“Are you going to make me do this in front of the press, Chrissie,” Alan says.

“Whose fault is that?” I snap, in spite of my resolve to stay emotionless. I look around. “Did you bring my things, Alan? Can you have someone bring them over today? I’m catching a plane to Santa Barbara this afternoon.”

“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic. “You are not going anywhere, Chrissie. Not like this. Not over this, please.”

“This? You call it this?” I look at him directly then. I can’t stop myself. “You humiliated me, dragged me out of a party, and then told me to get out. And while I was packing my things I was trapped in a bathroom being humiliated all over again by your friends. Do not call it this.”

“You’re the only person in my life who matters to me,” Alan says quietly.

“Well, you’ve got a strange way of showing it,” I scream and my voice cracks.

“I don’t know what you heard, but whatever it is, I apologize for it. It won’t happen again, Chrissie. I swear.”

“Please go.”

“NO. And I am not going to tiptoe around what I want to say any longer.” Alan is on his feet, angry and full of restless energy. “I am tired of this, Chrissie. Send him on his way so we can really talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say, and I hate that my tone sounds pouty and little girlish.

His penetrating black eyes burn into me. “If we don’t talk this through today, we will never speak to each other again.”

I blink at him. What does that mean? That easily he can send my chaotic emotions into full free-fall. I am angry. I am hurt. And I am the injured party here, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to never see him again, and I don’t know for certain that that isn’t what he is warning.

It is probably stupid, but right now it feels like if he walks out the door I won’t make it through the day.

I wipe my nose with another tissue and sit back a little away from Jesse. “Can you go, please?”

Those kind hazel eyes search my face. “Are you sure?”

I nod.

Jesse pulls something from his wallet and scribbles on the back of it. He holds out a business card. “I’ve put Sandy’s number on the back,” he explains. I don’t take the card. He puts it on the table. “If you need me, if you need anything, call me.”

I feel on the verge of tears again and I don’t trust my voice. I can’t push out my words. I nod.

I will call to thank him, when Alan is gone. He was such a nice guy to me and I hate that I can’t be gracious because right now it feels like a machete is hacking at my insides.

Once the elevator doors close, Alan sinks back into his chair. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me. You, I owe nothing.”

That hurt him. I can see it in his eyes. He moves toward me until he is sitting on his knees in front of the couch beneath me. “I love you, baby,” he breathes. “It was a bad night. I had a lot going on and I could have really used you being there for me.”

I shake my head. I feel my heart accelerate. I feel my limbs go weak, and I just want to bury myself against him and cry.

“You were horrible to me. There are times I don’t feel like I know you at all.” I don’t know why this is the place I want to start. I rally my strength. “Did you screw Rene?”

His eyes flare and widen. “I’m repulsed by her. Why would you ask me that?”

“Someone told me you did. She’s my best friend, Alan. How could you do that and think it wouldn’t matter later to me?”

He sits back and runs a hand through his hair, confused and angry. “Is that what that bitch told you? No. Never. I did not fuck Rene.”

“It wasn’t Rene who told me. Apparently everyone knows you did it in the bathroom at The Blue Light. It’s funny how everyone always seems to know everything you do.”

“Well then it’s news to me because it didn’t happen,” he growls, his gaze so intense, his expression so open I nearly believe him.

“Are you saying that you didn’t take her into the bathroom for a fast screw?”

“I’m saying I didn’t fuck her in the bathroom at the club,” he grounds out. “You were loaded and she was too absorbed in herself to give a damn if something happened to you. I took her to a bathroom and I got in her face and made her take you home. And that’s the end of what happened, and if she tells you otherwise she’s a liar.”

I can barely breathe because I know he’s telling me the truth. I can also feel the power he wields over me, how my traitorous emotions pitch and chase after him.

He starts to pace the room, and I can feel his body pulsing with anger. “The bullshit always fucks everything up, Chrissie. I can’t stop the bullshit and you’re going to have to learn not to listen to it. I have always told you the truth. I will always tell you the truth.”

“How many girls have you been with?”

God, why did I bring that up again?

“I don’t know. Does it matter?” He takes a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, give me a notepad. I’ll write down names, whatever I can remember. Do you want positions, too? Christ, Chrissie, why does any of this matter?”

I look around the room.

“Don’t bother,” I whisper. “Better question. Why did you screw me in a bedroom and dump me last night? You wanted to humiliate me last night. Why did you want to hurt me?”

His eyes widen with pain and almost tortured reluctance. “I didn’t like that you wanted to be with him instead of with me,” he admits after a long while.

“I didn’t want to be with him. I just didn’t want to be at the party. Your reaction was completely irrational. I didn’t do anything to deserve any of that. What did I do that was so awful that you would want to deliberately hurt me?”

He’s frustrated again. I can tell he doesn’t want to answer, and he doesn’t like the direction I’m taking this.

“Lillian was a very popular actress in her day and the biggest whore in London, Chrissie,” he says through gritted teeth. “I didn’t even know who my father was until I was eighteen and he died. Lillian gifted me with the truth and a trust fund, as if everything would be fine. I knew him my entire life and never once did he acknowledge me. I didn’t have a clue he was my dad.”

He turns away from me and I can see something powerful coursing through him. “My father was Vittorio Manzone.”

My eyes round in surprise. “The Italian tenor?”

He nods.

He stares down at me. “You hit a nerve, Chrissie, not wanting to be seen with me, and I fucked up. I’m still working through some things. You have to be patient with me. I’m doing my best here.”

“I don’t think your best works for me, Alan,” I whisper with more injury in my voice than I want to show.

“I’m doing my best,” he repeats, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m being honest with you, I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone, and if you were anyone else I wouldn’t be here or trust being honest.”

I change course. “I’m not staying in New York any longer. I have to go home.”

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move.

“You are not leaving, Chrissie.”

He leans in to kiss me and I inch back instinctively. If he touches me I will crumble. I pull farther back.

“You need to go.” I’m proud of how my voice sounds this time. Calm. In control. Firm.

“What? No.” He eases back from me, blinking. “No, I’m not leaving until we’ve worked this out.”

“There is nothing to work out.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re not good for me.”

“How can you say that? We are good for each other,” he says in desperation. “I am completely lost in you and that’s a good place to be, Chrissie. A very good place to be.”

I look away from him again. I am lost in you too, Alan, and I’m not sure if that is a good place to be. I feel the tears. I grab a tissue. I hate that I’m crying, that I couldn’t hold it back until he was gone.

I stare about the room. I’m so tired. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want Alan to leave. I want to curl up in bed, cry, and then fall asleep next to him. But I can’t forgive him. Not after last night. I need to send him away.