Good Girl

by Christy McKellen

  I can see a muscle working in his jaw. ‘Yes, but only to restore my reputation and my family’s good name.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then, as long as your reputation’s safe!’ My voice is heavy with sarcasm.

  Another horrible thought strikes me. ‘You only asked to me to stay on longer because you knew there’d be more photo opportunities, didn’t you?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No. I wanted you to stay because I liked having you around. I didn’t call the press at all this last week.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. You have to trust me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. I don’t trust anything you say now I know how you used me.’

  He takes an angry step forward and points at my chest. ‘Well, you used me too. I was just a warm body to fuck to you, wasn’t I? Just practice for the real thing. For someone with more intelligence. You weren’t here for me as a person. You were here for what you could get from me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,’ I argue, but the heat of my shame rushes to my face and shows me up for the selfish bitch I really am. Of course that’s exactly what I did at first. I treated him like a sex object, not someone with feelings and his own insecurities. I naively thought he couldn’t have any because of his beauty and popularity.

  ‘Well, anyway, it’s over now. You don’t need me any more. You can go back to that lecturer and blow his mind with your expertise in bed.’

  His eyes are totally devoid of emotion now, which sends a shiver of fear down my spine. Was this really the way things were going to end between us, after everything we’ve shared? Could he really turn his back on me and walk away so easily? Anger and frustration flood through me.

  ‘How can you treat me like this after everything we’ve shared? Everything I trusted you with? All those humiliating stories...’ I whisper, my voice a rough croak. ‘I can’t believe you think it’s okay to have used me like that. And after what that teacher did to you, the way she made you feel about yourself, how she abused your trust and smashed your pride to pieces... I thought you’d never do that to someone else. And I gave you my virginity because I genuinely thought you cared about me.’

  This seems to get through to him because I see his shoulders tense and a glimpse of something like shame on his face. ‘You asked me to take your virginity, remember? You begged me.’

  ‘Yes, when I thought it actually meant something to you. Because it meant something to me. You meant something to me.’

  ‘But I don’t any more?’ I can’t read his expression now. He’s withdrawn too far into himself.

  I swallow painfully, my throat tight with sadness. ‘You’re not the man I thought you were.’

  ‘Juno...’

  I stiffen as he moves towards me, his arms raised as if he wants to pull me into a hug against his body. But I can’t let him. I can’t give in to my physical response to him. That’s what got me here in the first place. It was a mistake then and it would be a mistake now.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I snap. ‘Don’t even come near me.’

  He drops his arms and folds them across his chest instead, staring down at the floor between us.

  ‘Look, I know you’ve never wanted a real relationship with me. I’m not stupid. You told me that from the off.’ I take a deep, shuddering breath. ‘So I guess this is the perfect time to end this charade.’

  ‘So you can go back to Adam?’ He sounds disgusted, as if I’m making a huge mistake by ignoring his disdain for the guy, but I don’t care about his opinion any more. Why should I? He didn’t care about my feelings when he was calling the press.

  ‘Probably,’ I say in frustration. ‘Maybe I will give him another chance. At least he was man enough to be honest with me.’

  I see him jerk back, as if I’ve physically wounded him.

  ‘Fine. You do what you want. I’m going out.’

  He strides past me to the front door and roughly shoves his feet back into his shoes.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask, panic chasing through my body. I suddenly don’t want him to leave in anger like this. I want to find some way to work it out. But I’m afraid, deep down, that there’s nothing either of us can say right now to make this horrible situation better.

  It’s pretty damn clear that it’s over between us.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ he replies, confirming my fear. And then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him and leaving the apartment ringing with the shocking sound of his departure from my life.

  On unsteady legs I walk back into the living room, slump down onto the nearest sofa and curl myself into a ball. My heart is racing and a heavy blanket of dread presses down over my entire body.

  All the confidence that’s slowly been building in me over the last two weeks has drained away because I know now that what we had wasn’t special at all. That I wasn’t special. He was just stringing me along till he got what he wanted.

  And I lost my virginity to him, even after all his warnings not to—to save it for someone I cared about, and for someone who cared about me. But I begged him to do it anyway, like the guileless sap that I am. I chose not to listen, blinded by my infatuation with him, thinking, like a total idiot, that he felt the same.

  Even now I can’t quite believe it has all been a lie. It seemed so real. Felt so real. But it can’t have been, not if he’s been lying to me all this time.

  He played me, like the expert player he is.

  What was I thinking? I’ve been so naive, assuming I could shield my heart from him whilst blithely giving him everything else I had.

  My heart thumps heavily in my chest as I realise I’ve gone and done the most stupid thing in the world.

  I’ve fallen in love with him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Juno

  HE DOESN’T COME back that night, or the next morning.

  At nine a.m. I drag myself out of bed and pad into the kitchen, hoping I’m wrong and that he’s snuck in quietly, while I’ve been dozing for a few restless minutes, and gone to sleep in his own bed.

