Cherry Bomb: Forbidden Bad Boys

by Clara Leigh

I shouldn’t. I should be able sling her in the closet where I keep all my other fun, but largely meaningless relationships, but she’s like that threadbare towel in the bathroom that somehow always finds its way back out of the recycling bag. I can’t not think about her.

  “Go take a shower,” Lorne orders me, after thrusting a bacon sandwich into my hand. It must already have been cooking before I left the bedroom. Yup, he’s definitely psychic. “I’ll call your mum back and tell her you’re on your way.”

  ***

  Arrietty is dressed as the Snow Queen when I arrive. At least, I think that’s what she is. I’m rapidly corrected over that misconception. She’s the Sugar Plum Fairy. Duh, like that wasn’t obvious. I guess we’re off to see the Nutcracker then. Except, nope, when mum hands over the tickets, they’re actually for a performance of Red Riding Hood.

  Colour me confused.

  “We can have ice-cream in the interval, can’t we?” My little beauty pleads. The first of her big teeth has cut through the gum in the days since the party, making her smile even cuter.

  “Double scoops,” I promise, helping her into her car seat. “I’m sorry about what happened on your birthday.”

  She shrugs it off as if it was something that happened a lifetime ago, not a few days past. “Tilda was allowed to sleep over, and we had a midnight feast.” Her conspiratorial whisper is twice as loud as her normal speaking voice. “We had jam tarts and party wafers and lemonade, and the bubbles made us giggle.” I find myself cracking a smile, despite all the hurt still writhing in my gut. My Borrower is perfect. Fuck her mum for not seeing that, for even suggesting she was ever a mistake. And fuck Flicka too for saying we were a mistake. We weren’t. We had something good. Which means it’s okay for me to grieve its loss.

  Arrietty’s small hand cups my cheek. “Don’t be sad, daddy.”

  I’ve misheard her. I know it in my heart. Still, my eyes well with tears. “I’m not sad.” I look upwards and strain not to blink. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

  “Me too. Shall we go? We don’t want to be late.”

  I plant a kiss on Arrietty’s baby soft brow. “Yes, let’s.” I shut the rear door and climb into the driver’s seat. “What do you want to sing along to on the way?”

  -36-

  Felicity Caine

  The moment I see Dare walk into the theatre, I want to fling myself at him, squash him right to the floor, and smoother him with kisses. It’s weird how even a short absence can erode the impact of him in my mind. He’s all lean, mean beast, dark hair, and sexy scruff. My determination to vindicate myself flounders three seconds later, while I’m staring at the flexed muscles of his forearm and realise he’s holding onto a child’s hand.

  Arrietty… Oh hell! He’s with his daughter.

  When Lorne rang and told me this was a good place to corner Dare, I didn’t realise the reason he was so sure that Dare wouldn’t take flight the moment he saw me was that he was here on an outing with the Borrower.

  She’s the prettiest thing; hardly a big surprise given her genes. She has her mother’s pale colouring, but I can still see bits of Dare in her too, in the shape of her mouth when she smiles – often—and in her ability to dazzle. She garners equally as many admiring looks as her famous daddy.

  By some miracle, even though it’s clear from the whispers and smiles, none of the other theatre goers approach him seeking signatures or photographs. Weirder still is the fact that nobody is whispering about the sex tape. I guess it’s old news. Sex really isn’t the great scandal it was years ago. Or maybe it’s just because he’s Dare Wilde, and that sort of behaviour is what people expect from him. I doubt I’ll get the same response if I’m spotted. Then it’ll be a titillating mix of “See this good girl gone bad”, “How was it?”, and “Couldn’t you suck it up and own it?”

  I could, and maybe I even intend to, but I’ve not had a chance to correct the damage done by Flo’s performance on any level yet, and squaring things with Dare is absolutely the priority.

  I miss him. Therefore, I have to fix this. I’m sure I can make him understand, if I can only get him to keep still and listen for long enough.

  For the first time in forever, I look around at the mass of people and I wish Kurt was on hand to get me out of here if it all goes wrong.

