BLOCK: Social Media #3 (13 page)

I
TURN
over in bed, still lost in my dream about Grace. She’s in a white dress surrounded by twinkling lights and there’s music playing. I take her hand and draw her to me, my eyes never leaving hers, and then I cup her face fully in my palms and kiss her mouth in a way I’ve never done before. So thorough. So soft. So lingering.

And she lingers too, like this kiss is the first.

We kiss like it’s the first time ever.

I reach out to her in bed, unwilling to leave the dream, yet wanting her close. But all I get is empty sheets.

I bolt up. “Grace?”

“In here,” she calls and my racing heart immediately calms down. She comes out of the bathroom a few seconds later, brushing her hair. “It’s Kristi’s wedding day and she’s freaking out. I need to get down to the dressing room and calm her down.”

“OK,” I say, swinging my feet out of bed.

She glances down to my morning wood and smirks. “Apparently you are not the invisible man this morning.”

“Completely visible,” I joke back. “We need to talk, Grace. Before you run off for this wedding. I just need you to understand that whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

“What are you talking about?” She bends over to slip on her shoes and I ogle her ass. “You’re here for me about what?”

I grab my trousers off the chair and slip them on. “Your childhood.”

“My childhood?” she asks, her attention immediately on me. “What about it?”

I just stare at her. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what? Jesus, Asher, I don’t have time for this. I have a wedding—”

“Asher? Why are you getting defensive with me? Last night we were talking and I asked you about your childhood and you insisted that if I dropped it, you’d tell me as soon as we woke up.”

“I did no such thing,” she says, walking out of the bedroom.

I follow her out. “You absolutely did. Last night, we were celebrating with champagne after we had mind-blowing vanilla sex—”

“Well, champagne makes me crazy drunk. That’s why I started drinking margaritas. You should just forget everything I said because chances are I was talking out my ass.”

“Fuck that.”

She whirls around at my language. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck. That. We had a fucking awesome night, Grace. And then you wake up this morning and tell me to forget about it because of some stupid excuse about champagne? Fuck that.”

She gives me a short laugh. “You can drop all the f-bombs you want, Asher. I’ve got nothing to say about my childhood. It was perfect. My parents were perfect.”

“Obviously not, Grace. They’re dead. So something happened and it’s affected you and your ability to commit. You told me so last night.”

Her mouth flies open to make a perfect O shape, like I just stunned the shit out of her. “I just explained to you, I don’t remember anything and I know for a fact I must’ve been wasted out of my mind if I was telling you that kind of stuff. So sorry, I’m not talking about my childhood.”

“If it was so goddamned perfect, why are you hiding it?”

“I’m not hiding it! I told you back on Saint Thomas, we were middle-class perfect. And you know what?” She points her polished finger up at my face. “Fuck you for bringing my dead parents into this. That is so rude.”

She makes for the door and I grab her by the wrist. “You’re not leaving here. You don’t get to just say,
Whoops, I can’t remember last night
, and walk the fuck out.”

“Watch me,” she snarls back. “And that hurts,” she says, yanking her arm. I let go of her wrist before I leave a bruise and she walks towards the door.

“Grace, wait.”

“I can’t, Asher! I have a fucking wedding to get to, OK? I’m here working, ya know. I have a job. It’s a fucking weekday, for fuck’s sake. I’m busy.” And then she pulls the room door open and walks through.

I follow her. “Just hold on a second. How much do you remember about last night?”

She punches the button for the elevator and taps her foot. She’s still wearing that blue work dress and in the light of day, with her hair brushed out and all her makeup washed off her face, she does, in fact, look like a woman going to work. “Nothing,” she rockets back, before she even thinks about the question.

“That’s not even possible. Tell me the last thing you remember.”

“Dinner, at the restaurant. After you won me in a poker game.”

Fuck. You have got to be kidding me. “It was baccarat. And I know you remember more than that. We came up here, we had dinner up here. Remember? We didn’t eat at that restaurant. We came up here and you sat in my lap—”

“And then I told you about my childhood? I highly doubt that, Asher. I don’t talk about it. It hurts too much. I lost my parents and then I moved on.” She whirls around to look me in the eye for this part. “I do not talk about it. So if you are trying to trap me and make me think that I promised to tell you things, that’s not going to happen.”

I just stare at her. I’m living a nightmare. I’m seriously living a nightmare. Where do I even start to explain? We had all these conversations and now she can’t remember? “I already know what happened, Grace. I told you last night, Felicity found some things locked way in your juvenile record—”

She slaps me across the face. “You’re spying on me!” She slaps me again, harder. “How fucking dare you spy on me! It’s one thing to give me money to dole out to charities, or fill my Starbucks card up with enough cash to buy five years’ worth of coffee. But to actually have that girl dig through my sealed fucking records! You have gone too far, buddy.”

The elevator dings and the doors open. It’s empty, thank God. Grace storms in and then turns around, trying to block me from joining her. “No way,” she says, her arms outstretched across the doorway, trying to prevent me from entering. “I need to go to work and you’re not following me there.”

I push right past her and then grab her hand before she can storm out of the elevator. “Let go,” she says. “Or I will scream.”

The doors close and I let go as we descend. “No, I’m not letting you run away this time, Grace. You’re mine now and I’m responsible for you. We’re having this conversation and your friend’s wedding can wait.”

