Ellie seems lost in her own head tonight. I imagine after the day she had, she doesn’t want to talk much, so we order room service, and Nico and I carry most of the conversation during dinner, with her offering a little input here and there.
When she excuses herself from the table after all three plates are cleared, Nico looks over at me with pursed lips.
“Is Ellie okay?”
“I think so.”
“She looks sad.”
I give his shoulder a squeeze. “She just had a long day.”
He seems satisfied enough with my answer to let it go, although I’m still thinking about her long after I put Nico to bed.
With a reluctant sigh, I text the one person who can help me with the Darius Larkin situation. I’ve heard enough about him to know he has connections I don’t.
I can already hear Julian yelling in my ear, telling me this is a bad idea, but I don’t care. Ellie is worth making a deal with the Lake Wisteria demon, so long as that piece of shit producer is irrevocably destroyed.
LORENZO
Isn’t this a lovely surprise.
ME
Just answer my question.
LORENZO
I *could* do what you want.
ME
What would you want in exchange?
LORENZO
What are you willing to give me?
Answering a question with another question? The man really was born for politics.
ME
Depends on how much you help me.
LORENZO
Give me a week and your endorsement.
ME
Done.
LORENZO
From you AND your cousin.
Fuck.
I text Julian about the request.
JULIAN
No.
ME
Please?
JULIAN
Everyone knows I can’t stand him.
ME
Exactly why he wants your endorsement.
ME
I wouldn’t be asking you for this if I didn’t need him.
The dots appear and disappear twice before his next message pops up.
JULIAN
I could help you.
ME
Help me by saying yes?
His text pops up a couple minutes later.
JULIAN
For the record, this is a terrible idea.
ME
But you’ll do it?
JULIAN
Yeah. I will.
My throat feels thick with emotion as I pull up the other text thread and reply.
ME
We’re in.
LORENZO
I’ll be in touch.
Today’s meeting with the lawyer not only filled me with anger about Ellie’s situation but it also made me curious about the songs that were stolen from her.
Rather than support Ava by streaming the music, I pull up the lyrics for each one and read them instead. One in particular called “Half Truths” catches my attention because of the lyrics that craft a story about a person who struggles to be honest with themselves and those they love.
Although I know it isn’t the case, it feels like this was written for someone like me, and I see avid fans praising Ava for her lyricism and vulnerability. For her courage.
It makes me sick to my stomach to know Ellie was the one who poured her heart out without ever getting recognition for her work. My revulsion intensifies as I pull up Ava’s latest song, “Silver Scars.” It’s clear to me that the newest hit was written by Ellie, and just like the others, she isn’t listed in the credits.
Tried to numb the pain with the bite of steel,
But only created new scars that never truly healed.
Turned my body into a broken masterpiece,
All because I needed temporary release.
I can’t make it past the first verse. It isn’t that I don’t want to continue reading, because I do, but doing so without Ellie’s consent feels wrong, especially when she had no part in releasing the song in the first place. While I have no idea why Ava chose to release it now, I can only assume it was meant to hurt Ellie one last time.
I lock my phone and stare up at the ceiling.
Fuck.
Is that how Ellie views herself? Like a broken masterpiece? Knowing she has spent God knows how long seeing herself like that makes me so angry that I lose all sense of control and head directly to Ellie’s room.
She isn’t a broken masterpiece, and if I need to prove it to her, I will.
Fuck boundaries and lines in the sand. My unrestrained emotions are like a wave, erasing them from existence.
I lightly knock on the wood door so as not to wake Nico. It swings open a few seconds later, and Ellie stands in front of me in another matching set of pajamas that hides her tattoos and scars from my view.
I hate it, especially now that I have a better idea of why she wears them.
“Are you okay?” Ellie asks.
“No.” I spit out the word before reminding myself to calm down. “Sorry. I’m just upset and needed to see you.”
She motions for me to enter before shutting the door behind me. “What’s wrong?”
“Will you do something for me?”
“Now? It’s ten p.m.”
I search the room for her guitar and hold it out for her to grab. “Here.”
She looks down at the instrument in confusion. “You want me to play a song?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to read about your silver scars. I want to hear you sing about them.”
Her grip on the guitar slips before she readjusts it. “No one was supposed to know about that song.”
I swallow back my anger. “But Ava betrayed you. Again.”
She nods.
“Will you sing it for me?” I ask in a soft voice.
“No.” She takes a step back and shakes her head. “I write songs—I don’t perform them.”
“What about the time you sang at Last Call?”
“That was an exception.”
“Then make one again. For me.”
She shakes her head.
