by Nina Levine
Griff settles in the front of the car and I give him the address I want to go to. Ten minutes later, he pulls up outside it and cuts the engine. Exiting the car, he opens my door to let me out.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” I say. “If you give me your number, I can text you when I’m finished.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Honestly, you don’t have to. This waiting around has to be the most boring stuff you’ve ever had to do.”
With a quick shake of his head, he says, “This is what your husband is paying me to do. I’ll be right out here making sure you’re safe.”
“Thank you,” I say and make my way inside.
“Hey, darl,” the hairdresser greets me, a genuine smile plastered across her face.
I give her my name and she ushers me straight through. “What are you after today?” she says as she runs her fingers through my hair. I love that she seems to have no idea who I am. I can’t go anywhere in Brisbane without people knowing me.
I pull out my phone and find the photo Alexa sent me of the style she thinks will suit me. Showing the hairdresser, who told me her name is Charity, I say, “I’m thinking something like this. What do you think?”
She assesses the photo before looking back at me. “I like it. I think it’ll look great on you. We could also put some foils through to give you some more depth.” She reaches for one of her hair magazines and flips to a page. “Like this.”
I look at the photo she’s pointing at before meeting her gaze. “I love it. Let’s do it.”
She grins. “I like your decisiveness.” She closes the magazine. “Okay, let’s do this.”
I take a deep breath, not that I actually need it. At this point, it’s more of an automatic reaction to doing anything I know is playing with fire. However, this might be one of the first things I’ve done since marrying Joe that I don’t feel nervous about.
I know he’s going to hate it.
I know he’s going to make that super clear to me in all the ways he likes to intimidate me.
I know we’re going to go to war over it.
And I welcome all those things.
I’ve numbed myself to just how much power I’ve handed over to him. I’ve been going through the motions of life since the day I agreed to marry him, not feeling much of anything.
It’s time to feel again.
It’s time to wake the hell up and take some of my power back.
That day I saw Mason outside Joe’s office when we fought, was a turning point. Every time we’ve come together since, even if only for a brief moment, has helped peel back those layers of numb. That’s what Mason does to me, what he’s always done to me. He makes me feel when everyone else in my life forces me to stop. It’s time to embrace all these feelings. I’m going to own them and express them. Like I told Joe, everything between us has changed, and he’s not going to like the real me when he meets her.
Charity spends the next two hours working her magic on my hair, offering me champagne and strawberries while she does that. I take it all. I can’t think of anything better than day drinking today.
I check in with Alexa while waiting for the colour to be ready.
Me: I miss you.
Alexa: OMG me too! How are you?
Me: Don’t ask. Today has been the worst. But I’m getting my hair done and I’m here for it.
Alexa: That style I showed you that you refused to get when we went to the hairdresser?
Me: Yes. Plus some new colour.
Alexa: I need photos when you’re done! Hey, I know this is awkward, but I haven’t heard from Mason. Is he okay?
Me: I think so, but we haven’t really spent any time together. Joe’s keeping him busy away from me.
Alexa: As in Joe’s jealous?
Me: I don’t know if jealous is the right word. He’s a possessive asshole who thinks he owns me. He doesn’t like Mason simply because we dated.
Alexa switches from texting to call me. “We need to back this up, my friend. I mean, I know your marriage was arranged, but I thought you were okay with Joe. I thought you two were getting on well, and now you’re telling me he’s an asshole. What’s going on?”
I sip some champagne. It’s my third glass and I’m feeling more relaxed than I probably should be because it means my walls are down—the walls I’ve had to keep up for months to protect Mason.
I’ve never told Alexa the real truth of my marriage, and I won’t give her that today, but I’m ready to share some of it. “Joe’s an asshole. I’ve tried to make it work with him. I’d hoped we’d be able to build a relationship together, but he’s controlling, and I can’t do it anymore.”
“As in you’re going to divorce him?” She sounds as hopeful as I am resigned to the fact that won’t happen anytime soon.
“I can’t divorce him. I’m stuck in this marriage until Dad’s not premier anymore. Then, I can leave.”
“Holy hell, Chelsea, why haven’t you told me any of this?”
“Because I can’t change any of it, so there’s no point complaining about it. I just need to get on with it.”
“Have you been drinking? You’re talking a little fast like you do when you’re drunk.”
“Yes, the hairdresser gave me champagne, and after the day I’ve had, I wasn’t saying no.”
“What happened today?”
“Joe told me Dad wants me to resign from my job so I can work full-time with them on the campaign.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You’re not going to, though, are you? Like, that’s a big ask.”
I drain my glass. “It wasn’t an ask.”
More silence. “What? Wait, they’re making you do this?”
“Yes. And I know what you’re going to say, that I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, but I have no say in this. It’s complicated, but trust me, I can’t say no.”
“This makes no sense to me.”
