Breaking Her (Love is War #2) (23 page)

I was floored, but pretty thrilled.
 
He'd really fire David Watts?
 
Is that what he meant?
 

I opened my mouth to respond, because hell, I'd find someone, but David interrupted with a grownup hissy fit.
 

Apparently he wanted this job, too.

David probably wasn't a terrible person.
 
He was just out of touch with reality.
 
And normalcy.
 
Something I figured a lot of famous people suffered from.
 
I'd have bet money from what I'd seen on set that he surrounded himself with people who only told him how awesome he was, that he was the most special snowflake of all of the special snowflakes.

People that never let him know when he was acting like an entitled douchebag.

He wasn't even a bad actor.
 
He had a limited range, as most too good-looking men do, but what he played, he played well.
 
He'd just decided to be a dick to me since the first day we'd met, and he couldn't hide it even when the cameras were rolling.

I was still a little bummed about it.
 
I'd been excited to meet him, more excited when he wanted me to come over to his house to rehearse together.

About two hours and a few drinks later into that first meeting he'd asked me (way too bluntly and without an ounce of charm) if I wanted to fuck, and I'd politely turned him down.
 

Okay, polite maybe wasn't the word.
 
I'd
tried
to be polite, but I'm sure my version of a polite no had come across more than a touch sarcastic.
 
And likely mocking.
   

He hadn't taken the rejection well.
 
I honestly didn't think he knew how to deal with it.
 
So he turned it on me.
 
Told everyone I was difficult to work with while taking exception to every word that came out of my mouth.
 

I ignored it and tried my best not to let it show that I couldn't stand him when the cameras were rolling.
 
I thought I succeeded.
 

David didn't even try.
 
I don't know if he thought he could bully me into wanting to sleep with him, or if he was just that unprofessional.
 

One thing was for sure.
 
Before today no one had dreamed there was a chance he could be fired.
   

"I don't want to fire you," Stuart told him when David had calmed enough to let someone else get a word in.
 
"I don't
want
to.
 
I just may
need
to.
 
Scarlett is electric.
 
She's magic.
 
Incandescent.
 
She
gives me life.
 
She's my muse, and she was made for this part, but as soon as I put you together, everything goes flat.
 
Flat
!
 
I can't have it be flat, David.
 
Tell me how I can keep from firing you."
   

That little speech, and fear of losing the role, seemed to help.
 
David tried harder.
 
Became more civil with the next take, like a light had been switched on.
 
A big heaping of humble pie had been just what the doctor ordered.
 

What a spoiled brat.
 

When we finished another take it was to a spattering of applause and eccentric Stu blowing kisses into the air.
 

I was almost disappointed.
 
I'd have loved to replace David with Anton or, hell, just about anyone, but if he was going to behave himself, I wouldn't be a butt about it.

We were taking a short break while we waited for setup on the next scene when my phone started ringing.
 

It was Bastian.
 
I took a deep breath and answered.
     

"I can't find Dante," he began.
 

I closed my eyes, rubbing my temple with my free hand.
 
"He's here," I told him.
 

"What do you mean by here?"
 

"Somewhere in town.
 
Or at least he was a few days ago."

Bastian cursed.
 
"Damnit, I should have guessed.
 
If you see him again, tell him I need him to call me.
 
He needs to pull it together."
   

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked pointedly.
 
If Dante knew I was talking to his brother, no matter the reason, I had no doubts it would send him into a jealous rage.
 

"I see your point," Bastian admittedly wryly.
 
"Well, if you see him, will you figure out what he's doing there, where he's staying, and then let me know?"
 

"If I see him, yes, I will."
   

I stared at my phone long after the call had ended.

Would I see Dante again?
 
Did I want to?

I was able to answer the first question much sooner than I'd imagined, as the next time I went to my trailer for a break, I found Dante sprawled out on my sofa.
 
Again.

And he was stinking drunk.
 
Again.
   

I didn't think it was the alcohol racing through his system, though, that made it so he couldn't meet my eyes.
 

He'd come here to see me, and he couldn't even look at me.
 

I'm not sure how that would have made me feel a few months ago, or even weeks, but with what I now knew, it made me feel wretched.

And angry.
 
Confused and conflicted.
 
Wounded and lost.
 

But also, it touched me deeply.
   

How long had he been living this double life, stuck in purgatory, trapped in a vicious web of lies, completely alone?

Protecting me from everything.
   

I, frankly, didn't even
want
to know.
 
It is much easier to hate someone who you're certain has wronged you than it is to hate yourself.
 

And I was very afraid that if I knew just how far back his lies went, my self-hatred would know no bounds.
 

"Dante," I said, my voice so soft that it forced him to look at me, his entire drunken face registering a sort of endearing surprise, like he'd forgotten where he even was.
 

"You look like hell."
 
That being said, he made hell look good.
 
His hair was messy, more scruff on his jaw than usual.
 
