by Lucy Parker
If Trix was still in the flat, she was giving them space. He hoped she wasn’t listening to this.
“Trix?” Even in her grief, Lily was loyal. “Trix has been amazing.”
“But when she thought she was in love with St. James, she turned her back on you. For a while, at least.” He touched her white knuckles. “And it hurt.”
Lily didn’t look back towards the bedrooms, so he assumed Trix had gone out. Blotchy pink appeared in her cheeks and down her neck. “Dan makes a game of manipulation. I never blamed Trix for—”
“Didn’t you?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, her lashes tangled black fans against her skin.
“It’s completely understandable, Lily,” he said evenly. “She was probably the only constant in your life for a long time.”
She spoke in a rush. “She said I was cynical. She was right.” Her expression was tormented—and achingly sad. “I think the very fact I jumped to that conclusion last night—after everything—is proof that I need to…sort myself out.”
He didn’t move his gaze from hers. He forced the word out. “Alone?”
She probably couldn’t see him clearly through her tears, but she left her hands balled at her stomach, pressing into her ribs as if she needed the support. “Yes.”
“No.”
Her mouth curved, just a fleeting, blurry distortion of a smile. “I knew you would say that.”
“Good. Progress.”
“Luc. I’m a mess right now.”
“You’re beautiful.” His statement had nothing to do with her physical appearance, and her face softened a little.
She laid her hand over his, and he turned his wrist to entwine their fingers. “I don’t even know how I feel. I’m sad.” Her voice fractured again. “And I’m so angry, and I feel guilty that I feel angry, and I just…I need to come to terms with—everything.”
“Lily—” I love you. I need to be with you. When you love someone, you work through things together. You support each other. When it’s hard to stand alone, you take someone’s hand. There were a hundred things he could say to her in that moment, but—
She was crying harder, but in utter silence. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said at last, and it was a broken vow. “And I feel like I’m just going to hurt you again and again.”
Their hands were their only point of contact; she was holding his fingers so tightly that her nails dug into him.
She was grieving, she was confused—and she was stubborn as hell. She needed to find some peace in herself, and he couldn’t force the issue.
Or it really would break them.
With his free palm, he cupped her neck, dragging her up on her tiptoes so that her forehead pressed against his. “I can’t walk away from you.” Her lips moved; he pressed his over them. It wasn’t a kiss so much as a seal on his words. “But I’ll always try to give you what you need. And if that’s—” It was hard. It was so fucking hard. “If that’s to not be with me—then I’ll leave. But I’m here.” He shook her, gently, just once. “I’m here, Lily.”
Her tears were wet against his wrist.
“And I need to know you’re…okay,” he said roughly. “So—text me.”
She touched her wet lashes. “Text you?”
“Every night. Just one word. A fucking emoji if you like. Just—text me.”
He could hear her breathing.
Softly, she said, “For how long?”
For however long it takes.
His gaze went from their linked hands to the conflicted expression in her eyes. “That’s up to you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lily’s paternal grandmother had given birth in the middle of someone else’s wedding. Jack Lamprey had entered the world with a roar, lived like a rocket burning a trail through the sky, and at the end, disappeared silently into the night. There was no funeral. I’m not giving all the bastards a public forum to gloat and paying for the privilege, he’d written in a letter to his lawyer. By his own request, he was cremated and his ashes released into the wind from the rooftop of Lamprey Enterprises.
Lily stood off to the side of the small gathering, her hands tucked into the pockets of her black coat, her hair whipped back by the breeze, watching the grey dust catch on the crossing currents and scatter, the last remnants of her father dancing out towards the black strip of the Thames and the lights of Tower Bridge.
Her eyes were dry. She hadn’t cried since the morning she’d pushed Luc away and put that look in his eyes.
Her dad was a black shadow on her heart. She felt as if the moments of love and humour and affection were slipping through her fingers, falling into the depths of everything that was permanently lost now.
Being apart from Luc as well—it hurt. It physically hurt.
She texted him every night, just the one word: Okay. It was an acknowledgment that she was safe, that she was coping, that she was…okay, in the most literal, unemotional sense of the word. Otherwise, it was almost farcically untrue.
She wasn’t okay. She was a fucking disaster.
Not onstage. She’d missed two performances, then gone back to work two weeks ago. It was getting her through. She didn’t like herself much right now, so it was a relief to escape into the persona of a stranger for a few hours a night.
With the exception of London Celebrity, she was apparently getting a lot of accolades and sympathy in the press. Freddy was cutting out the good reviews and leaving copies in her dressing room for her, usually accompanied by a packet of biscuits and a series of old books with increasingly bizarre titles, her very sweet attempt at keeping Lily’s spirits up.
Lily hadn’t looked at a single newspaper clipping. It was amazing how much priorities could change in such a short space of time.
She had seen Luc only once, across the busy green room. His jaw had clenched when she’d turned away. He was working mostly from his office building, putting things in motion for the next production.
Life went on.
