Page 138 of Reckless Hearts

Samantha leans forward in her chair, her eyes twinkling. “So, Marcus, I hear you had a close encounter with a llama on set. Care to share with us?”

Marcus grins, his dimples on full display. “Oh, you mean Dolly? She was quite the diva. Apparently, she didn’t get the memo that I was the star.”

The audience laughs, and Marcus continues, “There I am, trying to deliver this heartfelt monologue, and Dolly decides it’s the perfect time for a snack. She starts munching on my very expensive, very period-accurate coat that took the wardrobe department two weeks to create.”

“No!” Samantha gasps in mock horror.

“Oh yes.” Marcus nods solemnly. “I’m pouring my heart out, and all you can hear is her munching. I think she gave a more moving performance than I did, to be honest.”

Samantha and the audience laugh, but I don’t.

Seeing Marcus as his charming, witty self makes my heart ache, knowing the pain beneath the polished exterior.

Marcus spends so much of his time pretending, playing the part.

And I know that it costs him, deep down.

He calls me that evening. I have my usual thrill of seeing him, but then I see how tired he looks. The exhaustion etched into his face reminds me of how much energy it must take to play the role of Marcus Johnson, Hollywood Star.

“I saw you on Samatha O’Reilly,” I say as I settle back in my bed.

“Did you like my llama story?”

“I think you should insist on a no-snacking clause in your co-stars’ contracts.”

He smiles, and I marvel at the brilliance of it for a second.

But I don’t want this conversation to descend into fun quips and flirting, which will undoubtedly end in epic phone sex.

Instead, I summon my bravery.

“I’ve been thinking about everything we talked about in Mangawhai,” I say. Marcus’s smile flees, but I plunge on.

“I really think you need some professional help.” My voice is tentative, but I push my glasses up on my nose and continue, trying to steady my voice. “You need therapy. The guilt you’re carrying, the belief that you don’t deserve love—these aren’t things you can just push down and ignore. They’re not character flaws, Marcus. They’re wounds that need proper care to heal. No one can go through what you did and be okay without help, Marcus.”

“I don’t need fixing. I’m coping fine.”

“You only cope by working ridiculously long hours and taking too many pills,” I say.

Marcus stiffens, his jaw clenching.

His shoulders hunch forward slightly, and he turns his face, the angle change causing the light to catch on the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “I also have you,” Marcus retorts finally. “You help me too.”

His words make my chest tight. Is our relationship just another form of numbing, another distraction to make him avoid facing his past?

“Thanks for putting me in the same category as working yourself to death and drugs,” I say.

Marcus’s eyebrows pull together. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Part of loving someone is wanting what is best for them,” I say, and Marcus’s face twists.

And somehow, seeing his expression, unexpected anger flares inside me, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t love you? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t want the best for you?”

“You don’t have to pretend anything, Seb,” Marcus says stiffly.

We stare at each other for a few heartbeats.

Marcus finally looks away, running his hand through his hair.