by Emma Grey
She shakes her head. ‘You’re not having my story, Jack.’ She won’t compromise her ambition for love. Will she?
‘How badly do you need the car?’ he teases.
Ooh, it’s so impossibly tempting! She can’t take the Tube – she can’t go anywhere now she’s being chased by the media. Cab drivers are all so infuriatingly slow. Jack dangles the keys in front of her face. All she has to do is reach out and take them – and sign on the dotted line . . .
‘You know you want to,’ Jack says, and she stares at him. ‘Come on, Tilly. There are worse ways to reach Reuben Vaughan than via a generous publishing relationship with me. Imagine getting all you’ve ever wanted in one afternoon?’
She is imagining it, and it doesn’t feel right. All she’s ever wanted is to be acknowledged for her writing. Properly. No agenda. Not like this. Not for a boy. Not even when that boy is Reuben Vaughan. Whom she has severely misjudged in this instance, which makes this whole mess even worse.
‘No deal, Jack,’ she says as she scoops up her computer and runs.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ he calls after her, and maybe she is. But she’ll make it with her integrity intact.
Chapter 48
Reuben checks the video surveillance camera at the front door, sees that it’s the courier he’s expecting, opens the door and signs for the envelope. He knows from the sender details that this is not a letter he can open and read while Belle and Angie are here. Something this huge has to wait until a time when he’s alone, and has the space to consider the way his life is about to be comprehensively blown apart by its contents.
He folds the envelope and puts it in the back pocket of his jeans, takes a breath and returns to the sitting room, where the girls are attempting to get along. They’re trying to hide it for his sake, but Angie has been cool in Belle’s presence for a long time, and, knowing what he now knows about Belle and her feelings for Angie, it’s no surprise that Belle’s not her usual self.
How did everything get so mixed up? He knew life wasn’t meant to be straightforward, but does it really have to be this confusing? This is heartbreaking . . . It’s always good to have Belle and Angie around, but it’s Tilly he wants here while he goes through this.
‘Reuben, what can we do? Do you want to talk about it?’ Angie asks, walking over to sit on the arm of the lounge chair he despondently plonks himself into. Angie leans protectively into him. He steals a glance at Belle. She’s miserable.
‘Can we talk about something else?’ he suggests.
There’s an awkward pause while the two girls try to come up with a topic, presumably one that isn’t going to lower the mood even further. They fail abysmally.
‘My parents have threatened to marry me off to some foreign aristocrat unless I can find someone myself. Someone suitable, obviously, which means somebody who measures up to their particularly narrow definition.’
‘Marry you off?’ Angie replies. She stops comforting Reuben.
‘Is that even legal?’ Reuben asks. ‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘Who would they marry you off to?’ Angie asks. She watches as Belle paces near the window.
‘Probably some relentlessly boring guy who I won’t even like, let alone could ever love.’ Belle fights back tears, and stares directly at Angie, who stares directly back. There’s something in Angie’s expression . . . a memory flashes to Reuben’s mind . . . a school debating final . . . Belle and Angie afterwards . . . what was that?
‘But they can’t do that,’ Angie says, surprisingly close to tears. ‘Can they?’
He tries to picture it. Belle, forced into a heterosexual relationship. Made to live with some guy. Someone with expectations of a female partner that would be well outside what Belle could ever bear, but that she’d have to go along with for the sake of appearances. He winces at the idea of his best friend being subjected to something this wrong.
‘Watch them,’ Belle says, answering Angie’s objection. ‘All my cousins can marry anyone they like. My parents are stuck in some other century. This is all about Olivia. Or it was . . .’
The TV is on. The early evening news is about to start. Reuben’s phone rings with an incoming call from Angus, which he probably should take in case it’s about Tilly. Belle flicks through a pile of this morning’s tabloids, which the new housekeeper must have left by accident. No way would Reuben keep that rubbish in the house.
He answers the call. ‘Angus —’
‘What is this?’ Belle asks, picking up the newspaper to take a closer look. ‘Have you seen this, Reuben?’
