“THAT’S HARDLY A NUTRITIOUS MEAL,” Dolly says to me where I’m slumped over the center island, nursing a glass of Merlot and picking at green olives. “Why don’t you let me cook you supper before I head home?”
I sigh, looking at the olive held between my fingers. “I’m not hungry.” Popping it in my mouth, I chew and wash it down with another slug of red as Olive wanders into the kitchen with a tray and sets it next to the sink. “Thank you for what you did earlier, Olive.” The poor girl was obviously uncomfortable hustling my clothes out of Kellington just to keep me out of trouble.
“Welcome, ma’am.”
“What’s this?” Dolly asks, pulling off her apron.
“Oh, nothing.” I flap a dismissive hand and reach for the bottle to top up my glass. Dolly will nag poor Olive something rotten if she knows she was an accomplice in my misdemeanors. Tipping the bottle, I frown when nothing comes out.
“Another?” Olive asks, pulling my attention to her. She already has a bottle in her hand before I can confirm my need for more.
“Thank you.” I push forward the empty and let her top me up so I can continue to drown my sorrows. “Here, have an olive, Olive.” I chuckle to myself like an idiot, and Dolly sighs in despair. Olive is far too polite to berate me. Regardless, I can tell she has heard that pathetic joke more than once. “Sorry.” I shrug and dive back into my wine.
“That’s me done for the evening,” Dolly declares, dusting off her hands. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
“Goodbye, Dolly.” I watch her leave and notice the only things left littering the spick and span kitchen is my wine and the dish of olives. Oh, and me.
“I should be going now, too.” Olive follows Dolly, and I smile as much as I can muster. She stops at the door, holding it open. “Forgive me, ma’am. I realize it isn’t my place to ask, but are you okay?”
My smile now is genuine. She is the sweetest thing. “Never apologize for being concerned for someone, Olive,” I gently scold her. “I’m fine.” My reassurance isn’t fooling anyone. “Just silly family politics.”
She nods, thoughtful for a few moments before she speaks again. “I would like you to know I admire you greatly. I think you’re very brave for standing up for what you believe in.”
If it would be appropriate, I would cuddle her, even if she is wrong. I am not brave at all. I’m a coward. If I were brave, I’d say to hell with it, step out with Josh, and let the world see. Let my father see; let the whole wretched family see. But I’m terrified of the consequences. Of losing Josh. No more floating on air. No more losing myself in him. My father and his army of advisors will make sure of it. They’ll also ruin him. I can’t let that happen. I offer her a small smile, hoping to reassure her. I don’t know if I succeed. “I believe in letting your heart guide you. But my heart is caged, and will only be released under conditions.”
“Then I hope he breaks it free for you.” She quietly goes, and I stare at the empty doorway for a long while after she’s gone. Sweet Olive is smarter than she lets on.
I turn back to my wine, losing myself in my thoughts. Tears pinch the back of my eyes. Maddeningly, I feel like I’m letting myself down by sitting here being all melancholy. But frankly, each time I tackle this institution with an argument, I feel wiped out. Despondent. Maybe I even question the whole bloody point. I will never win. Maybe a battle, but never the war.
I startle a little when my phone starts vibrating, and my heart jumps when I see it is Josh. And then I’m frowning, because isn’t he supposed to be at his premiere this evening? “Hello?”
“Hey, my girl.”
My bouncing heart mellows at the sound of his voice, everything in my world balanced and perfect again. “Hey, my American boy.” I rest my elbow on the marble of the island and prop my chin on my hand, all dreamy and content. “Correct me if I am wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be somewhere special this evening?”
“Yes, I am. Are you near a TV?”
“No, I’m in the kitchen. Why do you ask?”
“Find one and turn it on. Be quick. I look like a jerk standing here on my cell.”
Utterly intrigued, I swipe up my wine and rush to the nearest lounge. I find the remote control and quickly turn on the television.
“You found a TV in that palace of yours yet?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Put E! News on.”
I fumble with the button and eventually source the channel. “Oh, it’s you,” I sing when Josh comes on the screen, not directly as such, but there in the background on the red carpet outside the Odeon on Leicester Square, surrounded by his people. He’s talking on his mobile. To me. “Is it live?” I ask, lowering to the table between the sofa and the television.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” He gives the camera the peace sign, and I laugh.
“Two.”
