For King and Country

by Geneva Lee

  “Have fun today.”

  I swallowed and bobbed my head, doing my best to look chipper. “We will. Notting Hill is my favorite place in London.”

  Alexander paused as if he wanted to say something, but he opened the door instead. “See you soon, poppet.”

  It was hardly the farewell I was hoping for. With the integrity of his phone compromised and this morning’s disaster, I had no clue when soon might be. A cold chill rippled up my spine as I considered that I might not see him again at all. We hadn’t spoken about what had happened last night in bed. Had things gotten out of control?

  Belle appeared at my side as I shut the door and whispered, “It’ll be okay.”

  Part of me wanted to spin around and yell at her for what Philip had said, but it wasn’t her fault. I wasn’t feeling so forgiving of Philip though.

  By the time I’d showered and pinned my hair back, I was eager to get out of the house and do something normal. Just because I didn’t consider shopping a career like my mom didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate its ability to distract. Right now, I needed to shut down my overworked brain and more than that, I needed to spend some time with Belle. I needed her to make me laugh. I needed her to distract me from the mess I’d found myself in.

  “You ready?” I yelled, knocking on her door.

  “Five minutes!”

  I plopped onto the couch and grabbed one of her magazines. Paging through it, I felt like I should take notes. I wasn’t accustomed to being trendy or fashionable, but now that I had a real job, I couldn’t get by on t-shirts and jeans.

  Philip came whistling around the corner, but the tune died on his lips when he saw me. I’d assumed he’d gone after the spat, but apparently not. I stood, a scowl deepening on my face, and headed for my room.

  “Clara, wait!” he called after me.

  For some reason I couldn’t quite explain, I stopped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I waited. Nothing he could say to me would make up for what he’d said to Alexander.

  “I apologize for my behavior,” he began, “but you have to understand that I grew up around Alexander.”

  “That’s some apology,” I hissed.

  “Let me explain,” he said, ignoring my jibe. “Alexander isn’t what you think he is. He’s a dark soul and he has secrets.”

  “But let me guess—you know them?” I already knew Alexander had darkness in him. Unlike Philip, I’d not only seen it, I’d experienced it.

  “No. I’ve heard the rumors. The ones that get passed around at official functions.”

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to believe everything you hear?”

  “I suppose she did,” Philip said, “but she also told me to be careful whom I trust. I trust the people who told me about Alexander and what he does to women. How he uses them. How twisted he can be when he gets them alone.” He took a step closer to me. “So let me ask you this, Clara, do you trust Alexander?”

  This was hardly news to me, but the question of trust—that was an entirely different story. I considered it for a moment, thinking of the back and forth I’d experienced since I began seeing Alexander, but then I thought of his face as he revealed himself to me last night, of the fragile control he’d exhibited when I offered my body to him in any way he needed, and I had my answer. “I do trust him.”

  “Then I hope for your sake that I’m wrong,” Philip said. “Be careful, Clara.”

  He disappeared back into Belle’s room, leaving me to question my sanity. Could Philip see what I couldn’t? Had I turned a blind eye out of lust or...I shook my head. The alternative was far worse. I forced a smile as Belle appeared in the doorway.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  I grabbed my purse and gritted my teeth. “Absolutely.”

  The weekend flew by without word from Alexander, and I began to feel the first tendrils of doubt rooting in me. He’d broken his rules and shown a part of himself to me that he’d sworn to keep hidden, and then I pushed him further.

  It was this thought preoccupying me as I got to my desk on Monday morning. I’d purposefully headed in early so as not to deal with the swiveling heads I knew would follow my entry. Thankfully, the few people who had magically gotten there even earlier than me merely mumbled sleepy hellos as I passed.