I slip my hand beneath her shaky chin and lift it. “One time. That’s all I’m asking.” When she doesn’t answer me, I follow up with a strained, “Please?”
She stares up at me with glassy eyes. “Why?”
“Because it’s the one and only time I ever want to hear you call yourself a broken masterpiece.”
I need to hear her sing the lyrics once so I can confirm whether she really believes them herself.
I grab her hand and lead her toward the sitting area, where she gets settled while I take the couch cushion beside her. She drops her pick twice before she takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back. “I haven’t sung it in a long time.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I’m out of practice—” Her darty gaze lands on everything but me, so I cradle her face between my hands and force her to look at me.
“I. Don’t. Care.” Reluctantly, I release her and sit back on the couch, silently willing myself to take a few deep breaths.
I have no idea how the song is supposed to sound, but I should’ve known the melody would be somber.
“One time,” she says after pausing her fingerpicking.
“That’s all I need.” I shut my eyes and concentrate.
Her singing starts out so soft, I can hardly hear her over the guitar, but slowly, her voice, raspy from unuse at first, grows stronger, along with her confidence. It’s a stark contrast to the words she sings about herself.
I listen to the way she views her body and the men who disappointed her by making her feel undesirable. I even pick up on the reference to the mirror fragment she has kept for over a decade because she can’t seem to let it go.
I hear every single word of every painful verse, memorizing the lyrics.
Her voice wavers a few times while singing, but I don’t open my eyes. If I do, then I’ll tell her to stop, and I can’t. No matter how much my heart hurts.
The pressure in my chest becomes unbearable, but thankfully, she plays the final chord, and blissful silence follows. When I open my eyes, I find hers screwed closed, her emotional pain etched into every fine line on her face.
I pluck the guitar from her shaky hands and put it on the coffee table before holding her face between my hands.
“I never want to hear you call yourself broken again.”
She tries to look away, but her face is caught between the palms of my hands. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you could ever know.”
“Oh, because you have fifty plus scars all over your body?”
“I may not have ones you can see, but that doesn’t make them any less real.” I tap on my heart.
Whatever defiance she had dies, and she crumples in my arms. “I’m jealous that you can hide them while mine are always there. Every single day I see them, and I’m reminded of all the mistakes I’ve made. Of how weak I was and always will be.”
I want to shake some sense into her, but I kiss the top of her head instead. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw them. They’re…hideous.” Her voice breaks, along with whatever restraint I promised to have before I entered her bedroom.
Screw holding back.
“I want to see them.” My heart beats harder against my chest.
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“Let me get a look at them before you assume the worst.”
“Rafael.”
“Show me just how hideous they really are,” I say with a bit more grit. That word—and whatever memory is clearly attached to it—pushes her over the edge.
“Fine. You want to get a look at them?” She stands, her body rippling with anger. “Let’s see how quickly you change your mind.” She grabs the band of her pajama pants and pushes them down.
I prop my arm against the back of the couch to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her. My fingers painfully dig into the material, and my nails threaten to rip a seam.
I don’t drop my eyes as I stare into hers and say, “You’re beautiful.”
She shudders. “You’re not even looking.”
“It won’t change the way I feel about you.”
“You’re just saying that.”
I stand and walk over to her. “Would you rather me prove it instead?”
She sucks in a breath as I slide down to my knees in front of her. I can see the scars, yes, but they are surrounded by a countless number of beautiful tattoos. A This too shall pass tattoo is written in thin cursive across one of her thighs, hardly noticeable amongst the galaxy of stars.
When I glance up, she is looking straight ahead.
I grip her legs. “Look at me.” When she finally slides those pretty hazel eyes toward me, I speak. “You may see a broken masterpiece, but I only see you.”
I lean forward and press a kiss against one of her scars. My lips brush over another one and another after that until, soon enough, I lose count of how many times I’ve kissed her thighs.
The tears she tried so hard to keep from falling betray her as I whisper sweet praises against her skin. Her body trembles when I get closer to the hem of her pajama top, which hangs past her panty line, but I don’t lift the material.
I only have so much self-control, and I have a feeling it would snap the moment I saw her most intimate place.
Based on my cock straining in my pants, I made the right choice, even if it feels like absolute torture to stay away.
Her clenched hands shake. “This isn’t a good idea.”
My lips hover over a patch of skin. “I know.”
“We should stop.”
I don’t miss the way she clenches her thighs while saying it. If I lift her top, will I find her wet for me?
I bet if I lean forward, I could probably—
“Rafa.” Ellie sounds both pained and aroused, which strokes my ego while simultaneously doing the exact opposite.
