“Was the sex good with Danny?” She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t wait for me to answer. “The dynamic with Jack is different.” Clearly I’d said enough to convey the chalk and cheesiness of it all.
But I didn’t squirm. She was so matter-of-fact about it, I found my embarrassment fading. “So, focus on what’s working and build on that.”
“He’s the one.” She looked so supremely confident in that moment, I wanted to believe her.
Only, “How can you be sure?”
“You’ve changed, and he did that. You’re more confident, assertive.”
“I did stand up to my mother.”
Louella’s perfectly curled lashes fluttered for a moment before she said, “I beg your pardon. You stood up to your mother?”
“I told her…” I couldn’t remember. “Something about disrespect. I yelled, then I threw the phone and hung up on her.”
Louella’s smile was slow to come, but when it did, it transformed her face. I’d never seen her so radiant, and it took my breath. She was beautiful. “For twenty years I’ve hoped you’d stand up to that tyrant. Well done you.”
I felt so proud of myself, I wanted to cry. “It was easy, in the end.”
“And the aftermath?”
I shrugged. “She hasn’t rung me about the Sunshine segment, and I texted them about it. Maybe I’ll never hear from her again.” I was such a bad daughter, but the idea was so liberating I wanted to hug myself. “Only, I’ll miss my dad.”
“She’ll come around,” Louella said. “When you have children, if not before.”
She looked sad then, and I had to say, “What about you, L? Are you doing okay?” I couldn’t imagine her rambling around in that huge mansion alone. Did she want children too?
She glanced away to the window, revealing a profile that appeared fragile again. “I miss Marcus,” she said, and nodded. “But we’d grown apart. There’s no going back.”
I steeled myself to ask the hard question. “And the person you fell in love with?” We’d plumbed the depths of my emotional dramas. If there was ever a moment when she’d reveal her own heart, this was it.
“Gone,” she said, and smiled a brittle smile, still looking out the window. “Sometimes I’m lonely, but this is my moment to discover who I am. What I want.”
I couldn’t stop myself asking, “What do you want?”
Long seconds ticked over until at last she sighed, a sad, drawn-out sigh of resignation. “Power,” she said softly, and closed her eyes. “I want back the power I gave to my husband when I married him.”
I wanted freedom and orgasms and children, so I didn’t understand what she was talking about. “What sort of power?”
“The ability to command. To be obeyed.” She glanced back at me. “I love Marcus still, too much to punish him for what he took away from me. But I want to punish someone. I want someone to suffer for what I’ve been through.”
Never, in the twenty years that I’d known Louella, had I heard her speak like this. She was always so calm, so controlled, so…emotionless. As we stared at each other, I realized I really didn’t know her at all. And I had no concept of what my response should be, except to say what should go without saying. “I’m here for you.”
She nodded, sucked in a slow breath and said, “You three are my life raft and the ocean is rough right now. Don’t let yourself sink, Angela, because I’ll drown without you.”
My eyes stung with tears and I pulled her out of her seat into the tightest hug I could manage with one hand. And she hugged me back. “I’m here,” I kept saying, over and over.
She didn’t cry—that would have undone me completely—but I felt her shudder from time to time. We hugged for what felt like minutes, and then abruptly she pulled back. “Are we done now?” Her voice was low and husky and so unlike Louella. I would never have recognized it. “May I use your bathroom?”
“Sure.” She clearly needed space, so I busied myself with tidying up my already-tidy kitchen while she used the facilities and then she was in front of me again, smiling her usual smile—a slight twitch of her lips.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Thank you for your clarity,” I replied. “I’m going after Jack.”
“I look forward to meeting his parents at the wedding. They’ll make very good sponsors for the charity events I organize.”
I laughed at that. “I’m not sure about—”
“I am,” she said with a completely straight face. “Today, he wants you. Don’t make him wait until tomorrow. Giving men time to think is fatal.”