He texted her back every night, just the single letter: X. A signature. A kiss. A mark on a map, pointing the way to where the good things were.
“Terrible shame about Jack,” an elderly man said to her. His faded gaze was curious and contained no recognition, but he was too polite to ask who she was. Most people who read the tabloids were well aware of her existence, but her birth had never been openly advertised among the Lamprey family’s intimate circle. “Quite a character, he was.”
“Yes, he was.”
“Hard to believe he’s gone.”
Yes. It was.
Lady Charlotte was also dry-eyed, standing stiffly next to a woman Lily thought was her sister. Her clothes and makeup were faultless.
Over the heads of Jack’s closest business connections and a few family members, her eyes locked with Lily’s.
Lily didn’t move. She barely felt as if she were breathing.
Charlotte said something to her sister, who looked across at Lily with an inscrutable expression, then edged smoothly through the crowd.
She stopped about six feet away. Her gaze went from the tips of Lily’s black heels up to her face, where it lingered; a quiver of emotion passed over her own. “Lily.” Her body was tense, but her voice was brisk. “I need to speak you with you, please. Not now. Could you come to my office on Monday?”
A fog of Lily’s own breath was blown back by the bitter wind, curling around her. “Yes. I have to be at the theatre by five at the latest, but—”
“Early afternoon? Two o’clock?”
“That’s fine.” Lily searched the other woman’s face, looking for some hint as to what she was feeling, what Lily ought to be feeling, but it was utterly blank and businesslike.
Charlotte inclined her head. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.” She raised a slim hand, gesturing to the rest of her family, who began to move towards her.
It took almost ten minutes for the work associates to follow them inside; they were talking shop.
In the beams of light, she could see tiny specks, still spinning.
*
Even when he wasn’t in the theatre, Luc’s presence dominated the Queen Anne. Lily could hear his voice in her mind while she waited in the wings; she could see his aesthetic and his hard work in every detail of the architecture. She avoided the foyer. The Italian tiles gave her a bittersweet tug in her stomach.
When she rose from the full-cast bow after the Thursday night performance, she shouldn’t have noticed the woman in the third row. Her brain was usually so wired from adrenaline that it skittered over details.
Her gaze arrowed straight to her mother’s face.
Margo shot her a questioning look when she accidentally clenched her hand. The applause and audience noise blurred into the background. She was very aware of the constriction around her ribs and the dampness of sweat under the weight of the wig.
Downstairs, she changed back into her street clothes. She was pacing her dressing room when the knock came.
Her mum slipped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked the same as ever. Dark, sultry, graceful, all the things Lily wasn’t. When she lifted her arms, the loose sleeves of her bright silk dress fell away from her elbows like butterfly wings.
Lily returned the hug, still feeling oddly distant.
Vanessa pulled back to scan her face. “You were wonderful. Not that I expected any less. How are you, darling?”
“I’m…okay.”
Her mother frowned. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get back. I wanted to be here when they scattered his ashes.” Wryly, she corrected herself. “Not actually at the service. I’m not quite that tactless. But I should have been here for you afterward. Was it—”
“It was what Jack wanted.” Standing in her mum’s presence, smelling the perfume she’d been using for at least twenty years, Lily’s hard-won composure cracked a bit. The words spilled out before she could swallow them. “To be blown all over London. He isn’t even having a headstone. Even in death, he’s inaccessible.”
There was a slight pause before Vanessa spoke again. “Are you finished here? Should I follow you home?”
There were lines around her eyes that Lily had never noticed before. Although she’d never actually thought of her mother as young. Vanessa had probably been born with that cool pragmatism. Jack was the one who had seemed ageless.
“I’m done.” She reached for her coat and bag. “Are you staying with me?”
“For a few days, if you’ll have me.” Vanessa’s discreet cough was jarring. “Unless it’ll be a bit crowded?”
“No.” Lily’s response was short, and she tried to temper it. “It’s just me at the moment. Is—” Oh, Christ. Her mind temporarily blanked out. “Is…your partner with you?”
She hoped not. She wasn’t in the best state of mind to play hostess.
Vanessa lifted one of her straight eyebrows. “I’m a solo act, darling. Always have been, always will be. If the name you’re desperately striving for is Milo, however—no, he isn’t. We’ve parted ways.”
Lily registered that without even a glimmer of surprise.
It was almost midnight when they got home, and Lily was so exhausted that she missed the keyhole three times before she managed to unlock the door. She stumbled through the process of getting fresh towels for the guest room, kissed her mother on the cheek, and collapsed face-first into her pillows. She was usually grateful for the extreme energy drain after the performance. It was better than lying awake thinking about her father and wanting Luc so badly that she ached.
It wouldn’t work. Unless she could just…let go, open her mind, open her heart, stop expecting disappointment, it would be a shell of a commitment. Easily shattered.
She reached for her phone to tap her usual token Okay into the message field, but her thumb hovered over the screen. She rested the cool plastic against her forehead. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she typed My mother’s here, and sent the text.
