by Corri Lee
“I maintain that you need an assistant. Your workload is obscene.”
“My workload is fine. I do not need an assistant.”
“You do. And an office. For God’s sake, go and work that dreaded nine to five at The Seymour. Leave work at work like I do. You’re not doing yourself any—”
“Cal!” Fuming, I shoved him away and hopped down from the table, needing to put some space between us before he found his teeth on the floor. “No assistants, no offices, no nine to five and lots of coffee.”
“Then maybe you can—” His mouth snapped shut when I took off a kitten heel and threatened to throw it at him. “So still a no on the laser surgery.”
“God damn it, Calloway!” I hurled the shoe at him and stomped off to my study where he knew not to follow me, hating that it had all gone so wrong. Yes, we were like any normal couple, except that we’d reached that seven year itch far too prematurely. Or at least I had.
And I knew why. After two months away from London, my mind still strayed back there. I still had to close my eyes and see someone else to make love to Calloway, and to wake up with him still felt like a betrayal. Still hurting over the fact that I thought about Blaze too much made me think about him more. I was stuck in a painful paradox that was slowly but surely taking over my life.
When Calloway found me sitting on the ledge in the study a couple of hours later, he was smart enough not to speak over my conversation with Ivy. Offering coffee as an alternative to an olive branch, he settled on the chaise longue and made no sound until I pushed my laptop away and broke the silence.
“Trying to kill me off now?” The corners of my mouth twitched at his defeated sigh. “I’ve been thinking, and I want you to let my parents know what I want on my gravestone. ‘Emmeline Elizabeth Tudor: Woke up and smelled the coffee. Died from it.’“
“I didn’t come in here to argue with you.”
“No?” My chin lifted defensively. “So why have you barged into my safe place with a fresh mug of hot death-juice?”
Sagging back, Calloway folded his arms and legs, curling up into a protective hunch. “What are your feelings on Halloween?”
Sheathing my claws, I dropped down from the ledge and padded over to him, laying down on the chaise next to him to rest my head in his lap. I was being needlessly hostile and I knew it. It wasn’t his fault that I didn’t like myself at the moment and I had to get over the urge to push him away when I was trying so hard to let him get closer.
Being in New York for Halloween wasn’t helping. For days, I’d watched as children and adults alike roamed the city in costumes, cackling with glee at the carved out pumpkins set in nearly every window and the plastic bats and spiders stuck to walls. I knew that if I’d been with my friends in London, we’d really be making a meal out of the holiday, decorating Esme’s in orange and black streamers with a trick skeleton or two, Chris throwing a few zombies into the mix while we experimented with dry ice and potent cocktails. Chances were we’d end plastered in special effects latex making ourselves sick with too many candy necklaces, and replicating Matrix fight scenes with water pistols.
New York extricated me from that. Calloway wasn’t the type of person who’d take me out to TP the rich kids houses seeing as we lived in them, and residing on a street of such high prestige killed my chances of even getting to enjoy trick or treaters.
Still, I’d been secretly hoping he’d bring it up, so wistfully I said, “Best holiday of the year. All the fun of cosplay without the judgement and an excuse to engorge on sweets.”
“Cosplay?” He raised a hand at my open mouth. “No... doesn’t matter. I know it’s sort notice for a costume and whatnot, but I’m apparently sponsoring some monster music event at Madison Square Garden and have green room access.” I went to sit up, but he gently pushed me back down and began to sift his fingers through my hair. He always seemed to spoil me that way when I needed it most, like he sensed me approaching my boiling point and knew how to urge me back down to simmer.
I purred, feeling myself slowly uncoil. “Who’s playing?”
“No idea—not my thing. But I thought it might be yours.” Catching his hand, I pulled it down to kiss his fingers. There were times when I thought he never listened and hadn’t made an effort to learn anything about me. Things like this proved otherwise, and I appreciated the gesture. “Think it’ll cure your homesickness?”
I fidgeted, unhappy that he’d been able to tell how I was feeling. “You noticed?”
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t feeling a little out of your element, Emmeline. It’s the start of the holiday season. Who wants to be alone for that?”
My heart broke at the realisation that I would, indeed, be alone for the holidays. Four weeks together wasn’t nearly long enough for me to expect an invitation to Boston for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I wouldn’t ask him to stay behind with me for exactly the same reason. As far as I was concerned, London was still out of the question and that left me with one option. More isolation.
“I’ll call my driver. Can you be ready in an hour? We’ll eat first.”
I shook my head. “I want to drive. I can’t drink so I may as well.”
“Emmeline...”
Pushing myself up, I stood and wrapped my arms around myself. “Damn it, Calloway. I’ve had that car three weeks and I’m a very good driver. You have to trust me eventually.” My new Audi coupe was magnificent and didn’t have so much as a scratch on it. I’d driven through rush hour and parked it in the Bronx, and yet he still wouldn’t let me drive him anywhere, even if we’d been heading in the same direction. What was his fucking problem?
He rose to my level. “It’s a lovely car but drivers exist for a reason. Do you really want to be worrying about it sitting in the car park all night?”