“Okay.” I grinned, riding on Louella’s confidence that we belonged together. He made my heart feel light. “And nothing of this to Fritha or Jill till it’s sorted.” The last thing I needed was Fritha weighing in and stuffing things up as she had with Jill and Finn, or more of Jill’s indiscretion’s—I still hadn’t completely forgiven her for the Don’t fake it comment when I’d been standing in front of Jack.
Louella put her fingers up to her lips and turned the key—a delightful gesture I hadn’t seen since we were teenagers back in Dakaroo.
I knew it would embarrass Louella, but I had to say, “I love you.”
She nodded. “I know.” All Han Solo cool. Then she turned for the door. “Nicholas!” He was inside in seconds. “We’re leaving.”
Without a word, he retrieved her coat and helped her into it, biceps conspicuously on display. Then he shook my hand and opened the door for her. Louella didn’t look at him once, but the feeling of familiarity between them resurfaced, almost as if her bossiness and his obedience was some sort of game they were playing.
I had no idea if that was true, but a second after they were gone, I realized I didn’t care. My thoughts were instantly consumed with Jack, and how quickly I could be in his arms.
It was highly unlikely that he’d hung around the building after I’d ordered him out so rudely, so I hurried to my bedside table and retrieved his phone. I hit his number before I could formulate what I might say, because that very much depended on his reaction to the call.
What I didn’t expect was a recorded message that said, “I don’t have time for this anymore. Enjoy your career. You and Tug deserve each other.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Stay calm. You can do this.
I sucked in an unsteady breath and clutched more tightly to Tug’s arm, balancing on my ridiculously high heels on a red carpet that was thankfully more secure than the stage I’d tripped on the day I met Jack.
There. You can’t go a single minute without thinking about him.
Only, that part of my life was over. I had to move on. So I pulled myself out of regret—which was bottomless once I got stuck—and into mindfulness. Where are you? Feel grateful for what you have.
I was under a long pavilion, sheltered from the hot afternoon sun, walking down the red carpet with other celebs and artists into the venue for ARIA awards. My documentary crew hovered beside us, exposed to the scorching sunlight as they filmed Tug and I, then panned around us.
The beautiful Sydney Harbor Bridge was visible behind a wall of fans up ahead who alternated between screaming and cheering as each new celeb or musician was released from our holding area to saunter down past the paparazzi to the picture wall where they’d have their photo taken before being interviewed and then entering the glittering Sydney Casino.
At some point in the next few minutes, I’d be walking past those flashing lightbulbs, and most of the crowd would have no idea who I was. It would have been terrifying if I’d been doing it alone. But thank goodness, for small mercies.
Or, tall, cheeky ones.
I turned to Tug and smiled.
“You look beautiful.” He patted my hand which was linked through his arm, and despite my gratitude practice, I couldn’t help wishing he was Jack. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack, full stop. But at least that the whole gay thing was out in the open between Tug and I.
Wh
en he’d rung to ask about the ARIAs, I’d been so wound up by the sound of Jack’s message-service rejecting me—over and over again—I’d confronted him with what Louella had told me and he’d admitted it.
For some bizarre reason, knowing a secret about Tug made me like him more than I had. And his declaration that the two of us as a couple would do wonders for my profile was reluctantly backed up by Rosie. So I agreed to go to the ball with Tug instead of my prince charming, who may well never speak to me again.
But I had to stop thinking about that.
“There’s your movie star mate,” Tug whispered, close to my ear as he nodded subtly to the line behind us.
With the documentary crew filming me, it would have appeared too eager if I’d simply turned and looked, so I smiled at Tug, waited a few seconds, and then disengaged my hand and pretended to look behind myself to adjust the train of my white lace gown. This dress I was happy with. Yes, it was translucent, but it had a straight neckline that ran over my collarbone—quite respectable—and it fell all the way to the floor. The lace features were large and I’d ensured I had skin-colored Spanx under it so there could be nothing revealed.
