Ed's POV: The Confrontation
**Spoilers if you haven't finished Heart of Stone yet**
Soph slept silently beside me, her soft breaths warm against my shoulder. In the space of three cities, she'd gone from sneaking out after sex, to staying the night but facing away from me, to snuggling into my side.
Progress.
For her, anyway.
For me, each day wound me a pinch tighter. Every shared laugh, vulnerable confession, explosive orgasm. They sucked me deeper into a friendship like nothing I'd experienced before. A bond. One that I wanted to last forever.
Waking up in bed together. Bouncing creative ideas off one another. Romantic dinners in the evenings. Dirty sex at night. A best friend. A lover. A confidant. A true partner in every sense of the word. To make it even better, she wasn't a fan.
She liked me for me.
It sounded too good to be true. It probably was. I just wasn't ready to consider that.
I rolled onto my side to face her. Dark eyelashes brushed her cheekbones, still rosy from sex earlier. She didn't usually fall asleep so quickly, but tonight we'd gone hard. New boundaries. Experiments. Physical exhaustion aside, it must have taken extreme mental strength for her to trust me with everything we'd done.
Trust.
Pain clawed at my heart. At least the sex was real, even if nothing else was.
*
In the bright morning light, my head had cleared. Soph may not end up being my forever-confidant, but I still had someone who played that role to perfection.
"Hey." I leaned a shoulder against Mark's doorframe when he answered my knock. "Can we talk?"
He stepped aside, tipping his chin to invite me in. I wandered towards the seating area in front of his window. Golden rays cast harsh shadows across Berlin's buildings below us. Beauty mixed with darkness. How damn appropriate.
"Everything okay?" Mark asked.
"I'm stressing about Soph."
His business face instantly softened. "You need to talk to her, bud. This isn't healthy."
"I know." I scraped a hand over my face as I collapsed into the armchair. The leather creaked beneath my weight. "I've never had anything like this before. I'm not ready to give it up."
"The longer this goes on, the more it's going to hurt. You can't bury your head in the soft sands of Fantasyland forever."
He was right. If I didn't want to give her up after six weeks together, how tough would it be after six months? Stronger feelings would impair my judgement completely by then. I'd end up forgiving her, because that would be easier than walking away.
"We don't know if it's Fantasyland," I said. "It feels real."
"Maybe it is, but what does your instinct tell you?"
"It tells me she's double-crossing." Guilt sucker-punched my gut as I said it out-loud.
Every time I thought I'd come to terms with my suspicion, Soph's beaming face invaded my conscience. I could be wrong. God, I hoped I was wrong.
"Your instinct has always been good. Don't ignore it. It will eat away at you and ruin whatever relationship you do have with her. Regardless of whether you were right or not."
I trailed my fingertips over the smooth armrest. If I'd got this wrong, would she forgive me for doubting her?
"What would you do if this was Zoe?" I asked.
Mark's eyes narrowed. It was a cheap shot, one engineered to bring him round to my way of thinking. Anxiety at its finest: always looking for reassurance even when logic defied it.
"There are absolutely no similarities between our situations, Ed."
"You can't give her up, either, can you? You insist you're not right for each other, and yet—"
"No." He folded his arms and crossed one leg over the other. "I've known Zoe fifteen years. You build a bond with someone in that time. How long have you known Soph? Six weeks. You might think you're in love with her, but I can guarantee that if you carry on dancing around this issue, you'll fall for her for good, and there'll be no way out."
"Wow." I scoffed. "Romantic. Zoe's a lucky girl."
His jaw flexed. "Zoe and I aren't together. You know that, and you're a prick for bringing it up."
"Sorry." It was a dick move mentioning it. "It's just you say it's always been her. Only her. Maybe I've not known Soph anywhere near as long, but what if it's supposed to be her? And only her?"
With a resigned sigh, Mark cast his wise eyes towards the window. "If she comes out with something that destroys your career, there is no coming back from that. For your relationship or your career—"
I tutted. "That's Helen advice. I came to you for friend advice."