“Yes!” I thrust my hands into my hair and began to pace. “Yes, I want to worry about the safety of my car. I want to do all my own work and be the one to blame when mistakes are made. I want to be accountable and I want to look ridiculous sometimes because damn it, Calloway, I don’t want to be immune from the darker side of life because you don’t give a shit about the good if you don’t see the bad.”
“All right! Jesus! You can drive!”
If that was supposed to placate me, it didn’t. He just didn’t get it.
When I pulled up outside Madison Square Garden a few hours later, Calloway eyed my zombie cheerleader costume with distaste. We’d both picked at our meals and barely spoken since our altercation in my study, trading only terse instructional snipes where necessary. The tension was enough to make me feel sick, not that I’d let on that he had to power to make me miserable with his silence. The world didn’t feel right when we weren’t on the page because he was all that I had. I didn’t consider money to be a good alternative to companionship.
He made it poignantly obvious that he was in an irrationally pissy mood when he abandoned his usual gentlemanly behaviour by climbing out of the car and huffing off towards his pain in the ass assistant without opening the door for me. Affronted, I took my time collecting my bag and his letterman jacket from the boot, though I secretly hoped he’d notice that the jacket was the premise of my costume and be flattered.
Wishing I’d stayed home and sulked in solitude, I took the path around to the public entrance instead of following Calloway in through the back with a plan to find someone slightly less stupid to show me to the backstage rooms. What I found was the scrolling red LED display across the front of the building over the entrance.
My brain registered that I needed to leave the same second it became too late to turn back.
The display flashed up ‘Monday’s Miracle’ at the perfect moment for them to walk out of the building. Somehow, my gaze locked with all four of them at once and I stood in frozen horror, desperately willing my legs to regain the gift of movement. With the exception of the first two weeks there, New York had provide no visual reminders of Blaze—except Calloway by proxy and my emerald ri
ng—and now it had pulled out the worst of all on probably the most appropriate of days.
The five of us stood stock still for what felt like an eternity but was probably less than half a minute. We all seemed to snap back into our senses at the same time; Jordan and Matt, drummer and bassist respectively, turned to stare open mouthed at each other, Scott, their guitarist rammed a hand into his pocket for his phone with a loud curse and turned back into the building, leaving me and Chase, the singer, scowling, daring each other to speak first.
Chase took the advantage. “Emmy.”
I turned my back on him quickly and retraced my steps to the car park at a brisk walk. Too raw, it was still too raw. To see the faces that meant so much to him on my side of the globe, knowing that they’d talk about him, was way too much for me to take. If they’d caught me on a better day, maybe I might have been able to force conversation and look aloof, but this had been thrown at me when I was already feeling like I’d been kicked to the gutter.
He caught up with me quickly. “Emmy, stop.”
“Sorry, I don’t know any Emmy.” Because I’d left her behind. That wasn’t me anymore.
“Bullshit, Emmy. God damn it, just stop running away.” His hands caught my shoulders and pulled me back against his body, where he banded his arms around my chest so I couldn’t escape. “I’m sorry,” he whispered at my ear. “I’m so sorry you found out like that.”
I went lax. “You knew?”
“I was a witness. I’m sorry—I told him to tell you the night you came to The Roses for our secret gig. It made me sick that you didn’t know and then he gave you that god damn ring...” He trailed off and released me slowly, tentatively reaching for my left hand. “This ring. You’re still wearing it.”
Sucking my top lip to fend off tears, I snatched my hand back and folded it under my arm. “What do you want from me, Chase?”
“What?” Hands fisted at his sides, he gave me a look of absolute sympathy and frustration. Even so, he was still gorgeous. His blonde hair was slicked back as ever but tipped with blue, bared forearms boasting thick muscles banded with old school Navy tattoos. His crystal blue eyes had nothing on Calloway’s, but they were sincere. “Nothing. Just for you to know that... I wanted better for you. You deserved to be centre of his universe.”
Those eight words speared through me like a white hot dagger, hitting me right where it hurt the most. It should have been a comfort that someone else saw it my way but it didn’t because it hadn’t made a difference.
“Well I wasn’t.” I splayed my hands out out helplessly. I wasn’t even centre of my own universe and there were no words to describe those feelings of despair and worthlessness.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout. I wanted to rant at Chase until my lungs gave out but my body wouldn’t let me because what was the point? It changed nothing. Given a choice between absolute isolation, a man who didn’t care for who I was and a man who cared for me less than money, which was really the better of the evils?
Chase held a hand out to me, creeping closer with the same caution he’d approach a lioness protecting her cubs. “You look lost, Emmy. Come backstage with us. We have a hotel for the night; we can get you a room. We’ll take you home.”
“What? Chase, no.” I backed off, tugging Calloway’s jacket around me tightly like it might protect me. “I live here now. I have done since I left.”
“Seriously?” His hand dropped. “I didn’t... We thought... Shit, Emmy. You’ve been here all along.” Why the hell did he look so surprised? My face had been strewn across a plethora of American and British periodicals and publications, online, on television and in print. There was no way he could have missed that I was raising hell both in and outside the business world.
