Page 78 of Between Commitment and Betrayal

“Hello?” My voice trembled as I answered.

Declan tilted his head in question and mouthed, “Who is that?”

I waved him off and grabbed the stack of clothing to pull on. Yet, he yanked it out of my hands suddenly as if he had a second thought and walked back to his closet to throw them in there completely buck naked.

“I’m only calling because of the article. It says you’re married, Evie,” Tonya murmured, her raspy voice accusing over the phone. She had lived down the street from me growing up and had taken probably every yoga class my mom would allow her to, along with learning dance on the side with me after she’d found out I was homeschooled.

She’d been my best friend and my shadow for as long as I could remember until that night.

Now, she only called when big news came to her doorstep about me, figuratively and this time literally.

“It’s just a marriage of convenience,” I explained as Declan stared at me, leaning against the closet doorframe, every inch of him on display for me to see as he crossed his arms.

“Right. But it has pictures of movers, of him ushering you past paparazzi. Of you both driving to the gym together.”

“To be fair, I work at the gym, Tonya. It’s just us going to work at the same time.” Declan mouthed her name back to me, and I waved him away. He pursed his lips but seemed to figure out I needed space as he pushed off the doorframe and walked out of the room. “Carl wanted us married but it isn’t real.”

Even saying those words now felt wrong because I couldn’t see what was real or fake anymore between Declan and me.

“But why?” she whispered. It was something no one had really asked me, like they all thought they knew why I was doing it. Declan Hardy was the most eligible bachelor after all. I’d snagged him.

The press yesterday suggested it was for the will, but Declan and Carl’s lawyers had done a good enough job hiding the private information. Still, speculation had fallen largely on me wanting shares of the company and Declan holding onto those shares.

“It doesn’t matter.” My heart hurt telling her that because it did. It mattered that she’d asked, it mattered that she knew in her soul that I wouldn’t just sign over my life for one of luxury.

It mattered.

“It won’t take them long to figure out about us, Evie. Does everyone know why you’re there?”

I sighed and picked at the soft down comforter that practically could swallow me whole with how plush it was. “Carl did. Now, nobody does.”

“Evie, I’m sorry about you losing your father.” She hesitated over her apology. Once upon a time, she would have been there. She would have held my hand and cried through it with me, felt my pain, shared it, would have tried to take it away. Now, she skirted around it. “I know you tried to escape by leaving here, but—”

“I get it. I can’t escape it anywhere I go. I know that. Yet, my father didn’t want anyone to know. I think it was his way of giving me a fresh start.”

“And now he’s gone, leaving stipulations in his will so you don’t have a fresh start?” she questioned, prying for the information I promised Declan I wouldn’t share.

“It’s just a year, Ton.”

She sighed. “You shouldn’t have done this. You shouldn’t even have moved. You did it for me. I know you did.”

“That’s not true. I—”

“You would have never left your mom’s studio, Evie.” She cut me off. “You loved teaching there. And you never cared what they said about you. This town has always been a shit show.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and felt the headache coming on now. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” she screamed into the phone, and then she breathed in deep. “I’m fine. Just stop whatever you’re doing and come home. I don’t care if I see you here anymore, but you can’t just be there, unhappy, because you think the town will forgive me without you here. I’ll be okay.”

“Will you be though?” I asked because my friend hadn’t looked at me for a year. She’d actively avoided me, and then I avoided her when the press went after either of us.

“I’m getting better,” she admitted quietly. “It’s a lot, but I’m getting better.”

“Mom said you stopped by. I called, but you didn’t answer.”

I heard the sniffle in her voice. “Right.” She cleared her throat. These silences. I used to love them between us. The space between always felt so comfortable. Now, though, it was pained, full of guilt, remorse, and distress. “He’s going to get out soon. Have you considered calling him?”

“No.” I dropped the word with hate, with loathing, with frustration. “I told you I won’t.”