Chapter 38

CHAPTER38

SCARLETT

I’m . . .

Stunned.

“What did you think?”

I turn to look at my mother, who has a vaguely smug look on her face. As if she knew all about this and had all the faith in the world that I would be floored. Which I am. I can’t believe he said what he said.

Tate is in love with me.

And he just declared it on national television.

“He sounded so good,” I say, my voice small.

But he didn’t look . . . great. He seemed nervous. Worried. Tired. His face was a little pale and he was unshaven. Oh, he didn’t look bad. He’s still incredibly handsome and charming, but I know him well enough. Spent a lot of time with him, especially lately.

He seemed stressed. Worried about his performance?

Worried about me seeing it?

“He wrote that song for you, Scarlett,” Mom murmurs. “He called me and we spoke earlier.”

“You talked to Tate?” I squeak.

She nods. “He wanted to ask me for forgiveness for duping us, and he wanted to thank me and your father for giving him the opportunity to perform at your party. It changed his life, he said.”

“Because of his career?”

“Because he met you,” she says gently. “He’s in love with you. And when he told me those exact words, I swear I thought he was going to cry. His voice was brimming with emotion. He misses you so much.”

My eyes fill with tears. I miss him too. “Why didn’t he call me?”

“He wanted to make sure you believed him. What better way to make a declaration of love than on late-night television?” Mom laughs.

“He didn’t need to make it such a public spectacle,” I murmur, loving that he did, though.

I think of the lyrics. How he’s lonely for me only.

I feel the same exact way. There’s no one else for me.

Just him.

“Do you love him?” Mom asks.

I nod, the tears starting to fall.

“You should call him.”

“But why won’t he call me?” I’m repeating myself, and maybe I’m being ridiculous. He’s made a move.

I suppose it’s my turn.

An exasperated sigh leaves my mother. “Just call him, Scarlett. Tell him how you feel.”

Grabbing my phone, I watch as she crosses the room and drops a kiss on my forehead, smiling down at me. “You’re so lucky.”

“Why?”

“To be so young and madly in love. You found a good one, darling.”

Before I can say anything in response, she exits the room, leaving me alone, and I stare at the phone for a moment before I bring up Tate’s number. I stare at the contact page, his name becoming blurred the longer I look. My nerves paralyze me completely. I want to call him.

I do.

But what if . . .

What if what? All my worry is futile. He won’t reject me. He’s probably waiting for me. Anxious.

Giving in, I hit the button, and the phone begins to ring.

Tate answers on the second ring, breathless when he says my name.

“I saw your performance,” is what I greet him with.

He’s quiet for a second. “What did you think?”

“I loved it.” I pause, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “I love the new song.”

His laugh is full of relief, and I smile, wishing I were with him. “I wrote that for you, Scar. And I meant every word I said. I am lonely for only you.”

“Did you mean what you said to the host before you performed?” I clutch my phone tighter, needing to hear him say it.

“About being in love with you?” He exhales roughly. “I wish you were with me so I could say it to your face.”

“Well, you’re not. So say it now to me over the phone,” I demand, then realize how awful I sound. “Please,” I add, my voice a raw whisper.

He actually chuckles, and the sound washes over me, reassuring my chaotic thoughts.

“I love you, Scarlett. I fell in love with you, and I don’t want you to ever leave my side again. Come back to Los Angeles. Come back to me,” he says softly.

I close my eyes, exhaling with relief. “Tate.”

“I can’t stand not having you here with me. I miss you too damn much. And before you say something about photographers and reporters or whatever, just know they’ve left the house. They’re gone. They’ve moved on to the next scandal. Besides, how scandalous can we be, if we actually love each other? Because we do love each other, right?”

Oh, he sounds worried.

He’s so silly.

“I love you,” I whisper into the phone. “And I miss you.”

He’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice when he speaks.

“I love you too, Scar.” Only the slightest hesitation before he says, “Come back to me.”

* * *

Less than twelve hours later, and I’m in Los Angeles, having just landed thanks to my dad pulling a few strings that allowed me to use the Lancaster family jet to fly to California.

He didn’t even protest when my mother asked. I think they’ve both known this was going to happen. And I’m sure Tate redeemed himself in their eyes with last night’s performance.

I exit the plane, carefully walking down the steps, and I’m surprised to see a sleek black sports car waiting for me. The driver’s door swings open and Tate steps out, tall and handsome, clad in all black with sunglasses covering his eyes. He whips them off and our gazes connect, a giant smile curling his lips.

I drop the bag I was carrying on the tarmac and run toward him, throwing my arms out at the last second just as he swings me into his embrace. I cling to him, pressing my face against his chest and closing my eyes. Breathing in his familiar delicious smell, absorbing his heat and strength.

When I pull back slightly, he kisses me, stealing my breath. My thoughts.

My heart.

His hand shifts to cup my face as he stares into my eyes, never looking away as he murmurs, “Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

He kisses me again, like he can’t help himself. “You’re beautiful.”

“I missed you.”

“I love you,” he returns, the words so much more meaningful in person. When I’m staring into his eyes. Hearing his voice.

I’m smiling and crying at the same time. “I love you too.”

“Come on tour with me?” He raises his brows, his expression expectant.

Please. As if I could ever turn him down.

“Yes.” I nod, sniffing. His thumbs streak across my cheeks, wiping the tears away, his touch gentle. “I would love to.”

“We’re really going to do this, huh?” His smile is bright and blinding. Like the sun.

“Yes,” I whisper, leaning my cheek into his palm and closing my eyes for the briefest moment before I open them again, loving the way he looks at me. “We really are.”