Chapter 1
Violet
“So how was your trip?” Eleanor, my personal assistant, asks.
“It was . . . fine. Good, even,” I manage, struggling to get that last part out.
Three weeks ago my husband came home and told me to pack my bags, that we were going away. He needed a break from the rigors of Hollywood and filming. Since his last movie had just wrapped, I was all too happy to spend three weeks away from it all.
The last four years have been a whirlwind for us. We went from Dylan being an out-of-work actor to him getting huge roles. But the money, fame, and constant hounding from the paparazzi were not something I was prepared for.
I hoped—for him—his break would come, but this has been out of my wildest dreams.
“That’s good,” she says as she grabs her tablet. “Do you want anything else from the store?”
“I would just prefer to go to the store, Eleanor. You don’t need to run errands like that.”
This is the part of it that I hate. The feeling of being trapped. When my husband and I were in the islands, it was like the world didn’t exist. For the last three weeks, we could go out, have dinner, and not be bothered. It was truly amazing in that regard.
What wasn’t amazing was that Dylan ignored me half the time. He was always on his phone, always talking to his agent or publicist. I get it—he’s important—but I miss having a husband.
I miss . . . him, or at least the man he used to be.
“I know you can, Mrs. Leone, but this is my job. I’ll get the stuff for dinner. I know Mr. Leone requested chicken from that spot near where you used to live. I’ll make that drive and then get whatever else you need.”
I internally roll my eyes. Of course he wants her to drive an hour to get chicken. “You don’t have to go near the pier—he can deal with whatever chicken you find from here,” I say, sitting on the bed with a smile. “Truly, he’ll never realize.”
I wish people got to know the Dylan I knew. The one who would laugh as we made late-night fast-food runs. The guy who never cared about the name on a label and just bought what was on sale. The idea of a personal assistant was comical to him. Now he has a whole staff and has decided that I, at least, need Eleanor.
“It’s not a problem. His assistant is busy, and we’re a team.”
Right. We’re a team.
Too bad it doesn’t feel like I’m part of that team.
I’m on the outside. The wife who isn’t in the industry. The wife who doesn’t want to put on a full face of makeup to run to the store. Who doesn’t stand the right way so that they get the good angles. The wife who gets shredded online by people she’s never met and is told she’s not good enough for him.
I hoped when we were on our trip, I’d find that man I married seven years ago, the one who didn’t care about any of that, who just loved me.
And he was in there at times.
Even the one night we had sex, it was perfunctory and distant. There was no connection between us, and as soon as we were done, he was back on his phone and ignoring me. I rolled over and cried silently until I fell asleep.
I sigh heavily and smile at Eleanor, knowing this isn’t a battle I’ll win. “Okay, he should be home in a few hours, so just let me know when you’re heading out.”
“Do you need me to unpack for you?”
“Thank you, Eleanor. Truly I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that.” I’m perfectly capable of unpacking and doing things around the house, regardless of how much money we have.
“I don’t mind.”
I smile warmly at her. “I know, but if you have to go get him his special chicken, it’s going to take you at least an hour. You can go, and I’ll do whatever I need to here.”
She nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Drive safe.”
Eleanor leaves and I head upstairs. I unpack and put a load of laundry in—which I know will cause a stir, because the housekeeper keeps telling me I don’t need to do it. Then I make the bed because, I swear, it feels better at night when you get in a made-up bed.
There’s nothing else to do, so I make a bag of popcorn and plop my ass on the couch. I turn on the television and then hear the vibration of my cell phone, which I apparently left upstairs.
Crap.
I leap off the couch and run up the ridiculously polished staircase, focusing on not cracking my head open as I rush in case it’s my parents, who are out of the country. But I miss the call anyway.
It was my best friend, Analeigh.
I get back downstairs, and before I can press the button to return her call, I freeze.
The phone begins to ring again.
But, I swear, I can’t even register it.
My eyes are glued to the television as one photo slides to another.
“It can’t be,” I whisper, my throat growing tight.
The first photo comes back again, and the headline crawling across the bottom makes my bile rise.
Dylan Leone and Whitney Reisinger—a real-life couple after their movie? It seems so!
The phone begins to vibrate in my hand, and I answer: “Hello?”
“Violet! Are you okay? I just saw . . .” Analeigh is talking quickly.
“It’s a lie, Ana. It’s not . . . true. It can’t be. True? Can it? I mean, this is photoshopped, right?”
I keep seeing Dylan’s hand on her hip as he kisses her. It’s probably an on-set photo. But . . . that’s not the set. That’s a beach.
They filmed the movie in the mountains a few weeks ago.
Another photo of Whitney and him, lying together, holding hands as she is taking the selfie, rolls onto the screen.
Another—this time he’s wearing only a towel, and he’s winking.
“I’m not sure,” Ana says, but the tone tells me she’s sure.
A tear trails down my cheek as my heart and my head get on the same page.
It’s all true.
The gossip reporter appears on the screen and talks to the host. I turn the volume up.
“I mean, I’m not surprised, are you?” the reporter asks.
“I am a little. Wasn’t he just on vacation with his wife?”
The first girl nods. “He was, which is why I bet these got leaked now. I’m sure Whitney was none too happy finding out her man was on the beach with his wife.”
“Say that aloud one more time,” the other host says with a laugh. “Her man? I mean, I feel bad for his wife.”
“Look, Dylan Leone is the hottest thing in Hollywood right now. I’m not saying she should’ve expected this, but I’m not not saying she should’ve seen it coming.”
