Her nightmares.
My rage.
The press.
Brandon and his damn political aspirations.
Her brother.
And a million other things that will just keep bringing the past between us until we deal with it once and for all.
For a moment, one weak, terrible, vile moment, I think of telling Stu to back off. Think about letting the LA Times run whatever the fuck article they want to. Sure, if I do that, it will be a free-for-all for a few weeks, with the press out for blood from every side. But I can protect Chloe from all that to a certain extent. I can take her away to my island near Bali, keep her away from anything and anyone who might upset her until the story dies down.
And if the past comes out that way, by a third party with no stake in the fight at all, it won’t be my fault. And if it’s not my fault, there won’t be anything for us to argue about. The press will dig until they find out all of Brandon’s secrets and then his career will be over. It’s not the vengeance I want, but if it keeps him out of office and stops him being able to abuse other women, then it’s something I can live with.
Except I don’t have it in me to throw Chloe to the wolves—and I’m ashamed that I thought about it, even for a second. Yes, I can protect her. Yes, she’s said more than once that she’s ready to deal with whatever happens, with whatever the press finds on her, but she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Not really. Until she’s faced with that kind of scrutiny, day in and day out, until her whole life is fodder for a different three-minute news segment every night, she can’t possibly know what she can or can’t take.
When my father “th
e national hero” died, I was the news story of the season. I couldn’t go to school or to the park or even to a friend’s house without getting followed. Without getting hassled by photographers and reporters and regular people who wanted a picture of his son. Who wanted to know what it was like to be the son of a hero. Who wanted to know what it was like to grow up in the shadow of a man like him.
And then my mother remarried, which only fueled the fire. Followed by me making all this money and now, here I am, my photo a regular addition to the weekly tabloids. My wife’s painful past fodder for anyone with an internet connection.
Not if I can help it. And I can.
“Text me the name and number of the editor for the LA Times,” I growl at Stu, interrupting him in the middle of a spiel I can’t even pretend that I was listening to.
“His number…” Stu trails off uncertainly. Then, “Oh, no, Ethan. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let me handle this—”
“You had your chance. Now it’s my turn.” I hang up before he has the opportunity to argue any more.
Less than a minute later, the requested text comes in. I should probably take a few minutes to figure out what I’m going to say, but the truth is I’m riding high on anger and adrenaline and I don’t have the patience to wait. Not when my wife is furious with me—and not when I’m furious with myself and the whole fucking world.
Jake Dantana’s assistant answers on the second ring. I identify myself and demand to speak to him—something that only takes about five seconds to come to fruition. I didn’t even know someone could push buttons that fast.
“Ethan, this is Jake. How are you?”
“I’ve been better, Jake.” I’m in no mood for social niceties. “The head of my publicity team tells me you’ve got a reporter sniffing around my wife’s past. It stops now.”
There’s a few seconds of silence as he absorbs the fact that I’m not asking and I’m not trading. I’ll do that with other things, have done it innumerable times in the last eight years, but not with this. I don’t play fast and loose with Chloe’s well-being. And I never will.
“While it’s true we’re in the preliminary stages of a story that has turned up some anomalies in Mrs. Frost’s past—”
“Kill it. Now.”
I know I’m coming on too heavy, know that it’s probably the wrong approach if I want to do anything but pique his curiosity, but I don’t actually give a shit. He won’t be doing anything with that curiosity—not if I have anything to say about it. And I do.
My resolve communicates itself to him and his voice is a little less cagey and a lot more uncertain when he says, “She’s big news, Ethan. You both are. If we don’t run this story, you need to give us something to run in its place. I’m listening.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” he splutters.
“Exactly what I said. I am not going to give you an interview with her or us or any other kind of story about her that you want and you’re still going to kill the story.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Jake. This is exactly how it works when it comes to my wife. Stu provided all of you with a basic, approved biography about my wife, along with a list of places it is acceptable to photograph her. You will use that bio and you will abide by that list. Everything else is off-limits.”