“Affirmative.” He smiles brightly as the presenter, a glamourous woman in a killer red dress, talks and constantly looks back to Josh, maybe to see if he’s finished on his call so she can collar him for a few questions.
“You look very handsome,” I say, drinking in the pure exquisiteness of him in his tux, his hair a stark contrast to the sexed-up mess I left this morning.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says as someone appears by his side and whispers in his ear. I don’t hear her down the line, because his hand is covering the phone. He nods to her, holding up one finger.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“My publicist. I’m wanted by the networks lining the carpet.”
“I think that woman in the red dress is waiting to snare you, too,” I say, seeing her look back again, telling the viewers she will be talking with Josh Jameson any moment. I envy her.
“I know. Better go. Wish you were here.”
“That may be so, but I would bet the crown jewels on the fact that every woman in the world is glad I am not.”
He laughs, and I get the full pleasure of the sound down the line and the sight on my huge television screen. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Hanging up, I watch as the presenter moves in and Josh accommodates her, his publicist keeping a few meters distance.
“And we have the man of the hour, Josh Jameson, people,” the presenter gushes, smiling a toothy, red-lipped smile. “You look radiant.”
Radiant? I roll my eyes. Women look radiant. Not men. “Thanks.” Josh finds that statement rather odd too, judging by his half-smile half-frown.
“Anything to do with the lady on the end of the line?” She purses her lips and shoves the mic under Josh’s nose.
“Sorry about that.” He thumbs over his shoulder. “One of the frat boys from college put an emergency call in. He wants me to get your number for him.”
The presenter flames red but quickly gathers herself, and I applaud Josh for his clever diversion from her probing. I can only imagine the amount of media training he has had to deal with inappropriate questions. “Come on,” she coos. “Don’t play games with me. I heard her talk. It was a woman, wasn’t it?”
“Didn’t your mom teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
“Yes, but then I became a journalist.” She shrugs, unashamed. “Are you dating, Josh?”
Josh’s publicist steps forward, ready to intervene, but Josh stops her. “It’s early days.”
My heart virtually stops in my chest. The excitement from the presenter is electric, virtually reaching me through the television. I can’t blame her. She just got herself an unexpected exclusive. I’m stunned, part ecstatic, part panicked. He’s told the world he’s dating someone, and now the world will be desperate to know who. It’s hard to be mad with him when I’m feeling so utterly chuffed.
“Too early to bring her along to the premiere of your new film?” the presenter pushes.
He chuckles, glancing away. “This is all a bit below her, to be honest.”
I gape at the screen, just as Josh flicks his eyes to the camera that is panning in on him. The rascal. Below me? It is not below me. I grab my phone and text him exactly that, clicking send.
“Below her?” she coughs. “Red carpets, world premieres, and you on her arm is below her?”
Josh grins as he glances down, and I figure very quickly that he’s just caught sight of my text. “Are we going to discuss the film?” he asks. “Isn’t that why we’re here?” His publicist steps in and ushers him away toward the next waiting mic before the presenter can get on to why they’re really there, but she doesn’t care. She unexpectedly scooped the story of the night. Maybe even the year. I know in my heart of hearts that Josh just made a very silly move, tossing the media morsels of information on a relationship and woman in his life, aware that they will want the whole three-course meal. But I cannot stop the deep thrill and insane contentment of knowing that that woman is me. I don’t pay much attention to the part of my brain that wants me to focus on his stupidity. I’m more inclined to side with the part that’s wondering if he’s making a point. Being brave. Setting the standard. Maybe I should be brave, too. It’s easy to think it. Not so easy to do. My stomach revolts against the wine I’ve poured into it, at the thought of what Josh could endure should he end up at the mercy of my father and his aides. Gerry Rush and his hookup with a hooker is a prime example. Yet if Josh has no skeletons in his closet, what could they possibly do? I laugh to myself. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Josh is Hollywood. He will definitely have skeletons in his closet, and if he doesn’t, I know someone will put them there.
I turn the television off and make my way to my suite, mulling over the notion of being brave. Of standing up to the people who keep me caged. I wash, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed.
My thought process has me tossing and turning for a few hours, sleep evading me. Nothing has ever consumed my mind so much, and the lack of an answer for my problem is positively maddening.
I’m about to give up on sleep and find something to read when the darkness of my suite is suddenly illuminated by the glow of my phone. I roll over to take it from the nightstand.
Awake?
