate. ‘Like I’d let the media know anything. Did you?’

      ‘Of course not,’ she spat.

      ‘Why are we fighting?’ He grasped her wrist as she tried to leave the bed. ‘This is ridiculous. We both loathe the intrusion. Neither of us would sell our souls, right?’

      ‘Right.’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Sorry. Of course you didn’t tell them. It just threw me.’

      She knew some other story would soon take its place. It was like being stabbed—sudden and sharp—and everyone’s shocked eyes were locked on her as they watched the blood ooze. But they’d soon turn away, as soon as some other attention-worthy mess occurred. But she’d be left with the wound. It lingered with her far longer. It wasn’t fifteen minutes of fame in the Internet, more like five seconds. And yet it was then up there for all eternity. Any time someone did a search, it would be found again. She’d never truly be able to escape it.

      ‘It probably wasn’t even paparazzi,’ James said. ‘Everyone has a smartphone these days, right?’

      There was no such thing as privacy.

      ‘I’m not even famous,’ she whispered. ‘Why does anyone give a damn? I’m not news.’

      But she was the villain-du-jour. And James? James was the hero.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said shortly. ‘Forget about it.’

      He spoke with such crisp authority. As if it really were that easy. Maybe for him it was.

      ‘Oh, sure.’ She painted on a smile. ‘I’ll do that.’

      When she went down to breakfast she swore she saw caution in his parents’ eyes as they greeted her. They’d read the story too. It had rehashed the worst of the Dominic nightmare. The accusations of cattiness, craziness, vindictiveness. Her brief moment of being no one, of having no past and reputation to cloud their minds and poison their perceptions, that was gone. Now they knew she wasn’t the woman for their precious son. The one they so obviously wanted to care for and protect and to see happy.

      James was quiet again. She felt the old isolation return. At three a.m. they’d still been awake, clinging to each other in wild abandon, but now?

      It meant nothing. Now, more than ever, she understood it had to mean nothing.

      She wasn’t the right woman for him. She didn’t need the trolls on the Internet to tell her that.

      Mid-morning he walked over to her as she sat on one of the wicker chairs on the deck, staring out to the sea. ‘You’re still worried.’

      ‘Your family have read those stories.’ She couldn’t bring herself to even look at his mother.

      ‘And my family knows those kinds of stories are fiction.’

      Mostly. But there was the ‘no smoke without fire’ thing. The partial truth. ‘You’re not going to ask me about it?’ she said softly.

      He hunched down before her. ‘You already told me you’ve never been pregnant.’

      ‘And you truly believed me? Just like that?’

      ‘Why? You want to me to find a lie detector? Do some torture?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘If that’s what you say, then I believe you.’

      He’d not asked her about it directly since that day they’d Googled each other. She’d told him the truth. And he’d accepted it. She hadn’t needed to pull out all kinds of exhibits or evidence to be believed. He hadn’t needed it. Or wanted it. Still didn’t.

      She almost smiled. ‘I should explain it to your parents.’

      ‘Leave it.’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to explain anything to anyone.’ He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘No one can really understand what someone else might be going through. No one should make judgments. Your body, your life, the way you choose to live it. СКАЧАТЬ