My hair had been elegantly piled on my head with soft tendrils falling about my face, and I used that to my advantage, glancing through them while I pretended to straighten my train. Then I caught my breath. Not ten paces from where I stood, Noah Steele was getting out of the longest stretch limo I’d ever seen, and the waiting crowd was going mental.
My heart kicked up a pace. And maybe it was all my years of avid magazine reading, pouring over pictures of celebrities and wondering what their lives would be like. But the charisma, and effortless confidence they displayed thrilled me. I could see Noah strolling down the line of artists, shaking hands, saying hello to those he knew.
And I suddenly remembered my documentary crew were filming me. What if Noah didn’t recognize me? Or didn’t remember me? I was a nobody. If he walked straight past me, I’d look like a complete loser, but if I stopped him and had to explain who I was, that would look even worse.
I turned back to the front, my heart starting to pound. I must have had a worried expression, because Tug said, “Pet?” as he took my arm again. “Stage fright?”
“I’m fine.” And a big fat liar.
I didn’t belong in a lineup of highly successful Australian artists, and I certainly didn’t deserve to—
“Here she is!” Noah Steele materialized beside me and whisked me off Tug’s arm. “Hello gorgeous,” he said, and aimed a smacking kiss near my cheek.
I was so nervous I barked out a laugh. Then before Tug could say a word, Noah added, “Let’s get a photo together. Shall we?” He took my arm and led me past the waiting musicians, shouting greetings to a couple and leaving Tug to trail behind, grumbling theatrically about losing his date.
The documentary team scrambled to keep up. When we reached the open section of the carpet, fans immediately erupted, screaming so loudly my ears hurt, but I ignored that to concentrate on keeping my shoulders back and my smile confident, as per Rosie’s instructions.
Flashes were already flickering beside us, but when we reached the picture wall, the waiting paparazzi exploded in a firestorm. Rosie had never anticipated this photo opportunity, but her instruction to keep smiling naturally, stuck. One of her tips had been to smile at individual fans in the crowd, even wave to them, which I did, keeping my cast tucked behind me so it wouldn’t show up in the photos.
I heard someone shout, “Angel. This way!” and I turned to see a pair of Indian girls waving wands with angel wings atop them. I grinned in astonishment, and Noah, who must have noticed, gave my shoulder a hug.
“Beauty and the beast!” he shouted to the photographers.
“Too right, mate!” one shouted back, and Noah laughed again.
Then he gave my shoulder another squeeze and said, “See you at the after party, Angel,” and then he was off, strolling over to where the celebrities were being interviewed by big national television stations. Tug’s co-hosts would be there for the outside story, while his job was to report on the inside action.
And he was ever the professional, stepping smoothly in beside me at the picture wall and smiling prettily for the cameras, but out of the corner of his mouth he said, “Couldn’t hold him here for a second so I could get my photo with him?”
I turned to him and grinned. “Jealous?” I wasn’t letting him live down the gay disclosure anytime soon, especially not after he’d given me such a hard time on his show. He surprised me by grinning back which the cameras caught before he led me on to the interview pavilion.
Thankfully Tug kept it brief, talking up my connection to Noah, which was thrilling, but it was also a way to get himself in the same sentence as a mega star. I was starting to learn about publicity.
When my turn came to say a few words, I thanked the thousands of fans who’d downloaded my song since the Sunshine program had aired, and even managed to slip in a plug for my upcoming album which we’d decided to name The Beginning. Not only was it the beginning of my recording career, the song selection harked back to my musical roots, songs that I’d heard growing up.
In the future, I hoped to sing new songs, maybe even write some—with help. But for now I was happy to give classics a new life, knowing they would appeal to an older audience who remembered the original. I was giving them a fresh twist so it should also bring younger listeners in as fans.