She doesn’t seem to care that he’s on the phone and walks across the room towards him. She’s holding the paper open at a double-page spread, her expression incredulous.
‘I have to tell you something,’ Angus explains. ‘It’s not good.’ How much worse could things get?
Angie moves closer to the TV. Even with the volume down, Reuben can tell it’s plugging an upcoming segment about Belle and Reuben and Tilly. Why do people find this stuff interesting?
‘Things are not as they appear,’ Angus says seriously. ‘With Tilly.’
The words hit just as Belle reveals the newspaper story that has her so fascinated. She holds it up so he can see it. It’s plastered with photos of Tilly. Young Tilly. Maybe at twelve or thirteen years old? He leans in to get a closer look. The expression’s the same. Same big smile. Same wild auburn hair. But . . . this makes no sense. She’s wearing every conceivable item of Unrequited merchandise that was available back then – T-shirt, hat, wrist bands, track pants. The bedroom walls are absolutely covered in posters of the band. There’s an Unrequited bed cover. Bottles of their signature perfume. A bookshelf full of unofficial band biographies. In the corner of her bedroom, a life-size cardboard cut-out. Of him.
She’d said she wasn’t a fan. Said she barely knew his music.
‘She’s not in love with you,’ Angus continues on the phone.
Angie turns the volume up as the promised news story comes on. It’s footage of Tilly in a cafe, with . . . Jack?
‘I’m sorry,’ Angus says, ‘Tilly said there’s someone else.’
Chapter 49
Tilly pounds on the door of Reuben’s apartment, not caring that she appears to have attracted at least half of London’s paparazzi like some Pied Piper during her mad dash from the next suburb. He’d pointed out where he lived as they drove past in the cab the night of their movie date, before the police drama, and she’s suddenly grateful for her good memory and sense of direction. She’s puffed and bending over to recover her breath when he opens the door, his phone to his ear.
For a second or two, she feels the punch of his proximity. Everything else melts away. It’s like just breathing the same air causes some sort of seismic shift between them. And that’s even with him looking so hostile. Hurt. Confused, definitely. She wonders if it’s Angus he’s talking to.
‘Can I come in?’ she asks.
He ends the call, then stands there, staring.
‘Reuben?’
He glances behind her at the cameras. Sighs. Then he guides her inside and closes the door quickly. They’re alone in the front hallway and, while she can hear other people in the house, it feels surprisingly intimate. But not in a romantic sense. It’s more uncomfortable than that. He looks emotionally beaten. Like he doesn’t have the energy for this conversation. Not that she has any idea how to start it.
‘That article in the paper,’ he says abruptly.
‘I can explain it,’ she argues. ‘I didn’t mean it the way it came across.’
He looks confused. Again. ‘It’s pretty unambiguous, Tilly,’ he says.
She shifts her weight, awkwardly. ‘You’re the one who told me not to believe everything I read,’ she argues.
‘And you’re the one who taught me to believe what I see with my own eyes.’
There weren’t any telltale photos with Max O’Neill’s article, though. Nothing he could possibly interpret another way.
Just photos they’d already seen in the press in the days before.
‘I came here to try to talk to you about something before Angus speaks to you,’ she explains. ‘He and I had a conversation.’
‘I know,’ he says, and he looks miserable. But . . . maybe miserable is good? Not for him, obviously, but if he looks this upset, perhaps it’s because she really means something to him.
‘Angus got the wrong end of the stick,’ she says. ‘Well, technically I did. I said something to him, but it wasn’t true . . .’
‘You’re in love with someone else.’
‘Yes. NO! I mean, that’s what I said, but it’s not how it sounds!’
He takes a step back. It’s like he’s been winded. She knows she can fix this, easily. She just needs to explain her misunderstanding, as embarrassing as that will be to divulge.
‘Is it Jack?’
‘Huh?’
‘The one you’re in love with.’
‘Reuben . . .’
‘You were just at a cafe with him, only minutes ago.’
