Finding Infinity (12 page)

The jeweler then called and canceled his purchase of his new fancy car when I said that I didn’t want two rings. One ring was enough. Colin made some ridiculous comment under his breath about why I can’t be a normal girl. I ignored it, because we both know that if I were a normal girl, he wouldn’t be the least bit interested in me.

I then further slashed the jeweler’s bank account when I said that it had to be simple. Not flashy or gaudy, and the ring had to be made out of surgical grade titanium.

Colin threw a fit. He’s said, more than once, that this ring costs less than the original engagement ring that he bought for me with his signing bonus when he joined Dallas. I don’t care. After slammed doors and lots of yelling, I think he finally got it. I didn’t want a diamond wedding or engagement ring. He gave me the earrings. That’s enough diamonds for me. I threw the term “Get over it” around a lot.

Colin refused to re-propose when he gave it to me last night. The months since we’ve gotten back together have been rough. I’m pretty sure that he was convinced I would say that I wouldn’t marry him if he asked again. Instead, last night, while we were making love and playing his favorite game, the one where he tries out all of my new names while he samples his favorite places on my body, he slipped it on my finger using his teeth while he sucked on my ring finger. Erotic? Yes. Romantic? Definitely. A story that we can share over Thanksgiving turkey? Not so much.

I finally got to really look at the ring about an hour later. It’s perfect—just what I wanted. Colin and the jeweler captured our relationship to a T. It’s two pieces of titanium, twisted together and inset with one row of light lavender amethyst stones, for the color of my eyes and the lavender dresses that Colin loves to see me wear, and a row of diamonds because, by God, Colin was going to sneak diamonds in somehow. My ring is simple, not the least bit gaudy, without a beginning or ending, and practical. I’ll never take it off.

I look back at the thirty-year-old girl in the mirror. The façade in the mirror is simply gorgeous. She’s had a team of people working on her for over three hours.

The real girl has on something called Lipo in a Box that’s supposed to take ten pounds off of your figure, lift your butt, and flatten your stomach. I can barely breathe. My face feels like I have pancake batter smeared on it. My “natural” looking hair has been hair sprayed within an inch of its life. The only thing about me that’s real is my necklace, which I refused to take off, even after the stylist threw a fit, and my rings. The diamond earrings weren’t an issue, because, well, they’re so big that they look fake.

My stomach is in complete knots. I haven’t been able to eat, because I’m afraid that I’ll be sick. This is the first time that Colin and I’ve attended a public event together since the interview with Allison Katz aired. We’ll be expected to pose on the red carpet for the photographers to catch us from every angle. I’ve also been told that the dress designer expects me to pose by myself. That sounds terrifying.

Blogs and websites have developed a rather sick fascination with us as a couple. One was kind enough to post a picture of Colin and me from college. It must have been taken after his last game during his senior year. His long arm was wrapped around me, tucking me into his side. He’s a sweaty, hot, beautiful mess. He was still in his A&M uniform. I think the game had just ended. His pads made him look even larger than he actually was. I look like a child compared to him. My caramel-colored hair was blowing in the wind, and I was looking up at him adoringly. It’s a ridiculously cute picture. In fact, I would frame it, if I could get a high enough resolution copy of it.

It was before I got really sick. My eyes were still bright and shiny, and I looked so happy. Healthy. I was in love with the man whose side I was pressed against. I was never going to leave him. I never saw a future without Colin in it.

Little did I know that, just over a year later, I would tell him goodbye for what I thought was my new forever.

Next to that picture was a photo taken of Colin and me, leaving a restaurant in New York. He’d finished up shooting his last underwear campaign ever, and we were celebrating. Colin had on a suit that was tailored perfectly to him. His light blue dress shirt and grey tie made his eyes translucent green. We’d been forty-five minutes late for our dinner reservation because I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. It was the night that I’d given him his engagement/future wedding ring.

I’d left the photo shoot earlier in the day, because seeing him sitting there in nothing but a pair of white underwear was maddening. But then, when the director had him dropping back, as if he was going to throw a pass in nothing but his tighty whities, I thought that I would lose my mind. That beautiful man was mine.
Mine alone
. He’d given all of that up so I would be the only girl to see him that way.

