Vanessa Booke: Bound to You

“I heard you were leaving,” Miles says, frowning.

I reposition my body against the door, trying to distance myself from him. There isn’t much room between us, and each time he moves his hand, it brushes my leg.

“I am.”

“Why? Because of what happened?”

He makes it sound like “what happened” isn’t a big deal. I don't need to explain myself to him. Apparently, I haven’t made it clear enough that I’m not his anymore.

“Not everything revolves around you.”

“Then why?” Miles says, putting his arm around the top of my seat. “Why haven’t you returned my calls, Becca?”

The past few weeks have been difficult to say the least. I miss him – as much as I don’t want to. I know it would be so much easier to just slip back into his arms. To pretend like nothing happened, but my pride won’t let me.

“Miles, I can’t forgive you for sleeping with her.”

“It isn’t what you think.”

“Oh really, tell me then…”

“Becca, we’re co-stars. We’re doing the TV show together. That’s it.”

“I caught you two together in our bed! You’re just sorry you got caught.” Be. Strong . My voice nearly breaks. “You’re lucky my mother doesn’t watch cable or she would’ve thrown you out of the house the moment you tried stepping inside.”

“Scarlett doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Scarlett. Just hearing the name makes my head want to explode. She’s some famous Australian blonde beauty that has everything going for her – including huge assets.

“There’s only you,” he says, nuzzling his nose into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“Stop,” I whisper.

“I know you still love me,” he says, brushing back a strand of hair.

“I do, I mean, I did.”

He traces his finger down my arm. He’s too close. I can’t trust myself around him. He doesn’t wait for my response. It happens so fast, there isn’t enough time to react. He crushes his lips against mine, pulling me to him. I used to love the way Miles would kiss me. It was gentle, slow, and sensual, but this was different. His hand creeps up my shirt, finding its way to my nipple and pinching it slightly.

“Miles… no.”

“Becca, it’s not my fault. My agent said I would get more camera time if I started seeing Scarlett. It’s for the show! She doesn’t mean anything to me. He didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to be seen…”

“Seen with what? A normal woman? Or do you mean someone my size?” I have to admit I threw in that last part just for the hell of it. I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious when Miles went from sleeping with someone like me to sleeping with Ms. Double Ds.

“It’s not like that, Becca, please let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” His hand slides up my dress, pushing apart my legs. “I’ve thought about this every night.”

“No,” I say, slapping his hand away. “You can’t just pretend like we’re okay and go back to how it used to be.”

“Becca, please. Let’s try again.”

“I gave you everything, Miles, but you ripped it all away. You chose her instead of me.” You chose someone you barely know over me.

“But I love you.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. The words I want to say are on the tip of my tongue, and just knowing that tears my insides. I love you, too. I can’t show him any weakness. I need to go. Miles stares at me in confusion as I open the car and jump out of the truck.

“At least let me walk you inside,” he says, calling after me.

I don’t stop walking until I’m in the house. I don’t bother telling my mother that Miles is gone. She would only start an inquisition if she saw me crying. At this moment, nothing else matters – only the pain.

“Can I get you anything else, miss?” the dainty brunette stewardess asks as she hands me a glass of champagne and napkin.

“No, thank you. The champagne is lovely.” My nerves are on high alert. I can feel a knot forming in my shoulders every time we hit a bump of turbulence. I grasp the arms of my chair with my clammy hands and fight back the building need to spew all over the seat in front of me. The older man sitting next to me leans back, eyeing me with caution. There isn’t much room between us. I’m sure he’s kicking himself for getting seated next to this train wreck. If I throw up, he’s definitely in the splash zone. My stomach turns again as the plane rattles. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. I pinch my nose and silently count to ten, hoping that it will calm me. The last thing I need right now is to show up in a new city with vomit all over me.

God, I hate flying.

When I called Carol to let her know my flight was leaving, she offered to upgrade my ticket to first class so I wouldn’t be sausaged beside someone for the next four hours. As tempting as the offer was, she’s already done enough for me. I even thought about booking a train from California to New York, but it would’ve taken too long. My interview with StoneHaven Publishing is on Monday – only three days away. I need time to prepare for it. As confident as I am that I would make a great fit, there’s still the possibility of not getting the job. I’m sure my mother would love to hear that I’m coming back home. She wants me to follow my dreams, but only if that includes catching a husband and staying in California.

Saying goodbye to my mother was painful. Each time I carried one of my luggage bags outside, she made a face like I had just killed one of her non-existent grandbabies. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Miles is a really big douche and that we’re done. I may have told her a little white lie. She asked me if we we’re on a break, and I kind of nodded my head yes. I’m not sure if lying to her about it is any better, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear her complain that I’m never going to get married. She loves to remind me that I’ll probably die a spinster. At the current moment, that doesn’t sound too bad. I can almost see my name in the papers. Rebecca Gellar, spinster with five cats, dies after Hollywood breakup. Speaking of Hollywood, I definitely need a welcomed distraction from this plane ride, so catching up on my latest celebrity gossip sounds like heaven. Reading the celebrity magazine STARS is my newest guilty pleasure.

I flip through the latest issue and cringe at the sight of a paparazzi photo of Miles and Scarlett cuddling close together at our favorite pastry & coffee shop on Melrose. They seem to be Hollywood’s latest IT couple. I know I’m better off without Miles’ cheating ass, but it still hurts to see them together. As I scan down to the picture of Scarlett and Miles to read the article beside it, my heart jolts at the bolded word: ENGAGED. We’re nearly 40,000 feet in the air, but I can still feel my whole world plummet as I read over the details of the article: “Hollywood TV star Miles Storm and co-star Scarlett Jones are engaged.” My eyes begin to water at the zoomed in picture of Scarlett’s ring.

The real zinger is the fact that Miles gave her a ring. We were engaged almost six months and he had been dragging his feet to buy me an engagement ring. I guess our relationship was never really meant to last. I can’t believe he tried to feed me his bullshit about how Scarlett didn’t mean anything to him. Apparently, she meant a lot more than I did.

The voice of the airplane’s captain comes in muffled over the intercom, drawing me from my thoughts. I strain to hear him over the general noise of the plane and only manage to catch three words: STORM and STRONG WINDS. My hand immediately goes to my seatbelt just in time to fasten it as the plane is hits a major gust of wind. The whole body of the airplane shakes, causing my glass of champagne to teeter and spill over. The dip of the plane sends a familiar but strange sensation through my stomach. It’s like free-falling on a rollercoaster decline.