  But when I got to my desk, the answer I’d been waiting for was there already. In the form of another hand-delivered notecard. I picked it up and flipped it over, my heart thrilling as I brushed my fingers along the smooth wax seal. Plucking the flap open, I withdrew the card and read:

  I’d rather he was tied up with me, but I held the card to my chest, then glanced around to see if anyone noticed. It was thrilling to know his words were for my eyes only. I tucked the note into my desk drawer, but thought better of it and stuck it in my purse. Not only did I want to ward off rumors that could affect my working relationships here, but I also didn’t know if I could trust any of these people. Not when private information about Alexander was worth a premium.

  Bennett’s curly head popped around the corner of my cubicle, curiosity glinting in his chocolate eyes. “You had a delivery this morning.”

  “Yeah, I got it. Thanks.” It was best to leave it at that even though my new boss was a teddy bear.

  “And I saw you on Entertainment Today this weekend,” he teased. “Did you feel like Cinderella?”

  Yeah, I thought, especially the part where she runs away from the ball. But I didn’t tell him that, instead I shrugged, letting his good-natured ribbing roll off my back. “I came home with both of my shoes, so sadly no.”

  “Fine, don’t give me the sordid details.” Bennett pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, really.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed a notebook. “Don’t we have a meeting to prep for?”

  “Yeah, Isaac Blue’s publicist called to confirm him for next Tuesday.”

  Within seconds, he’d switched to full business mode, giving me a reprieve from the questions about my personal life. We settled into a lengthy discussion, strategizing how we’d pitch the new campaign and what responsibilities I’d have for the presentation. By the time Bennett stood to leave, it was already noon.

  “I should order something up,” he said, checking his watch. “I promised the girls not to work this weekend, so now my inbox is full.”

  “Actually, I’m going to go grab something to bring back to my desk. What can I get you?” I asked.

  A relieved smile spread across his face. “Clara, you’re a saint. There’s a fantastic curry place around the corner, but it gets packed at lunch. You might want to call it in now.”

  I found the curry counter online and placed an order. Sliding my purse onto my shoulder, I left, ready to get away from the desk.

  London buzzed with Monday afternoon energy, everyone rushing to get a leg up on the week ahead. The temperature had risen, as had the humidity, announcing the near arrival of summer. I pulled my hair up off my neck, unsticking a few sweaty strands, and pinned it into a quick French twist. Despite the heat, I welcomed the sun soaking into my skin. May had been rainy up until this point, and I was ready for the change of season.

  The aromatic scent of coriander wafted from the kitchen as I waited for my order, making my stomach rumble. Twenty minutes later, I was on the way to the office with two bags full of Tandoori chicken, rice, and lentil soup. I crossed the street to avoid the surge of foot traffic coming off the Tube, which is why I saw it:

  My face staring at me from the cover of a magazine. More specifically, my fifteen year-old face.

  Starving for His Love: Bishop’s Devastating Secret

  The past I’d worked so hard to forget was splashed across every tabloid in the corner news stall.

  The day became a checklist of things to do. Normal people wouldn’t need to be reminded to go back to work or check email or drink water, but then again, normal people weren’t on tabloid covers. I had a variety of therapeutic tools I’d been taught in counseling, many of which
I hadn’t used for years. Today I used them all. I shut out the negative influence, which meant turning off the wireless on my computer and silencing my phone. I ate lunch with Bennett, who had no idea what was going on. I focused on completing important tasks. Above all of that, I tried to be kind to myself.

  That proved to be the hardest. It always had been. I’d come a long way since I was fifteen, but I knew how easily I could backslide. The thing no one understood was that not eating wasn’t always a choice. Now when I was stressed out, I sometimes forgot. It became less important than all the other demands on my time. The problem was that mentality had grown from rotten roots. Simply forgetting to eat was one thing. Having a body that didn’t recognize it needed food was another.

  And now, despite all the work I’d done to weed the negative beliefs from my body, this was news. Actually, it wasn’t. The headlines, the old photographs—they all accused me. No one was interested in the true story. They wanted to sell papers, and that shredded me. Alexander had lived with it his whole life, but it was new to me. My building had become a hot spot for hopeful paparazzi. I’d seen my sex life discussed on gossip blogs. I should have known it wouldn’t be long until they dug deeper. Now my past had been resurrected in the name of entertainment, and if I thought about it for too long, I was going to fall apart.