How she wishes news studios didn’t crowd-source their video footage from members of the public, almost in real time! ‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Oh, hello,’ Belle says as she heads towards the door behind them. ‘I’m sorry, Reuben, I have to go. There’s been a . . . diplomatic development.’
He grabs her arm as she walks past. ‘Belle! Before you go – I’ve thought of a potential solution to your . . . situation. The one we were discussing earlier. About your parents’ plans for the future.’
Belle looks intrigued and suddenly nervous, like Reuben’s about to say too much in front of Tilly again. She drags him aside, not that it stops Tilly overhearing.
‘I’ve thought of someone suitable, to . . . help you out,’ Reuben says in a low voice. ‘Block your parents’ other option, but with no expectations of you other than friendship. Leave you free to pursue your own . . .’ They both glance at Tilly. ‘You know,’ he says.
What is he talking about, Tilly wonders.
‘Your parents wanted you to find someone —’
‘Yes,’ Belle cuts in.
He takes her hand. ‘Why not me?’
Tilly isn’t following. Why not him for what? What is happening?
Belle drops her bag on the floor and angles her body towards him. Then she puts her arms around his neck and draws him into a long hug, which he reciprocates.
Tilly actually feels her heart shattering.
‘I could never let you do that,’ Belle whispers. ‘Besides, being pop royalty isn’t enough for them, unfortunately. The less traditional I am, the more conservative they become. Apparently, it has to be an aristocrat.’
He looks from Belle to Tilly, and slowly takes an envelope out of his back pocket. He stands there for a second, just looking at the envelope, turning it over and over in his hands.
‘Tilly’s not the only one who isn’t the person she appears to be,’ he says simply. And Tilly has no idea what he means by that, but he pushes the envelope into Belle’s hand, grabs his jacket off the hook and heads out the door, setting off a barrage of camera flashes as he goes.
Chapter 50
Reuben’s driver is already in the street, primed for this attempted escape. Reuben pushes through the throng. It’s virtually impossible to move, but he persists. There’s a part of him – a big part – that simply doesn’t care anymore. He can be jostled by camera equipment, or by what’s happening in his family, or in Belle’s, and he doesn’t actually feel anything. So numb, he’s immune.
‘Reuben!’ Tilly calls after him, moments later, when he’s almost at the car. He really doesn’t want to talk to her. Not now.
‘Tilly! Tilly! Over here!’ the reporters call, en masse. ‘Is it true you’re a superfan of Unrequited? Was all of this an elaborate stalking attempt? Are you obsessed with Reuben Vaughan?’
He doesn’t want to look at her, only to be crushed by her answers yet again, but he can’t help himself.
Someone flashes the newspaper in her face, and her eyes seem to widen in horror as she sees the photos of herself from years ago. She makes eye contact with Reuben, standing at the curb. ‘N-no!’ she stutters as if she’s speaking to him alone. ‘I mean, yes. I was. But I got over that! It’s not how it looks!’
He can’t believe she’s flat out admitting it. He’s heard enough. He reaches the car and opens the back door, climbs in and instructs the driver to just go. The car makes it about two metres before Tilly runs out in front of it and the driver has to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting her. Does she have a death wish? His heart pounds at the idea of his car almost colliding with her! She puts her hands up and tells the driver not to move, as she locks eyes with Reuben, pleadingly.
‘Let me in?’ she shouts. ‘Please?’
He hates the way he’s half-thinking about it, even though she’s just made it clear, once in front of the media, and twice, if you count the hallway admission, that she doesn’t love him. There is nothing she can say now that will convince him to retract the offer he’s made to Belle. Yes, it’s crazy. But when you’ve lost everything that matters, crazy seems irrelevant. And it’s the only way he can think of to help Belle avoid a relationship that would be unbelievably cruel. They could work out the finer details later. He is totally through with romance. For good.
‘What do you want me to do?’ the driver asks, and Reuben can’t think of the answer.