  It could go shockingly wrong. Maybe I need to rethink this.

  I edge around the foyer, staying out of sight, only for Lorne to catch hold of my arm as I’m about to make a dash for the door. To begin with, I don’t recognise him. He has his hair hidden under a cap and dark glasses perched on his nose, which are nearly identical to the shades I’m wearing.

  “You’re not a runner, Flicka.” It’s his voice that reveals him – low and lilting. “You don’t cower at the prospect of confrontation.” His smooth baritone fails to quash the flutters in my innards.

  “Don’t I?” Cowering is exactly what I’ve been doing for years. Isn’t that why I’m in the position I’m in now? If I’d stood up for myself and dealt with the Chinchilla issue sensibly, in an adult fashion, then I wouldn’t be the subject of a sex scandal and quaking over the possibility that one of Dare’s more rabid fans might spot me and decide to rip my hair out. Instead, I let Mum and Warren run the show and get rich from my pay check.

  I’m a coward and a fool.

  “You never told me he’d be with his daughter. I can’t have this conversation with him in front of her.”

  Lorne calms me with the press of his hand against my shoulder. Warmth from his touch seeps into me through my clothing, stilling my nervous trembling. “I’ll take her to get an ice-cream during the interval. That’ll be your opportunity to slip in to the box and talk to him.”

  I guess the fact he’s in a box reduces the possibility of us being overheard when the inevitable snarling occurs. That’s assuming he’s prepared to even acknowledge me. “Why couldn’t you have just let me into the flat, Lorne?”

  Lorne shakes his head at me. “Because he specifically said not to. Whereas he didn’t say anything about notifying you that he was taking a trip to the theatre.”

  To my way of thinking, there’s not a whole lot of difference between the two, but apparently Lorne draws the line differently.

  “Listen, we’ll be on the right hand side, lower circle. The Woodrows always use the same box. It even has a plaque on the wall right outside it, so it should be a doddle for you to find.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You’ve got this.” He squeezes my shoulder again. “In any case, I have a plan for if it all goes pear-shaped. So don’t sweat.”

  Easy for him to say. Does anything ever rattle him?

  “What plan?”

  I don’t get an answer. He’s already jogging to catch up with Dare and Arrietty. They seem only mildly surprised to see him, and once the initial back slaps, hugs, and greetings are exchanged, glad of his company. The three of them look totally cute together, like a capsular happy family. In a sense, I guess that’s what they are. I hear Arrietty call him uncle Lorne. Nor is it necessary to squint at them to see the strength of the bond between Dare and Lorne.

  Again, my throat develops a hard lump, which I struggle to swallow. But, I’m not going to run. Not this time. I’m done allowing situations to fester to the point where all that’s left are messy entrails. This time, I’m going to stand tall and genuinely fight for what I want, instead of merely talking about it, plotting actions, but then failing to follow through.

  All right, so I head to the ladies and dither for a good ten minutes before taking my seat at the back of the stalls, but that’s because the plan will fall apart if Dare sees me before I have a chance to corner him. The lights are already dimmed, and all eyes are glued upon the stage anticipating the arrival of the first dancer. From this position, I can only just make out the edge of the box on the lower circle. Hopefully, that means I’m sufficiently out of sight. If I can’t see him, that surely means he can’t see me either.

&
nbsp; The first act of Red Riding Hood feels a little too close to home. The stubborn wilfulness of Red Riding Hood, resulting in her getting into trouble, bears certain similarities to my life over the last couple of months. That the dancer performing as the wolf is charismatic, lean, mean and more than amply fills a pair of tights, only emphasises the parallels. Regardless of what happens when I confront Dare during the interval, I don’t want to endure the second act, and watch the beautiful wolf being destroyed by this flighty and naïve girl.

  I want to believe that I haven’t destroyed Dare’s future as well as my own, but I’ve overheard enough conversations while sitting in the hallway outside Jace Jones’ apartment these last few days to know that the sex tape didn’t go down well in certain quarters.