"Yes, and as your friend, I know what music means to you. Maybe you and her can work it out if you find out sooner rather than later. Before major damage is done."
"Doubt it." I closed my eyes, tried to soothe the brewing panic. "I feel sick just thinking about it."
"Rip off the band-aid. As soon as we land in London. That way, you have a fresh slate whatever the outcome."
*
Normally I loved flying. Suspended thirty thousand feet in the air, life paused. No pressures. No looking over my shoulder. No fears. A unique limbo of time that floated between the past and the future.
Never had I hated a journey more than that one between Berlin and London. I couldn't stop thinking of the past and how I might never experience it again in the future. Soph cuddled up to me, her legs draped over my lap, her face nestled into my shoulder. An unusual display of affection outside the bedroom. I flitted between savouring every second of this intimacy while it lasted, and not wanting to fall too deep into the fantasy.
By the time we reached her flat, my head had switched off. Detached. Convinced itself that this was it. That the next time we saw each other, it would be with the weight of her deceit looming over us.
The lies I told her to sow the seeds of our cover story tasted sour on my tongue. For this to work, I had to do it, but the rare flash of insecurity when I mentioned Lacey's name almost compelled me to drop the whole thing. To pull her into my arms and reassure her that I wanted only her.
Instead, while she assumed I was meeting up with my ex, I went straight to bed.
Didn't sleep a wink.
*
"Let's just get this over and done with." I paced back and forth in the conference room while Helen tapped away at her laptop.
"You sure?" Mark asked.
I nodded and came to a halt opposite Helen, curling my fingers around the back of a chair.
"I'll copy your alias in so you can see her reply." Helen's eyes were uncharacteristically gentle as she glanced up at me. She'd had her doubts from the start, and she was certain this would prove them right. "Just let us know what you want to do after."
"We don't know if it'll work," I said. "Or if she even was the one writing the articles."
Helen's thin lips stretched into a sympathetic smile before she lowered her gaze back to the screen.
"Done," she said.
In my back pocket, my phone vibrated. The timing was too coincidental for it not to be the email Helen had just copied my fake address into, but I still reached to tug it out anyway. In case it was Soph.
It wasn't, of course. She was probably eating breakfast now. Blissfully unaware of the trap laid out for her.
*
An ironically joyful chime signalled the arrival of an email. For several long, terrifying seconds, I stared at the unopened message. My heart thundered in my chest, so fast that I was convinced it would either snap a rib or trigger a cardiac arrest.
An email.
She wouldn't email if she didn't have news. If Soph hadn't walked into the trap.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my chewing gum. Popped two pellets from the wrapper and tossed them into my mouth. Chewed and stared. Chewed and stared.
When had I become such a damn sap? So hung up on a girl that I would rather live in ignorance of her backstabbing than walk away? A girl who cared so little about me that she'd spent the last two months selling me out. Pretending to be my friend. Getting under my skin. Into my heart.
I'd let her. Welcomed her. Convinced myself she was special. Tricked myself, even. So desperate for a genuine connection, a relationship with someone who wasn't a fan, I'd put her on a pedestal. Ignored the warning signs. The niggles that suggested she was too good to be true.
A devil disguised as an angel. Just like her best friend.
By the time I'd summoned the courage to open the email, I'd already decided what I'd find. I read the article three times. The first time it barely registered. The second sparked a sickening disappointment in my gut. By the third time, rage prevailed.
Drugs? Seriously? I'd planted that fake story weeks ago, but I'd assumed she'd do her research. Evidently not. She cared more about hurting me than ensuring the integrity of her articles.
The weight of that realisation pressed down on my chest. Crushed my heart. Squeezed the air out of my lungs.
I tipped my head back and sucked in a slow, deep breath. Nearly choked on my chewing gum. Spat it out into the bin. Then kicked the bin.
It flew across the room, bounced off the corner of the bed, and rolled to rest next to the dresser. I spun. Searched for my next target. Cushions. Kitchenware. Books. Shoes. My eyes darted across all the options. Unable to settle. To decide.