  But when I tentatively push open his bedroom door his bed is conspicuously empty.

  My heart plummets with sadness.

  I don’t even want to think about where he went last night. Images of that sex club we visited on our first night here flash through my head and I try to push them away. He wouldn’t do that to me, would he—go straight out and find someone new? Or is he, at this very moment, curled up in some other woman’s bed, his powerful body pressed up against her, or inside her...?

  I shake my head fiercely, trying to dislodge the horrible image I’ve conjured. I burn with jealousy. But it’s tinged with anger. The thing is, I have absolutely no idea what he’s capable of, because the Sandro I thought I knew doesn’t actually exist.

  After the torment of being rejected by every single man I’ve ever had a connection with—even my bloody father—I thought I’d finally found someone who genuinely liked me for me. Not because of my family name, but for me.

  But I was wrong.

  So I guess it’s time to go home and try to pick up the pieces of my life. At least I have my work to plough my energy into, though I suspect I’m going to have trouble concentrating on it when it feels as if my chest’s been split in two.

  I give him one more hour, tidying the apartment and stripping my bed, even though I know the cleaner will come in soon to do it. But I need something to do, to take my mind off the waiting and the horrible, sinking feeling of dread in my stomach.

  When the alarm on my phone goes off, signalling that the hour’s up, I pack my case, leaving out anything I’ve bought while I’ve been here. I don’t want any reminders of my time here once I’ve gone. It will hurt too much to look at them. To feel that connection to Sandro that I know now I never really had.


  The taxi I’ve called is waiting outside for me when I walk out of the apartment block for the last time and I shield my aching eyes from the sun as I make my way towards the car in a sort of dreamlike trance, allowing the driver to take my bags and put them in the boot for me. I’m functioning completely on autopilot now to get me through this.

  The trip to the airport takes longer than I remember it being on the way here. But then everything seems to move at a much faster pace when Sandro’s around.

  An insistent bubble of grief rises to the surface as I think about him, but I push it firmly back down again. I’m not going to fall apart until I’m safely back in my apartment where I can wallow for a while before putting myself back together, piece by piece. I have a terrible feeling it’s going to take a very long time to do that, though—if I ever manage it.

  How am I meant to forget him, and what we shared? It doesn’t even seem possible right now. I suspect he’ll always have a piece of my heart for ever.

  Finally, we reach the airport, but it seems the gods really aren’t smiling on me at all at the moment because there’s a baggage handlers’ strike and all flights back to London have been cancelled. I’m too drained to try and organise another means of transport home right now, though, so I book into the airport hotel and get straight into bed there, pulling the covers up to my chin and staring at programme after programme on the television, barely taking any of it in, but desperately trying to stop myself from thinking about him.

  I must have fallen into a deep sleep at some point in the early hours of the morning because I wake with a start to find the sun has risen on a new day.

  The reason I woke so suddenly, it turns out, is because my phone is ringing. I reach over to pluck it from the nightstand to see who’s calling me.

  Half of me aches for it to be Sandro, calling to apologise and tell me he loves me and can’t live without me. That he doesn’t want me to leave. Telling me to come home. But the new, more worldly half of me knows that that’s not likely to happen.

  That side is right, of course. Even so, cold disappointment slides through me when I see it’s not Sandro who’s calling me, it’s my sister April.

  I almost don’t pick up, not sure I can keep it together enough not to alert her to my destroyed state of mind. I’m scared that if she asks me how I am I’m not going to be able to lie and I’ll start to cry, and I’m pretty damn sure that once I start I’m not going to be able to stop.

  But I’m not a little girl any more who doesn’t face things that frighten her. So I press the button to accept the call and my world crashes in a little further when my sister tells me that our father’s been in a bad car accident and might not live out the day.

  Sandro

  I stagger back into the apartment around mid-morning, the day after our fight, feeling like shit.

  I spent the whole night walking around the city, too ashamed of myself to come back and face her, finally only giving in to the drag of sleep at dawn and taking a nap on a bench in the Parco delle Cascine.

  I know I have no right to expect to find Juno still here waiting for me to get back, but still as I go from room to room... I hope.

  My gut twists painfully as I open her wardrobe to find that it’s empty, apart from the couple of things she bought while she was here. Her case has gone, as has her washbag from the bathroom.

  She’s left me.

  I slump against the wall next to the sink and slide down to the floor, putting my head in my hands, feeling totally wrecked. A hollow shell of myself.

  How could I have let this happen?

  I am such a fucking idiot.

  A shallow fucking idiot.

  I was so proud of myself when she told me that out of all the men she’d researched I’d come out at the top of her list. My sexual reputation had been everything to me at that point. In my mind it made up for my lack of academic prowess, business acumen or any kind of serious drive or ambition, but I know now that it doesn’t. Not for Juno. She needs more than that. She deserves more.