Every thought polluting my head is forgotten in an instant as I stare at his simple question. I tap out a quick yes and then wait for a response, tummy whirling, face splitting. I don’t get a message in return; I get a call. “Hello?” The sound of music in the background is deafening, as well as the cheers and shouting. I’m forced to pull my phone away from my ear.
“Hello?” Josh shouts. “Adeline? Hello?”
“I’m here. I can barely hear you.”
“Hold up. I’m looking for somewhere quiet.” The music continues to pump as I wait patiently for Josh to find somewhere quiet. “Still there?” he shouts.
“Still here.” I laugh.
“Fuck, this place is like a fuckin’ maze.”
“Where are you?”
“After-party. Wait, I think I’ve found somewhere.” The ear-splitting sound suddenly dulls to a muffled fuzz. “That’s better. Can you hear me?”
“Yes.” His voice sounds more gravelly than usual, no doubt from shouting to be heard. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Then turn on the light,” I chuckle, imagining him feeling around in the darkness for a switch.
“I’m good. I can hear your voice. It’s the only light I need.”
I melt. Positively melt into a girlie puddle on my pillow. “Have you had a nice evening?”
“Great. You?”
“Oh, you know. Rocking and rolling in my suite all alone,” I joke, now happy I struggled to find sleep, else I could have missed his call.
“Come see me.”
I laugh at his ridiculous demand. “And how would you propose that happen?”
“Fuck.” His curse is sharp and full of frustration. “I can’t stand this.”
My contentment waivers for a moment. “That was a rather silly thing you said to the presenter earlier.”
“You want me to feel remorseful? Because I’m not.”
“They will want to know who is apparently below the glitz and glamour of a world premiere.”
“Let them wonder.” He brushes off my concern with ease, and I let him. “I’m due to fly back to the States in a few days.”
Tenseness fills me. Already? Where has the time gone? “I see.” My heart sinks. It’s daft, really. I knew he was here for business, but still.
“I’ve changed my plans.”
I scan the darkness before me. “You have?”
“Well, I’m due on set in New Zealand in two weeks to start a new movie. I’d only be going back to LA to relax and repack. I can relax here, and London has malls. I’ll buy new clothes. Makes sense for me to fly from here.”
I press my lips together to stop an excited squeal from slipping free. “Sounds sensible.”
“I thought so, too. So, I mean, if you’re free, so am I.”
My grin splits my face. “I’ll check my diary.”
“Ouch.”
I laugh. “I’m only kidding. Didn’t you know I’m only here to keep up appearances. That’s my sole purpose.”
“No, your sole purpose is to keep this smile on my face.”
“Josh Jameson, you are really on form this evening. Have you been drinking?”
“I’ve had something far more addictive than alcohol,” he says softly, making me all warm and lovely inside.
“You have? What’s that then?”
“Her name is Adeline Catherine Luisa Lockhart.”
I cannot remove this smile from my face. “I’ve heard you ‘like her a real lot’.” I try to imitate his American accent. I do a frightfully terrible job, but it makes him laugh nevertheless, and the sound only makes my contentment grow.
“Yeah, I do. I’ll show her just how much when I see her next.”
I stop myself from asking when that might be. It’s not like I can simply pop out to see him, or he me. If I allowed it, that thought might dampen my mood, but for now he’s on the other end of the phone, and I can hear his voice. “Look forward to it.”
“You should. So when do you make my change in plans worthwhile?” he asks frankly.
“Tomorrow?”
“I would love nothing more, but I’m scheduled for back-to-back interviews all day. Sucks, huh? What about the next day?”
“I have to attend a polo match. It’s the Cartier King’s Cup. A big deal in the polo world.” Since Matilda and I sip champagne and sun ourselves for most of the day, it’s one of the few annual events I don’t mind attending. The King and the other men are too busy swinging mallets and egos around the field to bother me. But now . . .
“Polo, eh?”
“Yes, the sport of kings, don’t you know?”
“Do you play?”
“God, no. The polo field is a man’s playground. But I must show my face.”
“So the next day, then?”
Three days away? God, that feel like centuries. “Okay.”
“Call me, yeah?”
“I will. Enjoy the rest of your party.” I click End Call and roll onto my side. He called me from his super important premiere. Twice. He wanted me to be there. I smile to myself. I like the Josh Jameson who likes Adeline Lockhart a real lot.