A sharp knock disrupted my deliberations. I ignored it. The only thing that could make this worse was Helen. Seeing her faux sympathy while she tried her hardest not to say she told me so.
"Ed? You in there?"
My pulse instantly slowed. Just the sound of Mark's low, smooth tone softened the sharp edges of my anger.
I dragged myself over to the door and yanked it open. He didn't look at me with sympathy. Or pity. For once, in the eight years I'd known him, his green eyes flickered with uncertainty.
That just summed up this whole mess. Mark was the most assured person I knew. He always had the answers. Wore confidence like a uniform. Now, though, he stood in the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tight.
"What do you need?" he asked.
"Time to process."
There was a genuine risk that processing would inflame my emotions even more. I couldn't talk to Soph right now, though. Or Helen. I needed to see if this was a knee-jerk reaction that would mellow, or if it was more deep-rooted.
For God's sake. Even after I knew the truth, I was still in denial. Still hoping everything would be okay.
"I'll leave you to it, then." Mark nodded once and turned back to the lift.
"I just meant I don't want to talk to Helen. To strategize or retaliate. You can stay."
I took a step back, holding open the door for him. He hovered in the centre of the landing.
"Do you want me to?" he asked.
"Please."
A heavy lump clogged my throat as he strolled into the suite, his footsteps silent against the carpet. For eight years, Mark had been dependable. In every sense of the word. As a bodyguard. As a colleague. As a friend. He always knew what to say, and when he didn't, he made no attempt to pretend. I could rely on him for honesty and wisdom. He cared for my emotional state as much as my physical one. Right now, he was the only person in the world I wanted to see.
I shut the door with a soft click, then rested my forehead against the grained wood. Counted to five. Ten. Rubbed at my throat. The damn lump wouldn't shift. It choked me. Deprived me of oxygen.
Mark's hand landed on my shoulder. Firm. Fingers squeezed the tense muscle. Encouraged me away from the door. Words piled up beneath the blockage in my windpipe. Itched to get out. To speak. To shout.
Instead, I turned on the spot and dropped my head onto Mark's chest.
It wasn't until dampness soaked his shirt that I realised I was crying.
*
Nothing would ease the nauseous ball rattling around in my stomach. Not until I faced Soph. Thinking about that conversation, that inevitable argument, paralysed me with dread. Would she deny it? Own it? Cry?
I didn't know anymore. I didn't know her.
By the time I sent the text inviting her over, I couldn't decide who I despised more: me or her. The lies I'd spun to draw her out. The cover story I still played along with. It was deceitful. It wasn't me. At least if I continued with the charade, though, continued with this persona I'd created, it would make facing her easier. A Soph-proof barrier protecting me.
I took a deep breath before answering her gentle knock. When I pulled open the door and saw her standing there, my smile felt too real. Like an instinctive reaction to her presence. Some disloyal part of my subconscious soaked her in, relished seeing her in the flesh when she'd done nothing but occupy every crevice of my mind over the last two days.
Under the pretence of lulling her into a false sense of security, I hugged her. It was nothing to do with wanting to feel her soft curves against my body for one final time. Nothing to do with savouring that last moment of physical comfort from her. Even if her coconut shampoo did calm some of the anxious thoughts whirring through my head. Even if she did squeeze me tight, like she wanted me just as much.
"Have you seen the photo yet?" I asked.
Laptop at the ready, I punched in my password to bring up the article she'd written. Kept the screen angled away from her, though. Couldn't play my hand too early.
"The one of you kissing Lacey? I saw it. Very realistic."
"I know, right? I guess she is an actor so she can pull off a realistic kiss."
She snorted. "Yeah, and I'm sure the fact you've kissed many times before certainly helped."
It sounded suspiciously close to jealousy. What right did she have to be jealous when she didn't give a damn about me?
Still, I played along. "You jealous, Soph?"
"Should I be?"
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and loaded the photo in question. The reality of that night with Lacey couldn't be further from the image. We'd planned it weeks in advance, then had one of our petty arguments just hours before. Neither of us had backed out, though. I could still feel the sting of her teeth biting my lip in retaliation as we'd kissed against that wall. She'd torn at my hair like a savage, until I'd squeezed her throat just hard enough to warn her to pack it in.