That’s my girl, always turning me into a walking, talking contradiction of mixed emotions.
Against every fiber of my being, I rise to my feet and step away. My heart protests against taking a step toward the door, but I power through and rely on my critical thinking.
Where was that critical thinking a few minutes ago when you were getting down on your knees in front of her?
“Where are you going?” Her question is laced with panic.
“If I stay any longer, I’m going to end up doing something you’ll clearly regret.” I turn back to the door.
“Who says I’ll regret it?” she asks.
My next step is unsteady. “I’m your boss.”
“What if you weren’t anymore?”
I look over my shoulder. “That’s not an option.”
“What if it was?” She drags her eyes down my body, lingering on the area throbbing with need.
A flush of warmth spreads through my body before I shake my head. “It isn’t.” And neither is she.
“I can’t be his nanny forever.” Something flickers in her eyes, but I can’t make sense of it.
The idea of her walking away—of her leaving—is unbearable, and not only because it would affect Nico. I want her to stay, even if it means putting my own needs aside to keep her.
I’m not sure how long we can keep this platonic sham of a relationship going, but I just need her to give me time.
Time to sort through my issues.
Time to figure out what I want in life and who I really am.
But most of all, time to come to grips with the idea of not only letting my walls down but also the possibility of opening up my heart.
I never thought I could fall in love with someone after everything that happened with my marriage. Never even entertained the idea.
I was ready to spend the rest of my life raising my son alone, but throughout this vacation, I’ve been put in situations that have me questioning my stance. Ones that make me wonder if a life of solitude is really what I want after all. Sure, it is the safe choice, but it is also the loneliest one.
Nico keeps me company, and my family is a huge presence in my life, but I’m starting to wonder if that will be enough.
“Rafa?” Ellie asks.
“Just…give me time.”
She looks at me with an expression I can’t quite place.
“Please, Elle?”
She glances away and nods.
I should be relieved, but something about the look on her face makes me question just how much time I have left.
The next morning, I wake up to find Nico already dressed in his swimsuit for today’s snorkeling trip. Neither he nor Ellie have noticed me yet, so I watch her rubbing sunscreen onto his skin with a grin.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he asks.
Her smile falters. “Yup.”
The strain in her voice makes me pause.
“But you love sea turtles,” he whines.
“I know.” Her long exhale adds to my growing suspicion.
“Then why won’t you come?”
She stays quiet as I walk into the living room.
“Do you want to join us?” I ask.
Her eyes fall to her lap. “I can’t.”
After listening to her “Silver Scars” song last night, I know exactly why she sticks to the sidelines, and the idea of her continuing to avoid activities because of her scars, despite clearly wanting to join us, upsets me.
I should have known there was a good reason why Ellie refused to go in the water. Originally, I thought it was because she couldn’t swim, but clearly that isn’t the case.
I should have connected the dots myself after she told me about her scars and self-harm, but I didn’t realize just how much it all affected her mentally until I heard her sing that song.
I don’t want her to hide from me.
Once Nico disappears into his room to answer a video call from my aunt, Ellie moves toward hers to get dressed, but I stop her before she disappears inside.
She blinks up at me with a face. “What?”
“Do you know how to swim?”
“Of course I know how to—” She looks at me with a pinched expression. “Wait. Why are you asking?”
I fail to hide my smile. “Do you trust me?”
Her eyes narrow. “What’s with the interrogation?”
“Just answer me.” The urge to tuck a strand of her golden hair behind her ear becomes too great to ignore. I wish I had a flower too, solely so I could have another reason to touch her while tucking it behind her ear.
Now that’s an idea.
“Yes.” She sighs. “I trust you.”
“Will you do something for me, then?”
“What?”
“Will you join us today? In the water.”
Her panic-stricken face makes my heart squeeze uncomfortably in my chest. “I thought we had an agreement.”
Back when I reluctantly invited her on the trip months ago, she made her stance on swimming and water activities clear, and I was more than willing to go along with her request.
Until now.
I don’t want Ellie to spend the rest of our trip hiding her scars. To me, they’re beautiful because they represent what she has overcome in life, and I’ll continue to make that point known until she finally believes me.
“It could be fun,” I say.
“Nico will ask questions.”
“I’m okay with that, but only if you are too.”
She bites down on her bottom lip. “What if he looks at me differently?”
“He won’t. He may be curious because he’s only a kid, but he would never judge you or treat you differently because I taught him better than that.”
Her head dips toward her chest, so I tuck my hand under her chin and lift it until our eyes meet.
“Trust me on this?”
With a single nod of her head, she offers me a gift I plan on protecting from here on out.
Her trust.