  By the end of the day, I’d finished several days worth of work. The Isaac Blue presentation was complete and ready for Bennett’s approval, and I’d begun work on the new company email newsletter. But even as I drafted and edited at a mind-bending pace, my anguish smarted dully in the background. This time I couldn’t put it behind me, because as soon as I stepped out of this office, I would be reminded.

  Bennett knocked on my cubicle and stuck his head in. “Hey, you okay? You seem off.”

  “I’m fine.” I forced myself to smile. “In fact, I finished the Isaac Blue presentation.”

  “Even the graphics?” Bennett asked in surprise.

  “I just emailed them to you.”

  Bennett fist pumped the air, giving me a glimpse of what he must have been like when he was younger. The gesture, so boyish and genuine, made me like him even more. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I’m working on the newsletter now,” I continued. “I thought—”

  “Clara,” Bennett stopped me. “I think you’re a bigger workaholic than me. It’s half past five.”

  “No!” Spinning in my chair, I checked the time on my desktop. My pulse spiked when I saw he was right.

  “Time to go home, or do you have a fancy ball this evening?”

  Knowing he meant that as a joke, I forced a laugh. “I need to finish this up and then I’m out of here.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Bennett paused. “Or I can walk you out.”

  I waved him off, doing my best to look casual and hide the slight shake of my hands. “Get home to the girls. I’m leaving in five minutes, I promise.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I got to the elevator before the panic kicked in and with it the questions. What if I couldn’t get past them? What if the photographers followed me home? I told myself these were practical concerns, but by the time I reached the lobby, the hypotheticals had shifted to more dangerous matters. What would my mother say? Could I lose my job?

  What did Alexander think?

  There was no doubt in my mind that he knew. Just as there was no doubt that this was a deal-breaker. No matter how much I’d overcome or where I was in my life, my past would be a liability to him. He didn’t need any more scandal or embarrassment to contend with from the press, and I was proving to be both. After today, he’d be forced to break up with me and I understood. There had been no more letters from him since lunch. He hadn’t shown up my office Alexander had already begun distancing himself from the Clara Bishop train wreck. He could have his pick of women, why choose the damaged one?

  I pushed the sting of this realization down and locked it away. Outside the lobby doors, I had to face my past. There was no time to despair for my future.

  Twenty-eight steps to the revolving door. I counted each one in an attempt to focus on something mundane, but my heart continued to race as my heels clicked across the polished marble floor. Sun peeked through the door, and I was reminded of something my therapist used to say: “Why wait for the sun to come out from the clouds when you can turn on the light?”

  Easy advice to give, I thought as I exited the Clarkwell Building and pulled out my sunglasses. As I came face to face with the swarm of paparazzi waiting for me, I wished I could turn out the light. If only I could escape into the comforting darkness of anonymity, but there was nowhere to turn. Photographers clustered around me, making each step I took toward home difficult.

  Clara, are you currently in treatment?

  Does Alexander know about your anorexia?

  Is it true that you sought counseling as recently as last year?

  I clamped my mouth shut as I pushed through them toward the sidewalk. A short guy about my age, wearing a Yankees ball cap, jumped in front of me, iPhone in hand. “Smile, love! I know you don’t want any double chins in this shot.”

  Something snapped inside me and I rushed toward him. He tried to back away but I pressed forward until I was in his scruffy, unshaved face. “This is a joke to you, isn’t it? Do you even have feelings? Because from where I’m standing, you’ve all forgotten that you’re humans too! Tell me your secrets! Share that with me. You can’t, can you?”

  “I just wanted a picture!” The man held up his hands in surrender. If he thought he was getting away that easily, he wasn’t.

