“No.” When that emerged as an impatient snap, she took a breath and deliberately lowered her voice. “This has nothing to do with Hugo’s infidelity.”
His cheating might have been dramatic and heartbreaking—and, again, hilariously inept in retrospect—but even if he’d remained faithful, underlying fissures would have fractured their relationship anyway, given enough time. She saw that now, more clearly than ever.
“This discussion only involves Hugo because my relationship with him taught me I didn’t want to be with someone long-distance.” At the charity auction, as they’d discussed their exes, she could have sworn she’d made that point very clearly. “Even before I found out he was cheating, I was miserable, Peter. I hated that we were living so far apart.”
She grasped his shoulders and squeezed, as if that would force her words into his resistant, stubborn brain and help him see who and what she truly was. Not the version of herself he hoped she was, or fooled himself into believing she was, or found easier to handle.
“I love you so much more than I ever loved him. I need you more than I ever needed him.” All her love, all her heart, all her raw, aching sincerity suffused every word, and his eyes on hers softened. “And if I was lonely withoutHugo, of all people, even when I was living a five-minute walk away from my parents’ house, how do you think I’ll handle being without you? A stranger in a foreign city, tucked away in your gated community without family nearby?”
Despite his half-stifled wince, she continued, relentless. “Howdo you think I’ll feel every morning when I wake up alone, and every day spent rambling around an empty house alone, and every night I go to bed alone? For three years, Peter. Three fuckingyears. And what if they want to renew your contract? Will you turn them down, or will you stay away even longer?”
They both knew what his preference would be. His instinct.
And to be fair, it was the same preference and instinct most actors in Hollywood would have. But she wasn’t from Hollywood, and she wasn’t willing to put her career before her heart.
“Not all the time.” His knuckles pressed against her spine, his open hands curling into fists once more. “You wouldn’t be alone all the time.”
He sounded resentful now. Sullen.
And both of them knew precisely why he hadn’t answered her question.
“You’re right. Some of our castmates live in LA. You’d visit between seasons and during filming breaks.” They’d reunite with heartfelt joy, like the lovers they were—and then he’d leave her again. And again. “But I’m not you, Peter. I need people I love around me every day to be happy.”
This time, there was no pause for thought before he responded.
“I spent most of myGatesmoney on the house.” The words were flat, and for an actor of his caliber, that was a choice. A decision not to reveal emotion to her anymore. “For us to be financially secure, I need steady work. A steady paycheck.”
His voice, his posture—everything told her he was closing down now. Digging in, just as she’d feared. Just as she’d known he would, somewhere deep inside herself, despite all her hopes. It was why she’d already mentally prepared herself to buy a plane ticket.
She’d always understood him more than he understood her. Just as, over time, she’d grown to love him more than he loved her.
Or maybe she was being unfair. Maybe differing priorities didn’t mean differing amounts of love. That was how it felt, though.
The familiar crawling sensation wasn’t shame, exactly. But it was related. Cold and sticky, it crept outward from her heart. Every pulse beat spread it further, the rapid thud in her aching temples a steady accusation. A chant that looped around on itself again and again.
You betrayed yourself again.
You knew who he was.
You let yourself care too much, when you knew better.
Of all people, you knew better.
You betrayed yourself again.
Further argument was pointless. She wouldn’t change Peter’s mind. She wouldn’t change anything. She’d only hate herself more for begging.
But she couldn’t seem to stop trying. “I get that you’re concerned about money. But don’t you think you could find enough jobs in LA, ones that wouldn’t require sacrificing years of our life together? And what about ourGatesresiduals? What about the money I’ll bring in frommywork?”
So much of the film and television industry still flourished in Hollywood. It gave him options. It gave them both options. Why didn’t he see that?
“What if all that’s not enough, Maria?” His nostrils flaring with frustration, he shifted in tiny, restless movements beneath her. “I may not have a mortgage, but we need retirement savings, because our careers won’t stay hot forever. Even apart from that, we have property taxes and Community Association dues and living expenses to cover, and they’ll drain us dry if the jobs we take don’t pay enough.”
To her, the answer was obvious, though she knew—sheknew—he wouldn’t agree. “Then we should sell the house. Because if you feel forced to take certain jobs just so you can keep it, those gates aren’t keeping you safe. They’re keeping you stuck.”
The yoke above the community’s entrance was all too fitting. That zip code was a burden laid across his broad shoulders, keeping him in harness and hard at work.
“Peter...” She placed her palm over his heart. “Moving wouldn’t change what’s most important. You’d still be just as much a success no matter where you lived. Besides, I adore your house and yard, but we could own that same house with an equally beautiful view in another neighborhood, a good neighborhood, for far less money.”