“When I agreed to marry Joe, I agreed to this without realising it.”
“And you only agreed to marry him so that Mason wouldn’t go to jail,” she says slowly. “So if you’re still going along with what they want, that tells me you still love Mason. I fucking knew it.”
God, it feels good to talk about this with her. Not that I can tell her everything, but this has all been weighing so heavily on me; I didn’t realise how much I needed to get it out. “This can’t go beyond us, Alexa. Promise me that. Mason can’t know any of this, because if he does—”
“If he does, he’ll go in swinging hard to get you back, and God knows where that will end. I know, babe. I won’t repeat any of this.” The sadness in her voice hits me in the chest. I try never to think about this. It’s too hard. Too upsetting. But I’m feeling it all now, and it just makes me want to lash out at my father and Joe more.
“Thank you,” I say softly as Charity walks my way. “I have to go, sorry.”
“I love you and I’m glad you told me all this. We need to talk more about this when you get home, okay? I need you to know I’m here for you.”
“I know you are, and I love you too. I’ll call you when I get home.”
We end the call as Charity starts checking all my foils. “Oh, this colour looks great. Come over to the basin.”
She rinses the colour, gives me a treatment, cuts my hair, and styles it for me. When she’s finished, I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair used to reach halfway down my back; now it falls to my shoulders in choppy layers. Charity has styled it into messy waves, something I’ve never tried before. I love it as much as I know Joe is going to hate it. Score one to me for the night.
Griff drives me back to the hotel in silence. When he opens my door to let me out, he says, “I like your hair like that.”
He catches me by surprise. Smiling, I say, “Thank you, Griff. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
He watches me quietly for a beat. “I think I might.”
We share a moment, I’m sure of it. Griff does a
lot of work for Joe, so he must see a lot, and probably hears some of it.
I nod, but I don’t say anything else before heading up to my room.
I’m met by my husband, who’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, holding a glass of what I presume is scotch.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, standing and throwing some of the amber liquid down his throat.
I drop my purse on the bed, refusing to cower from him. Gathering my strength, I meet his gaze. “I was getting my hair cut.” I touch it. “Do you like it?”
He works his jaw. “You missed a meet and greet. One that was important for you to attend.”
“I wasn’t aware there was one. You didn’t tell me.”
“You were supposed to meet me here, Chelsea. I would have told you then.”
“You never told me to meet you here. This is on you, not me.”
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have to tell you this stuff. This is your job now. You should have been here waiting.”
“Oh my God, no. That’s not how this is going to work, Joe. I will quit my job. I will play happy families. I will promote Dad. But at no fucking point will I sit around and wait for your instructions. I might have given almost everything up for you two, but I still have a life, and I intend to live it.”
He stares at me, looking at my hair. “I see.” With that, he drains his glass, slides his suit jacket on, and says, “Get dressed. Dinner is in half an hour.”
I turn and watch him cut a path to the door. “What do you see, Joe?”
He looks back at me. “I see you intend to make this harder than it needs to be.”
The sound of the door clicking closed as he exits is the best damn sound of the day. However, whether I won this battle or not is yet to be seen. He may not have said anything about my hair, but if there’s one thing I know about Joe, it’s that he sometimes takes his time punishing me for the things he’s not happy about. Who knows what’ll be waiting for me later.
17
Chelsea
“Your father told me the good news about you working full-time with him,” one of the guests says to me after dinner when we’re mingling with everyone. “He’s lucky to have such a wonderful daughter who supports him like you do, dear.”
I smile at her as Joe slips his arm over my shoulders.
“Chelsea and I love working with Mark,” Joe says.
The woman’s eyes light up as my husband pulls her into his web. “I heard the rumours of your good news too. I’m very excited about the future of Queensland if it’s true.”
I frown, unsure of what she’s referring to, but I don’t have time to question Joe over it because he leads me to the next lot of guests waiting to talk with us.
We spend the next hour schmoozing. It’s more exhausting than normal because of the tension between Joe and me. I want to punch him rather than smile at him, and I sure as hell don’t want his damn hands on me, but he’s insisting on putting them on me more than normal.
It’s a game we’re playing.
Our new battle.
This is his way of telling me he’s pissed.
“Chelsea,” Dad says, joining us. “I need Joe with me now. Can you make sure you’re sitting with your mother when I make the announcement?”
“The announcement?” I feel like I’m missing all the pieces of a puzzle everyone else seems to know about.
Dad opens his mouth to say something, but Matthew Ronson calls out, “Joe, now.”
Joe nods and looks at me. “Go sit with your mother.”
I glare at Matthew. My first impression of him was right. He’s spent this week ordering me around like he’s my damn husband. We’ve had a few arguments, and I see many more in our future if he sticks around and works Dad’s campaign.
He shoots me a filthy look back. The feeling of dislike is mutual.