  My insides clench with disgust at myself.

  I’ve allowed myself to be my father’s puppet all my life, but I’m fed up with putting on a show for people now—just being a pretty face, an arm for women to hang off. I don’t want to be that person any more. I want to be someone who’s respected for more than their family name and looks, even if it means going out on my own. But I don’t want to make a success of my art just for me; I want to do it for her too. I want to feel worthy of being with someone as smart and accomplished as Juno.

  I want her to be proud of me.

  So I’m going to change. For her. I’m going to do all the things I’ve been too scared to do for fear of failing, and even if I do fail, over and over again, at least I’ll be moving forward.

  And maybe she’ll recognise that as a strength and a good reason to give me a chance at being a proper partner to her.

  Jesus, I hope so. Because I don’t know how I’m going to live without her.

  Finally, I allow myself to put a name to the way I feel about her.

  It’s love.

  I love her.

  I’ve known it for a while, of course, I just haven’t wanted to admit it to myself.

  But I have now. And I know what I need to do to let her know it too: I have to swallow my pride and allow myself to be vulnerable. Just like she did.

  It takes me a few days to put everything into motion and then there’s nothing left but to go back to London, find her and ask her to forgive me. To beg her for another chance, even though I probably don’t deserve one after the shitty way I behaved.

  Once back on English soil, I call the friend of a friend who originally gave me Juno’s number, but he doesn’t have her address. It seems the rest of the people I know from London’s social scene don’t know her well enough to have it either, because she rarely makes an appearance at the events and parties they go to.

  But now I’ve made up my mind to do this I know I have to see her right away.

  I rack my brain, trying to remember the name of the university where she works, pacing the floor until I manage to break through the fog in my head and access a memory. I remember now that it was named after one of the saints—fitting, really.

  I use the Internet browser on my phone to look through the possibilities and when ‘St George’ comes up my brain sparks. That’s it. St George’s University. In a department that has something to do with heart attacks in young athletes. Another search finally leads me to the department I need and its address in London.

  With adrenaline rushing through my veins I leave my apartment and run outside to hail a cab.

  Juno

  After a horrendous day of worry about my father’s condition, where I’d paced around Peretola airport waiting to get on a flight back home, I finally hear from Maya that he’s out of surgery, out of danger and already demanding to be discharged from hospital.

  It seems even life-threatening injuries can’t keep my autocratic father down for long.

  Joking aside, though, I’m hugely relieved to hear he’s all right and as soon as I get the good news I finally allow myself to cry out all the tension I’ve been carrying around with me like a ten-ton weight.

  It takes me another few hours to secure a seat on a plane back to London then two hours in the air and two more till I’m finally back at my apartment in Notting Hill, where I crawl straight into bed. The next day is spent visiting my father in hospital and supporting my sisters, so by Thursday I’m totally shattered when I finally drag myself in to work.

  I probably should have called in sick, but I can’t stand the thought of being alone in my flat with just my heartache to keep me company. So I brave the tube, and the curious questions from my colleagues about where I’d been on holiday, and smile politely as they tell me how well I look. Even Adam makes a point of stopping by my desk to check i
n with me.

  I listened to the message he’d left for me that fateful night a few days ago and decided answering it could wait till I got back. Needless to say, it hadn’t been a booty call.

  From the way he looked at me just now, however, I’m beginning to wonder whether the next one will be.

  I won’t be taking that call, though. Not a chance. From our short conversation earlier it became patently clear to me that there was nothing there for me any more. No attraction whatsoever. Nada.

  I’m just making myself an extra-strong cup of coffee in the break room when I hear the sound of loud male voices in the corridor outside. I almost drop my mug when I realise I’m listening to the beautiful, haunting sound of an Italian male’s voice. But it can’t be Sandro’s, can it? Why would he be here, right now?

  ‘Yes, I’m he,’ I hear another voice reply and I make an involuntary squeaking noise when I place Adam’s voice as the other male. So an Italian man is asking for Adam. This doesn’t bode well.

  Putting the mug down, I rush out into the corridor, my heart racing, to see the extraordinary sight of Sandro, looking as dauntingly handsome as ever, staring down at my rather cowed-looking colleague.

  ‘She’s an amazing woman and you’re a fucking idiot for turning her down,’ Sandro is saying in a loud, commanding voice. ‘I can vouch for that personally. I just wanted you to know that.’

  ‘Erm...okay,’ Adam says, holding up his hands and backing away, clearly perplexed and perhaps a little bit scared by what he’s found himself entangled in here.

  ‘And the reason I know that,’ Sandro continues, his amazing eyes flashing with a passion that makes me catch my breath, ‘is because I made the same stupid mistake as you did. And if she doesn’t forgive me I’m going to regret it for the rest of my fucking life.’

  ‘Sandro!’ I call out loudly, aware of some of my other colleagues sticking their heads out of their offices to see what the drama is all about.