25. Anthony

Chapter 25

Anthony

I made it back to the hotel around five thirty and knew as soon as I stepped into the lobby that something had happened.

The obligatory paparazzi and reporters were in the lobby and parking lot, most on cell phones or otherwise milling around like they were waiting for something else to happen. The hotel lobby was abuzz with rumors, and Jesse and Simone’s names were on everyone’s lips. Shit. Not good. Not good.

I hurried out of the lobby and upstairs and ran into Ranya outside the elevator.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Ranya gestured down the hall. “Jesse came in at oh dark thirty, and then he and Simone got in a fight that I think everyone in the building heard.”

I cringed. Definitely not good. “Where’s Jesse now?”

“Asleep, I guess.” She shrugged. “He left the room, swam for a while, then went back after Simone left. Haven’t seen either of them since, and he’s not answering his phone or door, so I assume he’s asleep.”

“Great.” I was way too tired to do anything remotely resembling damage control, but I’d made part of this bed, so I had to lie in it too. I pulled out my cell and muttered, “Guess we should see what word on the street is…”

“I’ve been afraid to look,” Ranya said. “Don’t even want to know what these idiots have to say.”

Scrolling through my browser, I said, “I don’t either, but—”

Oh. Fuck.

The first headline stopped my breath in my chest, but I got just enough air moving to murmur aloud, “‘Cameron: Abuse Crusader—or Victim?’What the hell…” I clicked to another news site and read, “‘Golden Couple, Iron Fist?’”

“What’s wrong?” Ranya craned her neck to look at my phone, and we both tensed as I scrolled farther: “‘Simone Lancaster’s Notoriously Violent Temper—Shocking Twist!’”

“Oh no,” I breathed. Heart in my throat, I continued down to the article. My exhausted eyes could barely make sense of the microscopic text, but it was the photo that almost knocked my knees out from under me.

Someone had snapped him walking down to the pool with his towel draped loosely around his shoulders, and like the shots of his bare ring finger, they’d zoomed in on his neck.

Ranya leaned in closer. “Is that…”

My throat constricted. Furrowing my brow, I stared, my heart pounding. That wasn’t just the light or some oddly placed shadow on the side of Jesse’s neck. No, there was no mistaking it:

A bruise .

An obvious, eyebrow-raising bruise.

Ice water filled my veins, and I damn near dropped my phone. Oh. Fuck. I knew we’d gotten carried away last night—that was, after all, the point—but I’d left a visible goddamned mark.

“I need to talk to him.” I started down the hall toward Jesse’s room.

“Do you want me to tell the press anything?” Ranya called after me.

“No,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll deal with them after I talk to Jesse. Just…” I stopped in my tracks. “Tell them Jesse isn’t available for comment yet. Leave it at that for now.”

She nodded. “Will do.”

As she went downstairs, I continued to Jesse’s room. When I knocked, I said, “Jesse, it’s Anthony. Open up.”

Movement on the other side of the door ratcheted up my heart rate. Did he know already? Had he heard? Had he seen the pictures?

The deadbolt clicked, and Jesse opened the door. He was dressed, but his eyes were red and his eyelids heavy, his damp hair disheveled, so he must have fallen asleep after his swim or a shower.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You don’t know?”

His eyes widened. “Know what?” He held my gaze for a moment, then cringed. “Fuck, I should’ve known this day would only get worse.” He stepped aside and gestured for me to come in. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s going on?”

As soon as the door was closed, I said, “We’ve got a problem. I…left marks.” I glanced around, making doubly sure we were alone in this empty room. In spite of being certain no one was around, I lowered my voice as much as I could. “I bruised your fucking neck.”

He reached for the side of his neck but kept his gaze locked on mine. “Where?”

I gestured around the back of my own neck. He reached back, mirroring me, and felt around with his fingers. When they brushed over the bruise, he flinched, and his lips parted. “Shit…”

“Yeah.”

“How bad does it look?”