I’d channeled my sexual frustration into a great day of shopping. In fact, I’d purchased the dress that I had on in the picture. I could have sworn that it looked great on me. I even took a picture of me in it, and sent it to Brad for his approval before I bought it.

However, when I saw me in the dress next to Colin, I agreed with the reporter’s statement. “Colin McKinney has only gotten hotter with age, but what’s happened to Charlie? Time has not been kind to her. They say that love is blind.”

Ouch!

Seeing the pictures side by side, I can really tell that I’ve aged. I’m probably fifteen pounds heavier than I was in college. My face is definitely fuller. My arms look fat. Seriously? How did I get fat arms? I didn’t even think that was possible. Apparently, I need to add weight training to my exercise routine.

Don’t get me wrong. I know logically that I’m not overweight, but I look thirty in the picture, and Colin looks like an ageless god.

Then, because I can’t stop myself, I read the comments section. The first one said, “Maybe he’s gay, and she wares a strap-on for him.”

Okay. That’s just dumb. I disregard the comment, because that person is clearly an idiot. “It’s ‘wears’ not ‘wares,’” I said to the screen. As if the person could hear me.

I read the next one. “I never understood what he saw in her. She was ugly in college.”

I can objectively look in the mirror and know that I wasn’t ugly then, and I’m not unattractive now. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The next comment actually took my breath away. “Maybe a good run at anorexia would do Charlie some good.” That comment hit me right where it hurts.

The façade looks carefree, as if she doesn’t have a worry in the world. The real person is struggling, minute by minute, for control over her life. The real girl knows that her worst fear has come true. She’s lost all sense of who she is. The order of her life, that she clung so desperately to, is dust in the wind. The only thing that she has is her one true love. She’s lost herself, and that’s a devastating thing to admit. She’s struggling every day to find her new normal. And, she’s winning.

Colin saunters into the second bedroom in the suite at the Peninsula Beverly Hills, that’s been turned into my personal salon. The bed was removed before we checked in. There is a makeup chair in the corner surrounded by chests of cosmetics and lights brought in for the occasion. Two wardrobe racks line the walls with tuxes and back-up dresses. I watch him approach me from behind as I stare into the floor-length, silver framed, modern accessory mirror that’s propped up against the wall.

I can’t take my eyes off of him. He’s quite possibly the most beautiful man alive. Even his crooked nose adds to his perfection. He walks up behind me and places a soft kiss on my neck, just where it meets my shoulder. It’s a simple kiss, but it holds so much promise when our eyes lock together in the mirror.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous that I’m not letting you out of sight tonight.” He pauses, and wraps his arm around my waist, splaying his hand possessively on my stomach. “But, I can’t wait for this evening to be over so I can wipe that shit off your face, wash your hair, lose this dress, and see the real Charlie that puts this girl to shame. I want you naked and underneath me. I want the Charlie that nobody else sees. I want my beautiful girl,” he whispers in my ear, as his hand travels south.

Just when I don’t think that Colin can get any more awesome, he drops a line like that. It’s like he’d been reading my thoughts. The man knows me so scarily well. “Well, McKinney. I have to say that you’re no slouch yourself in that tuxedo.” I run my eyes up and down his physique, drinking him in. He can fill out his Armani tux—well. His wavy, dark blonde curls have been slicked back away from his tan face. His stubbled jawline is rugged and sexy while still giving him a sophisticated air. The black jacket and crisp white shirt that he has on makes his emerald green eyes sparkle. “I wouldn’t be opposed to skipping out on the evening, heading to In and Out Burger, and making damn good use of this suite.”

I shift my eyes downward and watch the affect that my words have on Colin. I watch his bulge grow inside his pants.
Mission accomplished.

“You like that,” he asks, shifting his own eyes to his erection in the mirror. We both know that it’s not really a question. It’s a statement. If we never had to leave the bedroom, Colin and I wouldn’t have a problem in the world.