I was still wearing the evidence of that scruff on my thighs from his last visit, and no, that wasn't a complaint.

No suit for him today, instead he was wearing gray sweats and a zip-up hoodie that was open wide enough at the neck to expose his defined collarbone and the top of his muscular chest.
 
And the
cursed
chain that he never took off.
 
Also, there was enough bared skin that I suspected he wasn't wearing a shirt under.
 
If he weren't drunk, I'd have assumed he just came from a workout.
 
He was dressed for it, down to his running shoes.
 

"How do you keep getting past security?"
 
I was mostly curious about it.
 
I'd had to jump through hoops to get on set the first few times, they were so strict.
 
How did he get so lucky?

"They think I'm your boyfriend."

"Why would they think that?" I asked him, but I knew the answer.

"Because I told them so.
 
And I bribed them."
 

At least he was honest.
 
For once.
   

"What are you doing here?" I asked him point blank.
   

His shaking hand pushed his hair impatiently back from his face.
 
"I'm here for the same reason I always come back to you.
 
I've come for scraps.
 
Anything you'll give me.
 
I've come because I
can't stay away.
" His voice was low and hoarse from the drink, but thick and dark with emotion.
 
"I tried to.
 
Don't you know that I'm always trying to stay away?
 
It doesn't matter.
 
It never works.
 

There was a time in the not so distant past that his words would have set me off, thrown me into a temper that would have left us both bloody.
 

But something had changed.
 
Something that terrified and excited me both.
 

Something that utterly destroyed me.
 

Something that made me whole again.
   

I did not know how far all of his betrayals ran, how deep or shallow his lies, but I was starting to realize that in one respect, at least, it didn't matter.

Some part of my pathetic heart was going soft for him again.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"'Love' is the name for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete."

~Plato

Without another word I went to make us both a cup of coffee.
 
My hands were shaking badly, but either he didn't notice, or he was polite enough not to comment on it.
 

"Are you in town long?" I asked him as I offered him his cup.
 

He took it with a soft thank you, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes downcast.
 
"I don't know.
 
I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore, Scarlett.
 
That is a fact."
     

I stood over him, studying him.
 
I'd forgotten how thick his eyelashes were, double-rowed and darker than his hair.
 
I'd forgotten how well defined his lush top lip was, how broad his shoulders were, so muscular they flexed even when he made a movement as small as taking a drink of his coffee.

I'd forgotten that when he showed me the tiniest glimmer of vulnerability, it made me go weak as a babe.
   

I'd
forced
myself forget so many things about him, and I wondered, hardly daring to even
hope
, if it could be different now.
 

Was there some chance that I could turn my bitter memories sweet again?
 
Not all of them.
 
Of course not.
 
But perhaps some?
 

I still didn't know.
   

Everything had changed, but the future was more uncertain than ever.

I stroked a hand oh so softly over his hair, and his entire big body tensed as though bracing for a blow.
   

He had good instincts.
 
"I know, Dante."
 
My voice was quiet, but the tremulous intensity of it reverberated through the room.
 
"I
know
."

"I don't have the faintest notion what you're talking about."
 
Slowly and carefully, he set his coffee down on the side table to his right.
 

"You're such a liar," I told him almost playfully, because
for once
I had the upper hand.

Finally, that had him looking up at me, meeting my eyes without flinching.
       

"Who have you been talking to?"
 
The question came out careful, his tone measured.
 
Deceptively harmless.
 

I wasn't fooled.
 
His face was bland, still, except for his eyes.
 
They were telling me a different story.
 

A story of rage and violence.
 
Of his temper boiling, unchecked, just under the surface.
 

If I gave him a name, told him who had clued me in . . .
 

Heads would roll.
 

"That's the least relevant thing you could ask," I finally answered, an evasion, but one I knew would be effective.
 

"I don't agree.
 
Who?"
 
The bland veneer was slipping from his voice.
 

"I'll answer one of your questions, but not that one."
 
My voice was almost teasing.
   

He licked his lips and it was an effort not to bend down and kiss him.
 
"What do you mean?"

I was in dangerous territory now.
 
My urge to heal him was becoming as strong as my need to harm him.
   

"The answer is yes," I uttered softly.
 
It hurt my tattered heart to get the words out, but I could not seem to keep them in.
     

Confusion drew his brows together, his brilliant eyes studying my face.
 
"Yes to what?"
 

"Yes.
 
I do love you as much as I hate you."
 

Something happened to his face; it fell and lifted as a shudder wracked through him.
 
"Jesus," he whispered, again and again as he grabbed me, burying his face in my stomach, his big arms wrapping around me.
 

My voice was grating, as brittle as breaking glass, as I added, "It is a near draw, the love and the hate, but it could tip either way.
 
I'm
done
with the lies, Dante.
 
I have some questions, and you are
going to answer them."

He didn't let go of me, didn't flee this time.