  “You’re a piece of shit. You all are. Did you ever stop to think that I have feelings? Did you consider what a story like this could do to someone in recovery? Or what it tells people too scared to ask for help?” I whirled around, finger in the air, no longer directing my anger at only one person. “You’re all sick. This isn’t news! Get out of my life!”

  A brunette with too much lipstick and not enough sense stepped forward, frowning sympathetically. “Clara, we just want to help.”

  “Help? Help!” Manic laughter poured out of me. “I don’t need your help. Don’t you get that? I don’t need you to fix me.”

  She moved closer to me, reaching out as if to pat my arm.

  “Stop,” I said in a quiet voice. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

  She gasped, whipping around to the cameraman standing behind her. “Did you get that?”

  I watched in amazement as she proceeded to record a sound bite right in front of me. They really had no shame. They were just a bunch of soul-sucking leeches. I opened my mouth to give her a few more sound bites when Norris appeared at my side.

  “Miss Bishop.” He dropped a protective arm around me and steered me toward the street. Reporters crushed against us, elbowing one another as they shouted more questions. I turned my face into Norris’s shoulder, grateful that he had shown up. But where was Alexander?

  Norris forced open the car door against the drove of photographers, and I climbed into the back, sagging with relief after the door shut. But my peacefulness was short-lived. The Rolls Royce pulled away from the curb, dodging people on the street, before settling comfortably into evening traffic. Now that I’d made it out of there, fury seized me. Part of me wanted to cry, but I was too numb to produce tears. There would be repercussions for what happened today. I’d made a mistake by confronting them. It only gave them new material. Tomorrow the stories would tell of Crazy Clara Bishop attacking reporters. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. Someone needed to call them out and people like Alexander couldn’t risk it. My infamy would pass, replaced by the sins of his next girlfriend. In a month, I would be a nobody. In a month, he’d still be the heir to the throne.

  I couldn’t blame him for not coming. He’d sent Norris to fulfill his promise to protect me even as he realized I wasn’t worth the effort.

  The flat was dark when I
entered, and a dam burst inside of me. I sobbed as I found a note from Belle on the counter saying she was staying at Philip’s for the night. It was selfish to want her here, but right now I needed my best friend. Digging into my bag for my phone, I realized I’d turned it off and stuck it in my desk. I had no mobile, no friend, and Alexander had sent his security guard to escort me home. Humiliation flooded through me as fat, hot tears hit my cheeks.

  I shuffled toward my room and the promise of my bed. I wouldn’t berate myself, but maybe I could afford to feel a little self-pity. I’d done my best to not misstep since I met Alexander, but no one cared about that. They wanted drama and juicy secrets. I wasn’t cut out for this life. Alexander hadn’t come because he knew that. Now I knew it too.

  At the door to my room, I stopped, realizing the light was on. I hadn’t turned it on this morning before work. That might have scared me once, but now I pushed the door wider and stepped through, knowing what I would find.

  Alexander filled the armchair by the window, his eyes turned to the street below. My heart lurched, drinking in the sight of him. His arms hung imperially on the armrests, his mere presence commanding even in the empty room. He was dressed in a faded black t-shirt that hugged his biceps, but even the casual attire did nothing to dull the brutal authority emanating from him.

  He didn’t speak and I didn’t have the energy to engage him. Instead I dropped to my bed and clutched a pillow against my lap. A few minutes passed, and I lost track of time, before he stood and moved to the edge of the bed. He loomed over me, regarding me with practiced coolness. I met his gaze, noticing for the first time the slight tick of his jaw.

  “Is it true?” he asked in a measured tone.

  I swallowed, knowing that I was about to destroy the bond we shared. Had I really thought it was unbreakable? Maybe I was as delusional as the tabloids painted me. “Yes.”

  This time his jaw visibly tightened as he turned away. I blinked against tears, refusing to cry again until he was gone. But Alexander didn’t leave, he took two steps, stopped, and put his fist through the wall. Jumping to my feet, I watched as he drew back his bruised knuckles. Plaster crumbled to the ground from the gaping hole he’d left.