With the documentary crew still trailing, Tug led me inside the glittering majesty of Sydney’s sparkling new casino and whisked us up to the top floor with its panoramic views over Sydney Harbor and the city skyline. I followed him through the throng of celebs and artists, awed by his memory for names and grateful for the gracious introductions. After the first hour, the night became a blur of food I didn’t taste, wine I didn’t dare drink, and stunning live performances that I was sure I’d never match.
By the time we reached the after-party in the Casino’s huge nightclub, I was drunk on excitement, and likely to babble anything.
Rosie, who I hadn’t seen all night, peeled me away from Tug who was working hard to impress some up-and-coming grunge band into coming on his show.
“Noah Steele again.” She raised an elegant eyebrow, one hand on the hip of her pistachio green shift dress. I wondered if she’d asked him to do it.
“I love that man,” I blurted.
“There isn’t a breathing woman on the planet who doesn’t love the big larrikin.”
We grinned at each other. Then she gestured with a thumb over her shoulder. “You’re okay with Dunn?”
“Yeah. He’s fine.” I wasn’t at liberty to share his secret, so I steered the conversation onto sales and the very quick payments she’d organized for me. I was also happy to express my gratitude for Rosie’s protection. Since the Sunshine debacle, I’d had no appearances, and her team had worked social media instead, to create hype around tonight.
That had left me feeling safe, but with little to do, and I’d stupidly tortured myself by watching the video of Jack and I having sex. A crazy thing to do, but there was no other way to hear his voice, to see his smile. I didn’t have his real phone number. Just the one linked to the phone he’d given me, and short of marching up to his family property and demanding to see him—which I would never do, especially with a documentary crew trailing me—I simply needed to accept that whatever he’d felt for me was gone.
Which left me stuck with painful longing.
Rosie nodded at my wine glass. “You want a refill?”
“It’s just soda water.” I shrugged. “I don’t trust myself with alcohol tonight.”
She tapped her nose. “Good plan. Find me if you want a ride home. I wouldn’t trust Dunn to look after your best interests.” She patted my arm and went back to mingling, and for a second I thought about her husband and wondered if he was at the party. Did she bring him to work functions? Or was it easier to do her job of building relationships if she
didn’t have to worry about him being bored.
I’d never had to think about that before. My married life had been about supporting Danny’s career and, yes, attending many boring dinners. Would I do that to my husband?
Jack probably wouldn’t mind…
Stop thinking about him!
I turned back to Tug, more to distract myself than out of any real interest in the conversation, but at that point I realized I needed the bathroom so I touched his arm. “Back in a minute.”
The nightclub was jammed, with booths along the walls, cocktail tables in the center of the room, and a DJ at the front doing her best to drown out everyone’s conversations. I wended my way carefully through, congratulating myself for not drinking. Several local radio celebs were tossing back shots of something evil-looking, while those around their cocktail table cheered. I wondered if they’d turn up unflatteringly on Instagram later in the night.
At least the film crews—including my documentary crew—had been banned from the nightclub, because what happened at the after party really needed to stay at the after party. Joyous award winners and desultory losers were all getting drunk, so behavior was erratic.
In some places I had to inch through, careful to avoid my heel catching in my train, or anyone else’s. At least seeing other gowns close up showed mine to be modest in comparison. The latest trend among lean girls, of showing off honed abs with skimpy tops and low slung skirts, wouldn’t have suited my curves for a second.
The only upside to all this exposed skin was hoping my mother had watched the red carpet fashion parade. At least this time she could be reassured that I wasn’t ‘dressed like a sex-worker on national television’ as she’d reportedly declared after my Sunshine segment. Apparently the trauma of that had been so humiliating, she hadn’t ventured out of the house ever since—so dad said.
At least he was still talking to me. Repairing my relationship with my mother would be a whole other matter, and I wasn’t sure if I should even try. Jill had said Good riddance when I’d told her the story, but she’d also wanted to come to Sydney and hug me.
Husband Stay (Husband #2) Page 21