  Christ, I’ve made such an awful mess of things. I should have just told the Chinchilla bosses that their contract sucked, and I wanted out or to renegotiate. Why did I sit through a meeting with Steve Dandy and Jace Jones and let Dandy lay down the law with regard to my behaviour and not stand up for myself and say it was bollocks? It’s definitely what I ought to have done.

  When the lights eventually go up, I leave my seat and lurk behind the postcard stand in the gift shop until I see Lorne join the ice-cream queue with Arrietty. The line wraps around the foyer, so I should have ten minutes at least to say what needs to be said. There’s a twenty-minute break in total.

  Dare’s head is dipped when I enter the box. He’s browsing something on his phone. I wonder if he’s read my messages. I’ve sent several. I no longer care if anyone gets hold of them. But I suspect he’s deleted our entire history.

  “Dare.” My voice cracks so much his name is barely audible. I try again. “Dare.”

  He turns as he rises from his seat. Shock instantly hollows his face. It resides there mere seconds before it’s swallowed up by anger. He looks like an avenging angel, all righteous fury and dark beauty. His equally black stare bores into me.

  I mean to launch into an explanation of why I’m here and everything that’s happened. Let him know that it wasn’t my fault, but considering his clenched fists, and the hurt in his eyes, it seems safer to let him have the first words.

  Only, he doesn’t say anything.

  “Say something.”

  A pulse thuds away in the side of his rigidly locked jaw. The tendons in his forearms ride just below the skin as he strains to hold back his anger.

  “Say something, Dare.”

  “Why the fuck are you here?”

  The growl is every bit as painful as a slap. He hates me now. Despises everything I’ve done. Yet none of it was me.

  “I want to talk to you. I need to.” The words leave my mouth leaving me breathless. My heart races as if the climb to reach him were thirty times as steep. “I need to explain what happened. It’s not what you think.”

  His nostrils flare, and his normally soft brown gaze is glassy and cold. His mouth twists into a sneer. “No need to tell me how big a fucking mistake I am, I already got that message loud and clear.”

  “Those weren’t my words.” The words Flo delivered, I would never have said no matter the pressure. I understand why they hurt him so much, why his insides are all chewed up because of them, and why no matter what I say now, they’re still probably going to be the end of us.

  Dare silences me with a slash of his hand. “I get it, okay. You had your arm twisted. There was no alternative. You had your sister and your future to think about.” The volume of his voice rises, and each word he spits is laced with venom. My cheeks grow hot with fury over the injustice. I’ve done nothing to deserve this, and if he’d let me explain he’d understand that.

  At least he hasn’t raised his fists. His hands are glued to his sides.

  When I finally went home to see Flo, my mother was there. She hit me so hard the left hand side of my face is still sore several hours later. I officially removed her from my management team thirty seconds later, along with West & Co. I’m done taking shit. Really, I’m done with it, and that includes standing here taking it from the man I love.

  “You don’t get shit!” I gulp a breath, and try to get a lid on my anger. What went down isn’t Dare’s fault. Strictly speaking he isn’t the one who deserves my wrath. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t give an interview. I wouldn’t.”

  He rolls his eyes incredulously. “Don’t feed me that crap. I’ve seen it. Everyone’s seen it. You were going through a rough patch. We all make mistakes. I was the biggest one ever, yada yada.”

  “What did you see?” I bellow so loudly, people in the stalls below look up at us. “What did you see, Dare? Really, what?”

  I fail to keep the resentment out of my voice. Shit! I didn’t mean for this to become a shouting match. I know he has the bigger reason to be angry, but I’m hurt too. Disappointed that he doesn’t know me well enough to realise I would never say those things. Wounded that despite all the intimacies we’ve shared that he can’t tell me apart from my sister. I know we’re identical twins, but we’re not clones. We’re completely different people. He ought to be able to recognise the differences between us. If he genuinely cares for me as he’s previously claimed, then he should have known straight away that it was Flo reciting that bullshit not me. He should have known!