I sink down on the floor, holding the remote, not even knowing whether Ana is still on the phone as I cry.
I didn’t see it coming.
I didn’t know he was cheating on me. For how long? Why? What did I do other than support him?
I gave him everything. I left my job. My life. My family. All to come here for him.
Everything was about him, and then this is what I get?
My phone rings again, and I glance down. The photo of us just three days ago pops up. Dylan is calling.
How nice of him? Dickhead.
I throw the phone as hard as I can, watching as it shatters, pieces of glass sliding against the hard floor. The shards mimicking my heart.
Broken.
There’s nothing that man can say that I want to hear. Nothing that could make any of this okay.
He used me. We had sex just a few days ago, and he was sleeping with another woman.
The sick feeling in my stomach gets heavier, and I rush to the bathroom, where I empty my stomach.
I hate him.
I hate that I ever loved him and trusted him.
I don’t know how long I sit on the floor in the bathroom. The tears keep falling as my entire life slips away in front of me.
“Violet!” I hear Analeigh calling. “Violet? Where are you?”
I stand, forcing myself out of the bathroom and moving toward my best friend, who’s standing in my entryway. When we see each other, we stop.
Tears are filling my vision, making it hard to see, but it doesn’t matter, because she rushes toward me a moment later. Analeigh’s arms are around me, holding me as I sob. “How could he do this?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m stupid. I’m so stupid.”
She pulls back. “Listen to me right now. You are not stupid. You did nothing wrong. Nothing! This is all his fault, and I swear to God, you say the word and we’ll find a spot in the desert to let his body be eaten by the vultures. Remember, that country girl band left us instructions in that song about Earl or whatever.”
Ana manages to pull a smile from me, which I didn’t think was possible. “What do I do now?”
She brushes my tears away and takes my hands. “Do you want to stay here tonight or somewhere else?”
“I don’t want to be here. I can’t see him.”
“Okay, then let’s go pack a bag, and you’ll come stay with me and Nick. He’s in surgery tomorrow, so we will have the house to ourselves and we can figure out a plan.”
With blurry vision, I nod and turn to head back to the bedroom. With each step I take up the stairs, I feel the sadness leaving me and being replaced with anger. After everything I did for him, after staying with him even when I wanted to leave.
For putting up with his neglect, his selfish habits, and the way he let me wither into the background for his gain.
I stand in the bedroom, feeling so many emotions and at a loss for what to do now. What do I take? Everything here feels—tainted.
“Vi?”
I inhale a shaky breath. “I don’t need anything. Please, just get me out of here.”
Analeigh pulls me to her side and walks me back down the stairs. “Where is your phone?” she asks.
“In pieces, just like my life.”
“Okay, then. I’ll text Eleanor so she knows you’re okay. I’m sure she’s tried to call.”
Yes, I’m sure she has. I can only imagine she’s freaking out on her way back to me.
Analeigh grabs my purse, and then she ushers me out the door. Just as we get to her car, Dylan’s car pulls up, blocking her in.
Oh God, I . . . no.
“Get in the car, Vi,” she says, squeezing my shoulder.
“Violet! Wait, let me explain!” Dylan says as Ana gets me to the passenger door. “Violet, please.”
“Explain? What are you going to say? Is it true?” I ask, whipping around to confront him. His face falls, and I realize what a shitty actor he is. “You can’t even pretend.”
“I don’t want to lie to you.”
I laugh once. “Fuck you. You’ve been lying for God only knows how long.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he says, and I don’t even know what that means, but I’ve had enough. I glance at Ana, and she wordlessly hears my plea to get me out of here and away from him.
“No one wants to hear a fucking word you have to say, Dylan. You’ve made your bed, so go find your mistress and lie in it.”
Ana gets me inside her car, closing the door, and then turns on him. “Move your car.”
“Not until I know what she wants.”
“What she wants?” Ana screams. “She wanted a husband who didn’t break her fucking heart. She wanted a husband who didn’t take her away to the islands, all the while preparing to ruin everything she thought she knew. She wanted a good man, which you’re clearly not. She wanted fidelity, which you didn’t give her. So now what she wants is for you to move your fucking car so she doesn’t have to see your lying ass.”
If I wasn’t so numb, I would be clapping for her. Every girl needs a friend like Analeigh.
He turns away from her, coming to my window. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
I look down at my hands, refusing to give him any more of my time. He’s wasted enough of it already.
Ana opens her door. “You know what, Dylan? I’ve warned you.”
Then my best friend gets in the car and calls her husband. “Nick? How much do you love me?”
He hesitates. “More than you know, why?”
“I’m about to fuck some shit up, and it’s going to cost us some money.”
Nick chuckles. “Do you have Violet?”
“I do.”
“Will this costly thing piss Dylan off and make Violet happy?”
She grins and starts the car. “It will.”
“Then have at it, my love.”
Ana has the widest smile I’ve seen on her. “Thanks, babe.” Her eyes meet mine. “Fuck him.” Then she maneuvers the car around Dylan’s, driving over the landscaping he paid a fortune for. She stops and looks back at the tread marks, then shrugs, puts the car in reverse, and slams into his before going back into drive and flipping him off out the window as she leaves.
“Fuck him,” I say as I watch what once was my sanctuary fade away behind me, knowing where I want to go to feel safe again.
Even if returning to Ember Falls means I have to face my past.
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