Though I was sick of her sour face, I was grateful when Calloway’s assistant paced across the car park towards us. “Miss Tudor, Mr Ryan is looking for you.”
“Ah, shit...” I could just imagine the mood he was in, and the childish tantrum he’d muster when he found out I’d ditching him for a friendly chat with a rockstar. “I’ll be right there, Matilda. Tell him to keep his fucking hair on.”
“I... Uh...”
My eyebrow rose at her hesitance. “Not literally. Hell...” I waited for her to get out of earshot before I muttered, “Fucking brainless robot.” Even after a month of trying to force polite conversation with her, she really didn’t seem to have any personality to speak of, like an Austin Powers fembot minus the sex appeal.
Chase dipped to catch my eye and jutted a lip out. “You’re here with someone? And a Tudor? Are you happy here?” I turned away quickly. The less said about my current feelings the better. “Come drink with us, Emmy. We missed your crazy ass.”
“I can’t drink tonight, I’m on—” I caught myself just in time to save myself from admitting just how messed up I was. “I’m driving tonight. Look, I have to—”
“Go. Yeah...” Chase stood and watched me walk past him, and it took all my strength not to look back at him when he shouted, “He hates himself, you know. You might not have been the centre of his universe, but you’re the beginning and the end of it.”
Sickness knotted and churned in my gut when I finally got inside the building. Despite the air conditioning, I felt stifled and claustrophobic, my heart pounding visibly in my chest. Blaming my medication, I searched for a bench to sit and focus on breathing through the episode, but instead found myself face to face with one pissed off Calloway.
“Where did you go?” He snapped, gripping my elbow to pull me along the corridor to the green rooms.
Having no will to fight, I allowed myself to be dragged and lied. “The car park. I needed some air.” The same air I sorely needed now. My head began to haze and lighten until my vision started to tunnel. “I really need to sit down.”
“You’ll wait.”
Enough of my skewed equilibrium reformed for me to yank my arm back. “Excuse me?”
“We have passes to meet the bands, Emmeline, and I sure as hell won’t waste them.”
“You don’t even like rock music!” I grabbed at the spasm in my stomach and limped over to the wall for support. Hell, I recognised that pain. It was my ‘life has ended’ cramp—the one that caught up with me every time I felt myself falling into a rut. “I thought you brought me here for my enjoyment, not to fulfil some kind of responsibility to look like a big cheese because you scored VIP access by virtue of sponsorship.”
Calloway’s foot began to tap impatiently. “And will you enjoy yourself if we don’t even get to the green rooms because you wanted a little sit down? Get up, you’re being pathetic.”
Glaring, I spat, “Fuck you. You’re pathetic.” He was making everything about him and using my interest in the event as a justification to do so. What the hell did he care if he met a load of celebrities who’s music he’d never heard? He just wanted to stand with the other ‘tough kid’ sponsors and remind everyone that his money was paying their fees. “Leave me the hell alone.”
His shout was so loud it made me flinch. “Matilda!” As if by magic, she appeared at his shoulder. “Deal with—” He shot me a look of utmost disdain and made to walk away. “Deal with this and see that she gets to the green room in five minutes.”
So I’d lost my right to be referred to by the correct pronoun just because I felt a little unwell. I shed his letterman jacket in temper as he walked away, planning to tell him where he could shove it when he’d crawled out from his own backside.
When he’d gone, the assistant passed me a bottle of water I hadn’t noticed her holding and sucked in a breath at me. I ignored her, having heard the same indignant inhale enough times already to know that she was judging me. I’d enlightened myself regarding Calloway’s dating history with the aid of Google and it was obvious that from the outside I was just another privileged airhead of good breeding hanging off his arm. She didn’t care that I had more than half a dozen braincells.
“You’re worth more than t
his, Miss Tudor.” My head snapped around to look at her in surprise. Was she being nice to me after weeks of bitter interaction? “You don’t have to take his shit because he’s gorgeous and fucked up.”
Eyes narrowing with suspicion, I took the water and shook my head. “I don’t, and he hates it.”
“Oh, I know.” Her grey eyes raked over me and her arms crossed. I’d never seen her with her hair loose before and I realised that she was probably closer to my age than the mid-thirty range I’d been guessing her at. “But just because you’re the only woman with the balls to disagree with him doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it. Don’t be afraid to turn your back on him, because he is a massive asshole. He’d deserve it.”
Unnerved by the loyal assistant encouraging me to ditch her boss and, obviously sensing an ulterior motive, I shook off her pep talk and straightened myself. Calloway would snap out of his bitch fit if it killed me, and it felt like it might. “Show me to the green room.”
I wished I’d left when I had a clear run at the exit. The full assembly of Monday’s Miracle sat in the green room chatting with the various sponsors and media types that had arrived for exclusive interviews. Glad of them being occupied, I slipped past without interruption and silently joined Calloway and his conversation.
He gave me one cold, dead look before swinging an arm around my shoulders and introducing me to the event coordinator as his ‘dear sweet English rose’. I had to give it to him, he knew how to put on a show of his own and spare himself another public verbal beat down. For now.