I shuffle over to the stool beside her, spinning her around to face me as I sit. “Something changed since last night. What’s going on?”
“You’re asking a lot of me,” she mutters, tucking her chin into her knees. “I’m not so sure I’m strong enough for this.”
Her words slice through me with the ease of a scalpel. “You’re stronger than you think. All I ask is that you stay with me.”
“It’s not that easy!” she snaps, dropping her knees. “Your parents and your manager clearly hate me. This lifestyle—fancy hotels, private cars, and bodyguards—it’s completely foreign from what I know. And what happens when the groupies start coming around? Don't pretend that won’t be a problem because we both know it’s going to happen. I have no desire to compete with other women.”
“There’s no fucking competition.” I rest the palms of my hands on her thighs and lean in close so she can see the resolve in my expression. “What’s it going to take to prove to you I don’t want anyone else? There’s never been anyone else. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. And all that other shit—we’ll work through it together. I had nothing to do with this place. We can stay in cheap hotels for the rest of the tour if it’ll make you feel better. Normie’s an idiot, but I’ll make sure he’s not a problem. I know you can handle my bitch of a mother the way you shut her down yesterday.”
Something dark flickers through her expression. “And what about your father?”
I lean back, grinding my teeth together and running both hands through my hair. I hate thinking about that son of a bitch. “He won’t be a problem.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I let him have power over me for too fucking long. I won’t make that mistake again. He knows I don’t want anything to do with him, and he’s smart enough to stay the hell out of my life. I haven’t heard from him in years.”
She still looks unsure—scared even. I shake my head, wondering what it will take for her to believe that he can’t come between us like he did the summer he dragged me out of camp. “I promise I won’t let anything come between us, Belle. I love you, and I know you love me too. I can feel it in the way you touch me, the way you kiss me back. Why can’t you just fucking say it? Does it have something to do with what Chris did to you?” I stop to push her hair over her shoulder, dragging my fingertips along the silver strand of scar tissue beneath her ear. “Is that fucker the one who gave you this?”
Flinching, she knocks my hand away and lets her hair fall back over the mark. It’s like she’s pained by the truth. “Why does it matter?” she asks, her voice breaking with a small cry. “Why do you think we have to bare ourselves to each other? Maybe it’s best to leave the past where it belongs, Roman! There’s nothing that can be done now, so why the fuck do you want to talk about it? Why should we rehash shit that’s just going to break us a second time?”
“Because our stories are a part of who we are, and I want to be there for you now since I wasn’t there before.” I smooth her dark hair down with one hand and cup her wet cheek with the other. “I’ll never forgive myself for walking away from you in Vegas. I knew that Chris guy was a prick, but I just left you there with him. I wasn’t man enough to protect you, Belle, and I hate myself for it. I fucking hate that you were suffering and I didn’t do a goddamn thing about it!”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done, even if you stayed.” Then she pulls back to look me in the eye. “Besides, it’s not what you think, and I don’t need to give you another reason to hate me.”
“Fuck, Belle! I never hated you! How could you think that?”
Though I want to hunt that Chris asshole down and bust his head open for whatever he did, I take a deep breath instead, reminding myself that she’s not the one I’m angry with. I need to get my shit together and be strong. For her.
Lifting her hand, I press my lips to her palm, breathing her scent in while my eyes burn with unshed tears. “Don’t you get it yet? I love you more than anything. I always have and I always will. Nothing can change that.”
With a great shudder, she pulls away, her eyes dropping to the floor. I sense her hesitation, thick as smoke hanging in the air between us. What is she so fucking afraid of?
“I need to get ready for your grandmother’s,” she says before quickly exiting the room.
Sitting alone at the bar, I ball my hands into fists when hit with a wave of frustration. She might think the conversation is over, but I won’t stop until I have answers. Why does she have to be so damn stubborn? Why can’t she just admit that she loves me? Did I push her too hard by inviting her on this tour? And what the fuck did Chris do that she doesn’t want to talk about it? My gut hardens with the possibilities.