Fame and Secrets - Cora Kenborn Page 0,7

manage two raspy words. “I’m sorry.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say?”

“No, I—”

“You what, Phoebe? You thought it wasn’t a priority to inform me you almost gave birth on the floor of our house?”

“I didn’t almost—”

He steps into the room, his palm still connected to the doorframe. “Or maybe you thought the minute Faith told me you were in the hospital my knees wouldn’t give out?”

“Julian, you don’t—”

Two more steps inside, and he stands at the foot of my bed, his body heaving with adrenaline. “Or you thought the first thing that entered my mind wasn’t that I’d missed the birth of our kid? And maybe the next thought wasn’t if I lost you or the baby, they might as well kill me too?”

“Julian…”

“Then you’d be wrong.”

One look into his red-rimmed eyes severs my resolve, and I close my eyes. The moment I hear rustling, I know he’s sitting beside me.

“Phoebe, how could you not call me? How…”

I open my eyes to find his fingers brushing through the hair matted to my cheek, the rough pad of his thumb caressing along my jawline.

“How could you think it wouldn’t hurt to hear it from someone else?”

All defiance vanishes. My body leans into him as his other hand gently roams over my stomach. The roundness fills his hand, as if molding to his skin. But it’s his voice that shatters everything.

“Don’t shut me out. Not when I need you the most.”

“Why do you care what I have to say now? You haven’t listened to me in weeks.” I stare at him, revisiting the argument we’d had relentlessly.

He cradles my face, the rough calluses on his guitarist fingers comforting my skin. “Come on, princess. You have to admit you’ve been a little paranoid.”

Before leaving New York, I swore I saw my father everywhere. At the park, at the recording studio, in restaurants…the list was endless.

When we arrived in Los Angeles, the feeling of being watched got worse. Julian finally had enough and refused to hear anymore. It’d become a major source of contention in our relationship—especially leading up to his leaving for the publicity tour.

It was one of the reasons I didn’t call him. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Faith that.

The elephant in the room now looms over me. Do I tell him about the broadcast?

One look in his pleading eyes, and I know I can’t lie. “The movers dropped off the last of the boxes from Jersey, and I happened to catch the end of a news broadcast.”

“It’s just like New York, Phoebe,” he interrupted. “You have to tune it out, especially with all the gangs—”

“They found a girl dumped in Griffith Park yesterday morning.” When he doesn’t react to my satisfaction, I know the final piece of information will force it. “She had seven stab wounds to her stomach.” His entire body stiffens. “Still think I’m crazy?”

He lowers his gaze, his choppy breathing betraying his calm facade. I can see belief in his eyes, yet his silence refuses to give validation to what we both know to be true…

My father is in Los Angeles.

“Are you sure it was seven?” he asks. “Did the anchor specifically say seven? People are stabbed all the time in Hollywood. This isn’t North Carolina.”

“Are you trying to convince yourself, or do you think I’m that stupid?” Sighing, I shake my head. “I’m in a new city with no friends. I count on you to believe in me and make me feel safe. You’ve made me feel more alone than I’ve felt in a long time.” I swallow the lump of fear in my throat. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, and it scares me.”

“Phoebe…”

“Let me finish,” I plead. “I gave up my life for you, but you won’t let me into yours. I don’t ask for much, Julian. I know your career is demanding, and I respect that. All I ask is that you make me an equal partner in this…this… Whatever this is we have.”

His breath fans against my face as he tightens his grip on my face. Familiar lips skim mine, the heat in his kiss melting the layer of ice I’d built around myself.

“I love you.” His lips crush me as his hands weave through my hair. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck, brushing my fingers across his hairline and drawing a low moan from his throat.

I should stand my ground, but all I want to do is slide underneath him. Which

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