  “I was at Mortham Abbey when that live interview was broadcast. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Jace. He’ll confirm it. So while you might have watched an interview, it wasn’t me in the chair spilling pretty tears and apologising.”

  “Are you expecting me to believe you have an exact double?”

  “Not at exact double, no!”

  The penny finally drops. His mouth flaps open and he blusters, struggling for words. He clutches the back of the nearest chair for support, whereupon his head droops at the neck.

  The next few seconds stretch on interminably as we both pant and fail to genuinely compose ourselves.

  “Your sister?” he eventually manages to gasp, though he keeps shaking his head as if denying it. I almost expect him to dissolve into wild laughter.

  I nod. “They had her pretend to be me. Dare, I didn’t know a damn thing about any of it until after it had been aired. Not about the sex tape, not about the faked response. I tried to get hold of you right away the moment I found out, but I guess it was already too late since you never called back.”

  I’m not sure he’s really hearing me.

  “Why the hell would your sister do that?”

  I’m still trying to figure that one out myself. Flo’s distraught about it now. She begged me to forgive her on her knees, but the genuine whys of her compliance, I don’t think even she understands. And maybe there’s no point in trying to understand it. It’s done. I’m living – we’re all living – with the consequences. What’s important now is that we straighten things out and move on.

  “I guess she felt cornered. Look, I don’t know exactly what they said to her, or what threats they used, but she didn’t feel she had a choice.”

  “Why haven’t you refuted it? Stood up and told people it’s fraudulent.”

  Clearly he hasn’t been online recently. I haven’t posted anything, but there are rumblings. Plenty of fans are questioning the authenticity of both the original footage and the apology. The scandalous sex tape, I fully own. The apology is totally faked. The real fans can tell the difference between Flo and me.

  “My first priority was explaining to you. Dare, the woman claiming you were a mistake isn’t me. It’ll never be me. You’re not a mistake, you’ll never be that. In fact, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’ve showed me how to live. How I want to live.”

  He grunts a rebuttal. “Sneaking about in the shadows.”

  He knows that’s not what I meant, but the tight pucker of his lips forewarns me he intends to be obtuse.

  “Look, I didn’t do what you’re punishing me for. And I could really do with you being on my side. Things are crazy bad at the moment, Dare. That tape –” I shake my head.
I’m walking a fine line between laughter and tears. “—it’s screwed everything up, not just us. Chinchilla have terminated my contract for breaching the morality clause. Apparently, having mad sex with a wild man isn’t acceptable. That means the Caine Chronicles has been cancelled too, so my sister’s contract is void.”

  He looks at me as if he wonders why I care about the later point given what I’ve just told him about Flo’s betrayal. The simple answer is that she’s my sister, and I’ll stand by her no matter what.

  “I’m also being sued for damages to their brand.”

  I pause for a second to let it all sink in.

  “Should I get out a violin?”

  He could just stop being a righteous git. I grit my teeth. “I’m not sad about it, only about the us part. Don’t you see, I’m free of them. Chinchilla no longer own me. I can do what I want. Be the person I really am instead of what’s expected so that I fit in with some managerial construct. And best of all, I can do crazy shit with whoever the hell I like.”

  He peers up at me, his dark eyes still glassy with emotion. “Good luck with that.”

  I want to shake him until he rattles. I really do, but I manage to keep my goals in mind. “I want to do that crazy stuff with you, Dare. I want you in my life. I want us to have a future.”

  If I don’t get that, then perhaps Chinchilla will have won after all.

  “Is that so?” he huffs. He’s still prickly like a porcupine, and his shoulders remain hunched, but the genuine animosity that existed when I first entered the theatre box is gone.

  “It’s absolutely so.” I close the distance between us super-fast and slide my hand around the back of his neck. He doesn’t resist when I pull him down to my level so that our foreheads touch. His eyes still have a raw emotional sheen to them, but I’m feeling rather welled up by events too. “I love you, Dare Wilde. I want to be with you.”

  The tiniest of smiles ghosts across his lips. It gives way to a spark deep in his eyes. “Flicka, you barely know me.”