I smile my best devilish smile. “Shall we go.” I leave the suggestive statement hanging in the air. It has so many meanings. Shall we take off our clothes and skip the Espy Awards for a night of passionate, earth-shattering lovemaking? Or shall we go walk the red carpet right now, with Colin’s raging erection, proving to the world just what we mean to each other?

I catch Colin’s look in the mirror, and I know that, unfortunately, it will be neither. We will walk the red carpet together, but we’ll keep our public persona firmly in place. This is business. He’s required to attend these award shows for his sponsors, for his team, and for the millions of fans that buy the products that he pimps. This is also the first time that we’re being photographed together in public where we actually get to pose.

Our spell is broken when he cast his eyes down to the plush, navy carpet. “Come on, beautiful girl. Let’s go get this shit over with.” He turns away from me, breaking our image together in the mirror and reaches back grabbing my offered hand. He leads me into the living room of the suite where my beauty team, and Brad, Jenny, and Aiden are waiting for us.

Everyone but Jenny and Aiden swarm me, like they’re in a pack of locusts. Someone’s touching up my lipstick. Someone else is fussing over the hem of my dress. I hear the makeup artist say to the hair stylist, “She certainly doesn’t need more blush, does she?” That makes me smile, which earns me a reprimand from the makeup person.

Jenny and Aiden are surrounding Colin, whispering like middle school girls with a big secret. I try very hard to hear what they’re saying, but all I can make out are a few syllables. I glance at Brad, asking him for a clue with my eyes.

The best assistant in the world mouths, “Security.”

Oh! I give Brad a small head nod. Even though there will be heavy security tonight, Colin has been anxious about today. Every week since the interview aired with Allison Katz, the amount of interest in Colin has increased to an even more frenzied pitch, if that was possible. The public is clamoring for answers to the world’s most important questions. When is our wedding? Is he a drug abuser? A painkiller addict? As he has told me numerous times, “I created the Colin McKinney brand monster, and now we’re suffering the consequences.”

Jenny thankfully announces that it’s time to head to the Nokia Theater. That makes the little mice working on me move that much faster, until they’re finally convinced that I’m as pretty as I’m going to get. Brad grabs my purse, if it could be called that. It’s not even large enough to hold a phone. And Jenny (whose hair is bright red), Aiden, Brad, Colin and I head downstairs to our waiting limo.

Brad mouths at me when in the elevator, “You look fabulous.”

I mouth back, “I feel like a clown.”

Then Brad slightly gestures his head toward Colin. I look up at the man standing next to me. He’s staring down at me with a look that I can’t place.

When the elevator reaches the ground floor, I ask everyone to get off. I hit the elevator’s close-door button, and turn to Colin. It’s the first time that we’ve been truly alone without others hanging around in earshot since we got up this morning.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, in my sweetest, most non-accusing voice possible.

His eyes are wide, and Colin has a light sheen on his forehead. “Nothing’s wrong, Caroline. Let’s go.”

I’m only Caroline when I’m in trouble, or he’s serious. Even when we’re playing his favorite game in bed, I’m Caroline McKinney. Not just Caroline. He moves to hit the open-door button, but I block it. I’ve got all night.

He moves his hand up to start running it through his waves, but I grab his wrist, and ask again. “What’s wrong?”

Colin looks down, as if the elevator floor is going to give him the answer. Finally, he says, “I’m not ready to give them what they want.”

“Who?”

“Them. The public. The fans. Everyone there. I don’t want to let them see us together, exposing ourselves to their shitty comments. To see what we have between us. They don’t deserve to have their morbid curiosity fed.” He tightens his grip on my hand.

Caroline of a couple of months ago would analyze Colin’s words to death.
What if he’s ashamed of me? What if there are other women? Is it because I’m not pretty enough, like a model, or actress, or a certain entertainment reporter?
However, I know exactly what he means, without asking him to explain. He doesn’t want to share our relationship with the world yet. The interview taught us that we’re much more private people than even we realized.

“How about I don’t walk the red carpet with you? I’ll just meet you inside.” It seems like a great compromise. He can interact with his fans and the reporters without worrying about me, but I can still be his date during the actual awards ceremony.