Usually thinking about Lacey stiffened my dick in record time. Not anymore. Since meeting Soph, nobody else had turned me on. Mildly inconvenient, but that was a problem for another time.
"Here." I handed her the phone.
Her head tipped to the side, a curtain of brown waves falling over her shoulder. God, what I'd give to grab a fistful of that hair and shove her down to her knees right now.
Shame I'd never get to do that again. Still, there'd be other girls. Hopefully with an equally good gag reflex and taste for rough oral. They might not have her sense of humour. Her wit. Her intelligence. Nobody had it all, though.
"What, you want me to closely examine it or something?" she asked.
"No, I want you to look at the date it was taken."
A lavender-painted nail clacked against the screen, and her large brown eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."
"It's a publicity stunt with Lacey's team. Mark took the photo two months ago, but we knew it would have more impact if we released it just as the musical was kicking off."
"If it was taken two months ago, her name wouldn't be on the front of the theatre," she said. "Her musical only started yesterday. And you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday."
I ignored the guilt that once again rose to the surface. To try to appear casual, I shrugged, laced my fingers together behind my head, and sank back into the sofa cushions.
"Like I said, it was staged. The theatre changed the display to help us out and make it appear like it was taken at a later date. If it wasn't staged, don't you think there'd be more than one photo of us circulating? That part of London is constantly packed full of people. We'd never have been able to get away with it. We had to shut off the street."
"Hm." One long, slender leg swung over the other while her unimpressed eyes studied me. "Sounds like you've well and truly covered your tracks, then."
Like she'd tried to? Like she'd done for months before we caught her out? My earlier guilt dissolved into frustration as a red haze blurred my vision, seeped into my bloodstream, and heated my body from the outside in. How could she sit there, affronted, when what she'd done was even worse?
I feigned indifference. No way could I let her see how she'd affected me. She'd lost that privilege when she'd stabbed me in the back.
"Yeah," I said. "It's important to cover your tracks when it comes to releasing gossip, especially if you're trying to sell a lie."
"Were you together when the photo was taken, though? Because then it's not really a lie, is it?"
I leaned forwards to stare at her. "The circumstances of the photo don't matter. It only matters that it's believable. For example, that article about Lacey and me in the club? That was easily believed because she'd been posting about it on Instagram all night. Everyone could see we were there. Then the article about Lacey and me talking on the phone. It reportedly happened in Amsterdam, so that's believable because I had interviews in Amsterdam around the same time."
Time to get this over and done with. To let her reel. Say her piece. Then kick her the hell out of here.
I twisted the laptop around to face her. Watched as the colour drained from her lightly tanned face. As her mouth parted, her body stiffened.
"But an article about me taking drugs?" I lowered my voice. "That's not believable, because it's a very well-known fact that Teddy Stone has never touched a drug in his life."
What I'd give to read her mind right now. To see if she was panicking. She couldn't even look at me, like she didn't believe she'd finally been caught. Talk about twisting the knife in deeper. Was she so confident in her duplicity that at no point she thought I'd find out?
"You should have stuck to blogging, Sophia. Every good journalist checks their sources, and you could have very quickly found out that my past with drugs was fictional. I've lost count of the number of times I've told journalists that I've never taken drugs. I mean, I knew you weren't a fan, but I thought you'd have at least checked that your bullshit articles contained some degree of truth."
She flinched, her gaze finally leaving the article to bounce up and meet mine. "Why would I have researched it when you'd told me the story yourself? You said everyone knew about your past with drugs."
"Exactly. Because I was hoping you'd fall for it and not bother doing the research if it was supposedly common knowledge. Actually, no, that's a lie. I was hoping you wouldn't reveal it at all. That you were as trustworthy as I wanted you to be."
"Did you only bring me here so you could see the look on my face when you called me out? Lull me into a false sense of security with some bullshit about a staged photo?" Her voice wobbled, but I still couldn't tell if she was upset or pissed off.
