He’s still here when I get out of the shower, sitting on the end of the bed with his hands crossed neatly in his lap. He doesn't register my movement as I walk across our plush carpet. Instead, he's staring into space. So much for him getting breakfast.

“What?” I ask, succumbing to the need to get my frustration out in the open. I have my own money that I can invest as I choose. What does it have to do with him? He's my partner, not my bloody financial advisor. I have professionals for that.

“We need to sort this out. We have to get back to Jessie with a direction on how she should handle this fucking disaster,” he replies.

“I’ll see her when I get to the factory,” I say, trying my best to take back control.

“No, Elliott, you won’t. This affects both of us and we will discuss it and decide together what is best. You will not run off and make your own decisions which leave me to pick up the pieces later.”

"What pieces do you have to pick up?"

"Well none yet, but there could be and I should be involved in the process of deciding the actions we take if there is a chance."

He's not making much sense, but instead of raging at him and saying things he'll take the wrong way and probably never forgive me for, I sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. The mattress folds tipping him over so the sides of our bodies brush against each other. A shiver of inappropriate anticipation rushes through me. I push it to one side; now is not the time for any of those kinds of shenanigans.

“What do you mean, leave you to pick up the pieces?” I force my voice to be soft.

“One of the two options she gave us is that you and I should be seen out in public until we ride this storm. I need to understand what that means and the effect the media coverage is likely to have on my mom.”

I hadn’t thought about that. My family are so used to me being in the limelight, they take everything with a grain of salt now. Kyle’s mom had problems accepting his decision to share his life with a man, so his point is valid.

“There’s no way of telling what they’ll write and the effect it will have. We can’t control them, so if we decide to progress with that option, your mom is probably best not to tune into the TV for a while.”

“That’s OK, but what about her friends at the church? They watch television and everyone is on social media now, even the oldies who didn't used to be.”

I cannot believe I’m running my PR campaign around his mother and her narrow-minded cronies. Oh the joys of being half of a couple. “Look, I don’t care what we do. If you feel more comfortable with us burying our heads in the sand until this blows over that’s fine, but then we don’t have the opportunity to come out and defend ourselves.”

“Is this something we can defend against?” he asks.

“Potentially. Jessie is good. Who wouldn’t want to be so in love with their partner that they can’t keep their hands to themselves?”

“I could see how it could work, I suppose.” His eyes are so sad, like a lost puppy.

Resting my hand on his knee, I say, “Whatever we do, we’re going to be in the spotlight. We may as well have half a chance of influencing the direction of the coverage.”

He sighs. “OK, let’s get dressed and run it past Jessie in the office then before we start.” He stands and heads toward his closet, but this hasn’t passed. His tension hovers. He may not realize it, but he’s like a lion stalking his prey. One false move and he’ll pounce and all those unsaid words I can feel radiating around him will spill out. And I’m not sure I want to hear them.