“I don’t know. Let me see.”

Jesse took off his shirt and stepped into the light.

“Turn around,” I said.

From a distance, the one on his neck could be anything. On closer inspection, though, the thick, curving line definitely resembled the imprint of someone’s thumb. We’d have to get damned creative to convince the media and the voting public that the bruises came from anything other than a tight grip on his neck. Bruises that had to be explained away carefully, because rough sex with his boyfriend would go over about as well as a physical altercation with his wife.

And as my gaze drifted down his back, guilt burned hotter and hotter in my gut. Some marks were red, some starting to turn black and blue, and all were too distinctive to brush off as a trick of the light or a camera seeing something that wasn’t there. Especially the one on his hip. Just above his waistband, right where I’d gripped tighter and tighter while I’d fucked him just hours ago, the mark was undeniably a bruise.

“How bad is it?” he asked again.

I sighed. “I’d love to tell you they could be blamed on a smudge of something or…” Or what? What else could someone blame a mark like that on? “The media’s all over it already anyway.”

Jesse faced me. When our eyes met, the guilt cut deeper, and I dropped my gaze.

“Christ, I am so sorry, Jesse,” I said.

“It wasn’t your fault. It took two.”

“I know, but I should have…” I made a sharp, frustrated gesture in the air. “I got carried away and didn’t think. God, I am so—”

“Anthony.” He touched my face and leaned in to kiss me gently. “This wasn’t. Your. Fault.”

I rested my forehead against his and closed my eyes. “I still feel terrible.”

“We can’t change it,” he whispered. “But what do we do?”

I exhaled. “At this point, I’m not sure. The media’s jumping all over it and calling it spousal abuse, so—”

“ What? ” He jerked back and stared at me. “Spousal abuse? You’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “After people overheard you two fighting, and then saw the marks…”

“Oh, God. Simone.”

“Where is she?”

He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “She left. After we fought this morning, she was pissed, so she left. She’s…fuck, she’s probably heard by now.” Exhaling sharply, he stepped away and picked up his phone off the table. “I need to talk to her,” he said as he speed-dialed her. “She’s probably…shit, this is going to put her over the edge.”

I said nothing. Panic mingled with the guilt, and I silently prayed she hadn’t been driving or anything when she heard the news.

Jesse put the phone to his ear, and he paced across the floor, his brow furrowed as he muttered, “Come on, come on, pick up…”

I drummed my fingers just to keep myself from pulling out my lighter, because if I did that then I’d want to light a cigarette. The media, we could handle. Somehow, someway, I’d figure out how to do damage control, and this could be brushed off and glossed over just like any sensational story they dug their claws into. But placating the media was part of my expertise. Dealing with Simone? Not so much. She wouldn’t handle this well. Of that I had no doubt. And how could we help her? How could we even take the sting out? She’d probably never forgive either of us for this, and really, could I blame her?

Jesse cursed and tossed his phone on the bed. “She’s not answering. Fuck, I…I need to get home.”

“Go,” I said. “I’ll handle the media and everything here. Just go. Take care of her.”

He looked around the room, gaze drifting from one piece of luggage to the next, and I didn’t have to ask what was on his mind.

“Jesse.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “Don’t worry about packing. Just go. I’ll take care of everything here.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just stared at me like he had to process what I’d said. Then he nodded. “Right. Okay. I’ll…I guess I can borrow Ranya’s car again. She’s probably—”

I took my keys out of my pocket and pressed them into his palm. “Take mine.” I cupped his face in both hands and kissed him lightly. “ Go. ”

“Thank you, Anthony. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I kissed him again, then gently nudged him toward the door. “Now go. Simone needs you.”

Jesse gave me his room key and left. Alone in his hotel room, surrounded by his luggage and the sound of my pounding heart, I hoped to God he made it to her before she really went over the edge. I hoped I could figure out how to clean up this mess and assure the media all was well.

But ever the pessimist, I couldn’t make myself believe it.