I drew in a deep breath to calm my own flaring emotions and settled back into the sofa. As I folded my arms, I kept my gaze fixed on hers, determined not to miss a single clue in her body language.
"Partly," I conceded, "but mostly because I wanted to see the look on your face when I tell you that you're not the only one who's been hiding their true motive behind this so-called 'friendship'."
She didn't seem to appreciate the sarcasm. "What are you talking about?"
"The photo with Lacey was staged, and it was initially intended as a publicity stunt, but instead it turned into one last attempt to flush you out. I even wore the same clothes so it looked as real as possible. And you fell for it. I wish I wasn't so angry and upset. I have no right to be. I should only be disappointed that I fell for your game plan just as much as you fell for mine."
"I'm not following."
So I explained our strategy for fixing the mess I'd created with Becca. I thought revealing the intricacies would quell some of my anger, like the satisfaction of tricking her would overpower the resentment of being tricked myself. Somehow, it didn't.
After I finished, Soph shook her head, disgust tainting her perfect features. "Becca was too embarrassed to admit what had happened. She'd never have confessed it to the world. It was hard enough telling us. That's why she exaggerated it, like she had to justify her hurt."
"I gathered," I said. "Hence your little mission, right? Maybe you thought you were being sneaky by only revealing stories that could have come from anyone, but Helen has never trusted you. After all, why would you be so willing to strike up a friendship with a guy who didn't consider your best friend's feelings?"
Would she remember that? For all I knew, our nights in Europe meant nothing to her. The argument in Paris that had plagued my mind for days afterwards probably lacked importance in her own head.
When she didn't react, I forged on.
"So we agreed that I'd mention something fake to you. If that fake story came out, we'd know it was you. Except it didn't. Because apparently in my attempt to reassure you that it was common knowledge, you'd then considered it unworthy of sharing. Hence why we resorted to the staged photo."
A soft sigh drifted between the plump flesh of her lips. Dark eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she closed her eyes.
She stayed silent. I'd said my piece. I'd watched her squirm. Now was the time to kick her out. The more I looked at her, though, the more that tiny, pathetic voice in my head screamed for reassurance. If I felt guilty for my part, might there be guilt on her side, too? One small indication that we had shared something real?
If this was the last time we saw each other, I needed all the answers—otherwise I'd never stop wondering and I'd doubt every future relationship.
"Tell me one thing." I waited until her eyes opened and met mine. "This started off because of Becca, right?"
"Right," she said.
"Did it ever stop being about Becca?"
She looked away for several seconds, mouth scrunched. God, I'd seen her pull that expression a hundred times. The hesitancy. Contemplation. What did she have left to consider? Hadn't she messed me around enough? I just wanted honesty now.
Eventually, she gestured towards the laptop screen. "That wasn't about Becca. That was about me. I was hurt. Are you going to say that you only continued with the friendship—flirted with me, slept with me—after that first article came out so you could then hurt me into playing my hand at some point in the future?"
Crap. I could say yes, just to rub salt in her wounds. It wasn't true, though, and lying about it would make me no better than her.
"No. I'm not."
"Good. Because in amongst all the lies, I cared about you. I only pushed you away at first because of Becca. But I guess that's obvious now, right?"
"Right."
This was a dangerous slope, one that started at believing her and finished with forgiving her. If she'd cared that much, she wouldn't have double-crossed me. I had to remember that.
Apparently she wasn't finished with this Q&A session, though, because next she asked about the NDA. With every follow-up question, the guilt intensified. It piled up, begged for a release from the constant reminders. To make it worse, she didn't seem to be doing it deliberately. She wanted answers. The full story. Reliving it refreshed the shame. Emphasised my own deceit. Overpowered my anger and replaced it with remorse.
By the time she started prying into how long I'd suspected her, I'd lost almost all ability to remain hostile. Hurt pushed me into honesty.
"I didn't want to doubt you," I admitted. "Our friendship felt so real. So natural. I'd never had a friend like that before, so I hated to think it could all be a lie."
She bowed her head, shoulders slumping. Neither of us was innocent in all of this, but my part had far less damaging consequences.