‘All right,’ Tilly yells. ‘We’ll have the conversation this way, then. In front of everyone.’
The reporters move as one, like they’re on stage performing a ballet together. Every microphone is angled in her direction.
‘I was crazy about you,’ she yells. ‘But that was a long time ago, before I met you. I got over it. I grew up. When we met at the ball, it was a complete accident. I promise I wasn’t stalking you. I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t even know you’d be there!’
He doesn’t know if this is making him feel better or worse.
‘So, you did love him and now you don’t?’ a reporter calls out.
She looks uncomfortable.
‘Let her in,’ Reuben says to the driver as he opens the back door.
Tilly looks relieved, runs around beside the car and falls into the back seat with him. He’s overwhelmed by the way she charges every molecule of the environment the second she’s in it.
‘Drive!’ he commands wearily. He’s determined not to let her closeness get to him.
‘What was in that envelope?’ she asks, blindsiding him again, taking charge of this interview.
She’ll find out soon enough. Everyone will. If there is a more perfect scenario for tabloid fodder he can’t think of one. ‘It’s about my father,’ he explains shortly. ‘Apparently he’s very ill.’
Tilly reaches for him, and he moves away instinctively so that she can’t touch him. Last thing he needs is her sympathy. Or her hand anywhere near his skin.
‘The magazines never printed anything about your father,’ she says. ‘Not in all these years.’
And she would know, he supposes. She’s probably devoured every word ever written about him, accurate or false, with her fangirl hat on. It makes him shudder.
‘There’s a good reason for that,’ he tells her. He pushes a button to raise the glass privacy shield and turns up the music to drown their conversation. It has the effect of encouraging her to lean into him in order to hear what he’s about to say. Her shoulder brushes his, and he’s annoyed at the way he responds to the casual touch. She’s going to take some getting over.
Her phone lights up in her lap. He can see that it’s Jack. So, he’s a personal contact in her phone now, too. She ignores it, and turns her phone over so it won’t distract them.
It’s enough to put him off telling her anything further. In fact, he can’t believe he came this close. She can’t be trusted. All that weird behaviour at the ball? The PR disaster. The revelation that she was an obsessed fan. And then she’d led hi
m to believe she was falling for him. They’d got so close . . . Way too close. And just as he’d convinced himself he was safe to fall in love with her, even this fast, she told his best mate she was in love with someone else. Someone who is calling her now, incessantly, if the light shining from her phone, even turned over in her lap, is any indication.
He glances out through the rear window of the car. They’ve lost a bunch of the media crowd and need to lose the rest. And after that, he needs to lose Tilly.
‘Stop here, please,’ he says to the driver a few streets later, after the last of the paps has disappeared from view. Then he turns to her. ‘You know that scene in Roman Holiday, when she gets out of the car and says she’ll be walking up the road and not to follow her? And that she can’t look back?’
She looks panicked. And he feels it.
‘I’m going to do that,’ he says in a controlled way. ‘We can’t do this anymore. I don’t want you to argue with me. We need a clean break. He will drive you wherever you want —’
He can’t say anything else, because suddenly she’s leaning in and kissing him. She’s kissing him in a way that doesn’t feel like she’s lying. And for a few, exquisite moments, he finds himself unavoidably responding. But they can’t do this. He can’t. He tears himself away from her, doesn’t look at her face at all, opens the door, walks away and doesn’t look back.
Chapter 51
‘What’s in the letter?’ Angie asks as Belle comes back into Reuben’s living room, her response to the diplomatic incident temporarily overtaken by more important events. If Angie doesn’t know – and she seems to know everything about Reuben – then Belle is not going to be the one to tell her.
This letter changes everything. Well, it could. Reuben’s ridiculous proposal out in the hallway is vaguely possible if the contents of this letter are really true. But how on earth could this be so?
She needs an explanation. It makes no sense that Reuben would receive a letter like this, with everything Belle knows of his family background. But his offer is appealing now, given the way her parents seem intent to trap her, and their insistence that she keep her sexuality a secret from the world.