I do as my husband and father directed, taking a glass of champagne from the waiter as he comes by. Joe hates me drinking at these dinners, but tonight I’m not about pleasing him. This is my second drink and I see a third coming soon.
As I move behind my mother to take my seat at our table, my eyes meet Mason’s. He’s standing at the door across the room, watching me. He has his usual pissed off expression on. We haven’t really spoken this week, but I know he’s hated every second of it. I mean, that was a given simply because he hates Joe, but I know it has to be hard for him to watch me with Joe. I’ve tried to lessen the fake affection I show Joe at the functions, but it’s impossible to erase it completely; it’s what I’m here for. And as much as Mason acts like he hates me and wants nothing to do with me, I know from my own conflicted feelings that hate sits pretty damn close to love.
“Darling, should you really be drinking that?” Mum says, eyeing my drink and drawing my attention from Mason.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a long sip. “Absolutely. It might be the only thing to get me through this god-awful day.”
Her brows knit together. “I thought today was a good day.”
I think I understand my mother a whole lot more these days. If I’ve had to numb myself to my marriage and all it entails after only a short time, I can only imagine what she’s had to do to make it through decades with my father.
“I’m glad you had a good day,” I say, looking at the stage where Dad and Joe are now standing.
I sip some more champagne as I listen to what Dad says.
Halfway through his speech, I sit forward, my gut on high alert. I kind of drifted off, only half paying attention to him, but I could swear he just said something about Joe entering politics.
Surely fucking not.
That would be my worst nightmare, and I thought I was already living my worst nightmare.
Joe running for premier after Dad’s finished with the position would mean many more years of a man in my life having the kind of power that could fuck with Mason and his club.
Joe smiles as the crowd cheers.
Oh God, no.
No, no, no.
“I’m excited for the future,” Joe says, still with that smile of his I’ve come to detest. He looks at me and motions my way. “My beautiful wife will be joining us too. It’s a family affair, and Mark, Chelsea, and I are determined to lead this great state into a prosperous future, one where we’ll always put you first. I thank you for walking this path by our side.”
I stare at him in absolute horror.
He effectively just won every battle we’ll ever have, in advance. There’s no doubt in my mind that my husband has the charisma and drive to win an election and to become the Premier of Queensland one day. Looking back now, I see the signs I missed from the minute I agreed to marry him. They were all there to see, and yet I fucking missed them.
The waiter swings by our table again and I grab another glass of champagne.
Fuck it, I can’t do this night sober.
Not now.
“This is very exciting for you and Joe,” Mum says, and I know she truly means it. My mother thinks my husband is the best thing to have ever happened to me.
I guzzle my drink. All the way down in two gulps.
I know Joe’s watching me, because he’s always fucking watching me, but I don’t care.
Pushing my chair back, I grab my clutch and leave the table without another word to Mum. I doubt she even registers the fact I’ve left. My mother is in her happy little numb bubble.
Striding through the room, I smile at every person I pass, but I don’t really see them. I’m on a mission and I can’t achieve it fast enough.
Find the bar.
Drink a lot of drinks.
Wipe myself out.
And fuck whatever Joe does to me later for this.
18
Chelsea
I can’t feel my lips. I lift my hand to my face and squeeze my mouth and pinch my cheeks. Nope, can’t feel them. I drink the rest of my champagne. I’ve given up counting how many I’ve had, but I don’t think it’s actually that ma
ny. After not eating much today, the alcohol went straight to my head. Which I’m fucking grateful for.
My phone vibrates with another text. It’s been going off for a solid half hour. Every text is from Joe. He can’t find me. I’ve managed to enjoy one whole hour without him. It’s been bliss. I’m considering how successful I could be at running away from my life. I mean, right now, it feels achievable. I’ve planned how I’ll do it, and I’m pretty convinced I could make it happen, but even my drunk brain knows that’s the alcohol talking. There’s no way Joe’s ever letting me leave.
Another text comes through and I check this one.
Joe: If I have to come and find you, you won’t enjoy the consequences.
I click my phone off, not wanting to read the rest of the messages, and stare up at the stars. I’m lying on the roof of the hotel. I don’t doubt Joe will find me soon, but for now, I just want to stargaze like I used to with Mason.
My heart aches as I think about him. I’m drunk enough to stop pretending I hate him. I could never hate that man, not even for sleeping with my friend. Well, if he did that while we were together, I might hate him, but I know he’d never do something like that. Deep down, I know why he slept with her. And I don’t blame him one little bit.
I broke his heart.
I ripped it from his body and took it with me when I left.
If he’d done that to me, I’d be just as angry and hurt as he is.
Oh God.
I wrap my arms around myself.
I hate myself for doing this to the boy I’ve loved since I was five. He never asked for any of this. All he ever did was love me like no one has ever loved me. And I’ve betrayed him twice. Twice.