The response came back in about twenty seconds. Good. About fucking time. Talk to her.
She looked at the words until they blurred into the same muddle as her thoughts. Okay.
X.
*
Lily had inherited her hair colour from her father, but the fine texture was all Cray. When she set a cup of milky coffee in front of her mother the next morning, Vanessa’s black hair was sticking out in a fluffy mass.
“Lifesaver. Thanks.” She was sitting sideways in the chair, her legs crossed, effortlessly elegant. She swallowed a mouthful of coffee before resting the cup on her knee. “No Luc, then?”
Lily’s hand slipped and her butter knife scraped against her plate.
“You’re a photogenic pair. Looking very cosy lately. I was expecting to find him a permanent fixture.” Vanessa’s eyes were searching. When Lily was unable to suppress a tiny flinch, her expression changed. “Christ. Don’t tell me he’s chosen a time like this to end it. He can’t be that much of a bastard.”
Lily’s throat felt dry and rough, as if her unwanted toast were lodged back there instead of going cold on the plate. She spoke from the most protective part of her heart. “He’s not a bastard. He’s…” Stubborn. Bossy. Loyal. One of the best friends I’ll ever have. “He didn’t end it.” She pushed the plate aside. “I told him I needed space.”
Time alone to clear her head, she’d said. The memory of his eyes that day had kept her company ever since. He’d curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. God.
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “That one’s as old as the hills, and usually reserved for the men with easily bruised egos. From what I’ve seen, it would take an air force squadron to decimate Luc Savage’s ego.” She picked up a piece of toast. “Still, his reputation isn’t exactly glowing, and your star is well and truly on the rise. I realise your career isn’t top priority right now, but thinking ahead—If you want maximum leverage from the reviews, it’s probably a good idea to cut ties where he’s concerned.”
Lily’s mind was across the river in Southbank; it took a second to hear that as anything but words. She emerged from the fog, at first absently and then in a wrathful rush. “I didn’t cut ties because of my career.” She hadn’t cut ties at all. The microscopic, repetitive text messages were a tiny but vital link she couldn’t seem to sever. “My relationship with Luc has never had anything to do with networking.”
Vanessa was totally unfazed by Lily’s tone. She kept eating toast while she reduced the most meaningful, complicated experience of Lily’s life to a professional fuck-up. “Regardless of why you got into the relationship, it hasn’t done you any favours. This isn’t a kind industry, or a fair one. You came into it by choice, with your eyes open. You need to make smart decisions.”
She wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin, then reached for her handbag and pulled out her planner. She was using a magazine clipping as a bookmark, a cut-out photo, which she removed and placed on the table. With her fingertip, she flipped it around to face Lily.
Lily looked down. It was like stepping into Alice’s rabbit hole and falling right back into the hospital waiting room that night. Everything she’d felt then, she felt now. Worry. Stress. Need.
Her hand brushed her mother’s when she pulled the cutting closer. It wasn’t the shot that London Celebrity had run. This one was crisper and zoomed in on their faces. The silent connection, crystal clear for all to see. In that moment of stress and urgency and honesty, she’d been stripped bare. There had been no acting then. No self-deception.
Just…love.
Unmistakable. Beautiful. Miraculous.
And, on its own, not enough.
Vanessa spoke very evenly. “Don’t let infatuation cloud your judgment.”
Feeling as if she were moving in slow-motion, Lily raised her head. She look
ed at her mother. “Is that what you see in this photo? Infatuation?”
Vanessa’s mouth, oddly pale without lipstick, was a rigid curve. “I see a woman with a very bright future about to make a mistake.”
A few heartbeats of silence went by; they watched one another.
Lily pressed her palm hard against her thigh. “Like you did? With Jack?”
She had always wondered. Vanessa’s affair with Jack had followed an established pattern, in all but one respect. As far as Lily was aware, there had never been another married man. Her mother was always upfront about her motives, and she didn’t usually trample on other people’s happiness.
Vanessa said nothing for a long time. Then she released a sighing breath. “You were never a mistake. I could never truly regret what happened with Jack.”
“It didn’t hurt your career, either.” Hateful words that Lily wished wouldn’t jump to the forefront of her mind, but it wasn’t something her mother ever denied.
“No, it didn’t. But it—cost me.”
“Did you have feelings for Jack?” She kept all emotion out of the question, but her nails bit into her leg.
Vanessa’s small movement was quickly shackled into stillness. “For a very short time, I lost my head over Jack. And a good deal of self-respect.” Fleetingly, her mouth twisted. “I know you don’t approve of the choices I’ve made, Lily-bit, but I don’t usually have difficulty looking at myself in the mirror.”
Lily-bit. Jack’s old pet name for her. Lily hadn’t heard it since she was a child. The lump in her throat was painful.
“There are people who have a unique ability to inspire feeling without letting it touch them.” Vanessa rested her fingers over the tabloid image of Lily’s face. “Don’t sacrifice everything that really matters for a short-term fling.”