“It’s my job, Asher—”

“Quit fucking calling me that. It’s insulting and you know it.”

“Oh, now I have to call you master in public too?”

I scrub my hands down my face and let out a long breath. “Look, let’s just start this day over, OK? Last night was so perfect, it’s a shame to spoil it. We can talk about your childhood later.”

“We’re not talking about anything, Asher. In fact, I think this whole movie-star crush thing has run its course. I’m not gonna see you again.”

“What? You’re crazy. So I know what happened to you. Who cares? Just talk to me about it. I know they let you off and the charges were dropped.”

Her mouth literally falls open.

“Grace, I told you I know.”

“What do you know?” she growls. “What do you think you know?”

“I know that whatever happened, you didn’t kill them.” She turns completely white and I almost get sick watching her come to terms with this. “Grace, just calm down, would you? It’s OK, I know there has to be a good explanation for whatever happened. So just tell me what it is.”

The doors ding open and we find a crowd of people waiting for the elevator. Grace darts out, stopping to look left and right. “I didn’t want to come to the lobby.”

“We never pushed the button, it brought us here.” I take her arm gently and lead her away from the crowds. I have no shirt on, and I’m regretting that immediately. I’m regretting coming down here at all, because people are beginning to recognize me. “Grace, come with me. The media is probably around. I don’t want you—”

“Mr. Asher!” they start yelling from down the hall.

I look back at the elevators, but none are available. “Grace, stay close, baby. We gotta make a run for it.”

She yanks free from my embrace and turns to point at me again. I draw back a little, afraid she’s gonna start with the slapping. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you spy! You have no right to pry into my personal life. None. I’m appalled and sickened that you would stoop so low. Kill them? You think I killed them? Fuck you! Just fuck you!”

She starts crying and then the paparazzi are upon us. Cameras flash and questions are begin shouted.

“Mr. Asher, what will your pregnant girlfriend think of this new development?”

“Vaughn, over here! Give us a statement about last night!”

They go on and on like that. I grab Grace and pull her through the crowd. “Come on! We can grab a taxi at the front and get out of here.” She fights me all the way, but I hold firm this time. I might bruise her, but if I let go, they will swarm us and who knows how badly she could get hurt if that happens.

“Vaughn!” she screams. “Stop. I have to go to work!”

Fucking work. How the hell does she think she’s just going to go back to work today? Jesus, it’s like she forgot everything that happened last night. I drag her into the main lobby, heading straight for the door, when another barrage of paparazzi ambushes us.

“Grace! Grace!” they start calling, and this is when I know it’s gonna get ugly.

“Don’t stop, Grace. Just keep going. Don’t say a word.”

“What?” she shouts up at me. “What’s going on?”

“Is it true you murdered your parents, Grace?”

She stops dead. She just shuts down. This question is like a slap and all I see in that moment when she realizes her secret is out, not only to me, but the world, is blind panic.

I see my sister Sam, so fragile at age sixteen when the media found out a secret about her too. But Sam has us. Sam has our father, the powerful Adam Asher. Sam had the support of professionals who knew who to handle these things. And Sam’s secret was never told.

But Grace…

I see her life changing before her eyes. Maybe even ruined.

I see humiliation, and fear, and depression.

“Why did you kill them, Grace? Did you kill your brother too? Did they do something?” The media is relentless. They never stop. Once they draw blood, they circle like sharks.

She shuts down, so I swoop her up into my arms and push my way through the crowd, aiming for the valet area. The flashbulbs are going off—so many pictures, that’s all I think about. I don’t even want to imagine the headlines tomorrow. She will be all over the news. Her private life gone, ripped away like it surely must’ve been back when she was a teenager.

History repeats.

“Don’t worry, Grace,” I whisper into her ear. “I’ll handle everything. I have lawyers and a team of PR people who will manage this for us.”

She kicks her feet, twisting wildly in my arms, making me lose my grip and forcing me to set her down before she falls.

“Get off me, Asher!” she screams. “Just leave me the fuck alone. Do you hear me? You asshole! Ten years I’ve lived a nice quiet life and a few weeks with you unravels my whole world. I fucking hate you!”

“Grace!” a voice yells out from the valet area. “Grace! Over here!”

Grace turns, searching for the voice. And then she bolts off in the direction of a white Mercedes SUV.

The media follow her and suddenly the space around me is empty.

Grace climbs into the car and it speeds away.

She’s gone.

Again.

Chapter Thirteen

“W
HAT
are you doing?” I ask. Kristi weaves around a camera crew and flips them off in the rearview after barely missing running them over. “We’re gonna kill someone. And you’re supposed to be getting married!”

“No! I can’t do it, Grace. I’m not gonna do it.” She’s wearing a white terrycloth robe and her hair is a bit disheveled from the excitement. “I gotta get out of here, like now.”

I hold on as she takes a corner at a crazy fast speed. “Slow down!” She peels out onto the Strip and we promptly get stuck at a red light.

“Shit!” she says, her little fists slamming against the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Yeah, if you’re trying to get somewhere fast in Vegas, you don’t take the Strip. She honks her horn and then changes lanes, waves her fist at someone behind us, gets over another lane, and then turns right at the first street and then doubles back around behind the Bellagio.