"I'm sorry, Ed. It won't make it any better and it's not an excuse, but I really wasn't keen on the idea. The money was too good to turn down, and I felt like I owed Becca. Celebrities are always put on a pedestal, and I hated the thought of you using your fame to take advantage of adoring girls. I know I later found out Becca's version of events was an exaggeration, but that's why I did it originally."
"I thought as much."
"I could have gone much worse with the articles. You trusted me with a lot of stuff that I never would have shared. Unless that was all fake, too..."
I shook my head. "No. That was real. The side of me you saw in Europe, that was real. Our friendship—regardless of how or why it started—was real for me. And I never would have slept with you if that hadn't been real for me, too. This side you're seeing now, this is me hurt and angry. And yet knowing I'm a total hypocrite for feeling that way."
"Likewise. And this article..." She flicked a dainty wrist towards the laptop, in case there was any doubt which article she was talking about. "I hope it doesn't do any damage. I can write another one, setting the record straight—"
"The article's fake."
"Yeah, I know. But some people might believe it if they don't know better."
"No, I mean it's literally a fake article. It's not being released."
I tugged the laptop towards me and opened up my emails. This could be the final nail in the coffin. If she had any intentions of forgiving me, she wouldn't after this. Not that it mattered. We had no future together.
Morning,
Please see attached. Received last night.
Kind regards,
Samantha
Soph's brows knitted together as she read Samantha's message. "I don't understand... How do you know Sammie?"
"I don't, but her name was associated with both the club article and the Amsterdam one. Naturally she refused to reveal her sources when we confronted her, so we had to prove her source was unreliable. We sent her the staged photo and asked her to create a fake story that would find its way into her source's hands. We then said that if the source is who we think it is, she'll come back with another article. And if she did, we'd pay Sammie a six-figure sum not to release it."
When I finished talking, she stared at me like a stranger. A stranger she hated. Finally, back on easier ground.
"Fuck you, Ed. Seriously, fuck you."
I held up my palms to ward off her anger. "Don't be pissed off that I caught you out. I am no worse than you."
"You're a lot sneakier than me. I never would have gone to such extreme lengths. Deliberately trying to provoke me with that photo so I'd play my hand? Planning it this meticulously, to the extent that you wore the same clothes so I'd believe the photo was real? Fake articles? Offering a six-figure sum to give me up?"
My resolve finally snapped. The guilt, the anger, the hurt. This conversation had gone on long enough, and I didn't need my back-stabbing friend to turn the tables on me like this.
I leaned closer, so close I could kiss her if I wanted. Would she kiss me back or slap me? Probably both.
"Once again proving that you still don't understand how my world works," I said. "I had no choice but to go to extreme lengths. My life is on display for the world to see, so I'm sorry that I want to protect that to some extent. I'm sorry that I was right not to trust you."
With a huff, she stood up and stalked over to the window. Finally, I had a brief moment of privacy. To feel the frustrating, conflicting emotions that coursed through me. To accept them without needing to put on a poker face in front of her.
When she eventually turned back to look at me, defeat was written all over her face.
"Do you think we'll ever be able to forgive each other?" she asked.
I couldn't think about that. Couldn't think about the possibility of a future with her when this hurt so much. It was too tempting. Too easy to say yes and bury my head. The only thing I had left was pride.
"Maybe, but we'll be long out of each other's lives by that point."
She just nodded. No argument. Just acceptance. Without saying anything—without even looking at me—she swept up her bag and dropped her key card onto the coffee table in front of me.
When she left the room, she took with her a piece of my heart that I'd never get back.
***
Thank you for reading :) xx
***
Hope you enjoyed Ed's POV! Not the happiest chapter, but at least we know it all turns out okay in the end :) I especially loved showing his relationship with Mark here. They have a close bond, and you see a more human side to him compared to the robot that Soph often saw.
Speaking of Mark, I'm enjoying writing his book! I'll be sharing some teasers on Instagram, so follow me there if you don't already -- my username is authortessalovatt. Here's one to start us off: