In the Unlikely Event

“I called you here because I have a good opportunity for you, Rory. Jake, our senior photographer, is with Cold Blaze on their last leg. Once he’s done, he’s going to stick around in New York for a while—his girlfriend’s having a baby. So we need a photographer for this next project.”

“I’m your person.” Aurora turns to him, nodding.

I pinch my lips, refusing to let my satisfied smirk loose. Ryner saunters over to stand between us, then turns around and leans on the edge of the balcony, looking back and forth at us.

“It’s a big one, Jenkins.”

She nods, her attention on him now.

She is still deadly beautiful. That’s the thing that bothers me most. But it shouldn’t. That just means it won’t be a terrible inconvenience to shag her, which I fully plan on, before discarding her back to her motherland, this time with no affection and zero promises.

“Deets, Ryner. Give them to me.” Aurora starts playing with the hoop in her nose.

You silly, predictable girl.

“Two months in a village just outside Dublin. Tokyo, is it?” He throws me a puzzled look.

“Tolka.” I shove my balled fists into my pockets.

“I was close.” He laughs.

Sure. You only got the city, country, and continent wrong, arsehole.

“Doherty will be writing the songs, and Richards will be recording them in his home studio—the acoustic version, anyway. Kinda like an artistic workshop, old-school style. Then Richards will come back to New York in March and record it from scratch.”

What Ryner means is the singer will come back and have professionals distort his voice to sound like something that doesn’t break glass, concrete, and people’s spirits. I watch Aurora’s face transform from annoyed to terrified in a span of seconds. Her lips are still pursed.

“That means two months in Ireland, Jenkins, all costs taken care of. You’re welcome.” He winks.

“Wait.” Aurora holds up a hand. “Why do I need to stay in Ireland? I can just take pictures for a week or so and then get out of their hair.”

Ryner shakes his head. “It’s for a documentary of sorts. We need hours of material. Hundreds of pictures. Our marketing campaign is huge. We’re bleeding money out of our asses after a butchered colonoscopy exam. We need as much material as possible.”

“You can’t expect me to live in Ireland for the next couple months,” Aurora says through a tight smile.

I know what she did to make me hate her, but I wonder what I did to warrant such sour behavior. Other than being a cunt just now.

Come to think of it, that’s probably all it took.

Then, of course, there’s the matter of the boyfriend.

The rich, shiny boyfriend she said she’d never date, yet I saw her in the ballroom, clinging to his Brioni-clad arm like bad breath on a fecking alcoholic.

What disappointments we are to each other, Princess.

“I can fly in and out of Ireland,” she suggests, munching on her lower lip. “It’s no trouble, and I bet you’ll need me here, too.”

Ryner shakes his head, his patience dissipating, just like mine. “Richards’ schedule is all over the place now that he’s dating that new second-cousin-to-the-royals chick in London. I don’t know when he plans to come and go. You need to be there at all times.”

“In a hotel?” she asks hopefully.

This time, a smile curls on my face. What can I say? Even I’m not completely unaffected by a good arse-to-mouth situation where Aurora has to taste just how hard I fucked her.

“What would be the point of that? We need you there, with them, under the same roof. Are we having a problem here, Jenkins?” Ryner tapers his eyes at her. “Should I give this assignment to someone else? Someone more experienced, maybe?”

Aurora frowns at him, then shakes her head. Nah, she’s not one to back down from a challenge.

“I’ll make this assignment my bitch,” she breathes.

“I have no doubt, kiddo.”

Puke, meet bucket. He didn’t ask her to save the world, just take a few pictures of that eejit, Richards, pretending to be hard at work.

Aurora turns her attention to me. I’m ready for her, with the shit-eating grin of someone who not only pissed in her Jacuzzi, but also drowned her boyfriend in it for good measure.

“Mal.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Aurora.”

“Just so you know, I have a boyfriend,” she says matter-of-factly, peeling my pea coat from her shoulders and throwing it my way.

I catch it, and as I do, raise my left hand in the air, palm facing me, so she can see the gold band on my ring finger.

“Good for you, sweetheart,” I deadpan, twisting the ring around. “Reached first base yet? Carved your initials on a tree? Maybe you gave each other purity rings,” I ponder, then shake my head. “Nah. Too late for that.”

I don’t think she listened to any of my monologue, though. She is solely focused on the wedding band, following my movements with her eyes. I can see the question behind them, and, of course, charitable bastard that I am, I volunteer the information.

“Kathleen.” I shove my hand into my pocket, noticing the way—even though her face pales and her fingers clutch the bannister—she doesn’t collapse. “Shortly after you left. Beautiful ceremony, performed by Father Doherty. My sincere apologies for not sending you an invitation.”

Aurora’s throat works, and it reminds me how delicate it was under my fingers. She elevates her chin, refusing to break.

Night’s still young, darlin’.

“Selling songs and marrying Kathleen?” Her face turns to stone, completely void of emotion now. “You’re right, Mal. I really don’t have the faintest clue who you are anymore.”

Ryner looks between us, trying to assess the situation. He knows we know each other, because I told him as much, but I presented us as old friends, not as complete fiends, which is closer to the truth.

“Do you guys need a second?” He sniffs his beaky nose, finishing off his cigarette and putting it out in a plant.

Christ, he’s a waste of oxygen. His mother needs to plant a tree for every day he lives.

“Yes,” Aurora says.

“No,” I snap at the same time.

There’s silence for a few seconds before I give Ryner half a shrug and make a show of turning back to the railing, parking my elbows on it, ignoring her.

“All right, then, lovebirds.” Ryner rubs his chin.

I can see him in my periphery, moonwalking backward to the doors, like the moron he is.

Aurora drops her voice once we’re alone. “In the contract, you said you wouldn’t care if we had significant others or spous—”

I cut her off immediately. “You mean eight years ago, when we were both fresh out of diapers? Come on now, Aurora. We were in love with the concept, not each other.”

Why is she even bringing this up, after everything she’s done and said? It’s like being wary of a blood test when both your limbs are cut off and your head is chopped, floating somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea.

Ship’s sailed, sweetheart.

I don’t bother looking at her. Instead, I stare at the ugly, soulless skyscrapers of Manhattan, reminding myself how much she loves them. And that just like all the ditzy girls I rolled between my sheets before and after her, she’s saddled with Instagram-inspired ideas and Photoshopped dreams. She lives a Pinterest-perfect life, and there’s no filter to make my life suitable enough for her reality.