by Emma Grey
‘Now?’
‘I’ve got a craving!’
‘But you said you’ve been dying to see this movie. It’s nearly up to the good bit!’
Maybe Tilly could sneak out to the candy bar. It would give her an excuse to check her phone for the forty millionth time since that last message from Reuben, weeks ago, even if it means she’ll be disappointed for the forty millionth time when there’s nothing there.
‘I’ll go and get it, Ange.’
She grabs her phone and moves along the row in the dark, and out into the blinding light of the foyer. The candy bar is currently unattended. Hmm. Now what?
The revolving door starts turning, signalling the arrival of more people. Tilly’s heart quickens. She doesn’t want to be standing here, on her own, totally exposed to strangers. She looks around urgently, and spots a familiar escape route, still roped off. She doesn’t think twice about leaping over the barricade and throwing herself through the door and up into the carpeted stairwell.
Safe.
It’s quiet. She takes a deep breath and wonders what she hopes to achieve by being here. Is she looking for his lingering scent from weeks ago? Don’t be pathetic, Tilly. Despite her better judgement, she finds herself stepping upwards. Just a flight. Finding their spot.
Sitting on the carpeted step, she feels further apart from him than ever. This was their stairwell. Without him, it’s just a lonely space. She can almost hear her own heartbeat. There is an enormous aching void in her chest, which he had filled.
What was the point of coming to London only to fail at life! Failed internship. Failed romance. And now she’s sitting here pathetically, waiting for . . . what, exactly? Reuben to break his hectic royal-engagement schedule and magically pop in for a D & M?
There’s the click of the door in the stairwell below. OMG. Tilly catches her breath and starts to freak out. She’s not meant to be here! What’s her excuse?
There’s nowhere to escape – the flight of stairs leads to a locked door. She’d watched Reuben try to open it the other time. She’ll just have to deal with this as well as she can. Tell them she’s lost her way, or her mind, or something else plausible, if she can come up with it in precisely five sec—
Reuben?
He stops when he sees her. Freezes. His face is unreadable – a tortured mix of surprise and regret. ‘Tilly. I didn’t expect . . .’
‘I’m here with Angie,’ she says.
He nods, like he’s figured this whole thing out. ‘Me too. She told me to meet her here for something important.’
‘Here in this stairwell?’ Tilly asks.
‘Obviously not. I came in the back entrance. I just . . . I don’t know. Saw the door and wandered in, I guess.’
‘For old time’s sake?’
He smiles ruefully. ‘If by “old times” you mean just the other month, yes.’
It feels like years.
‘Anyway, I’m sorry to interrupt.’ He starts backing away.
‘I wasn’t doing anything. Just sitting here. Thinking about what an enormous mess this has been. Wishing I’d never left home . . .’
He looks crestfallen. Nods again.
‘Congratulations,’ she says flatly, wishing she could think of something to add, but drawing a blank.
‘Tilly . . .’
‘Don’t, Reuben. Unless you’re about to say you’re not going through with it, and it’s all been a horrible mistake, there’s nothing you can say to fix this.’
He climbs one of the stairs, and she digs the heels of her hands into the step above and instinctively moves up one, away from him.
‘Everything you see is . . .’ He stops. He’s either thinking about his words, or trying to stop her from scurrying away, like he’s approaching a wild animal. He puts up his hands to signal he’s not coming any closer, and slides down the wall to sit a few steps beneath her. ‘Can we talk?’
What can they possibly have to talk about? How can she, in a million years, say anything in this theatre stairwell to change his mind? He’s marrying a princess! He is some sort of prince, or might as well be one. She’s actually sitting here in a secluded stairwell with a prince who is engaged to someone else. Seriously! This is not the internship she signed up for!
‘The article,’ he begins. ‘The Max O’Neill one.’
She sighs. ‘I said those things, but only after Max had pushed me to the edge. I was livid, Reuben. With you. With him. With myself for being such an idiot and falling for —’
He looks expectantly at her. ‘Jack?’
She throws her arms in the air, dramatically. ‘YOU.’
‘But you told Angus —’
‘I told him I was in love with someone else because I thought he thought I was in love with him.’
Reuben looks confused, and no wonder.
‘It was you, obviously.’
Hang on! She hadn’t meant to reveal that to him . . . And now he’s looking at her as if this entire external nightmare doesn’t exist.
‘What did you say?’
She shakes her head. She will not humiliate herself by repeating it.
He puts his hand on her ankle. It’s the same place his tie had wrapped around at the ball. She shivers.
‘Cold?’
‘No.’
His thumb traces tiny circles on her skin, while he thinks. She can barely breathe. It feels like hours, but it’s only seconds that pass until he turns his body and moves up a step, so he’s almost level with her, his hand on her calf, now. He looks at her and she forgets everything. Everything.
Chapter 57
He is touching her leg. He doesn’t want to say anything or move, in case it breaks this spell. It’s taking all his willpower not to scoop her up under her knees and around her waist and drag her down a step so she’s next to him, where she belongs.
Where she belongs.
The realisation hits him hard. This is so incredibly mixed up, all of it. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t resist, and he’s furious with himself. He’s doing nothing wrong in terms of Belle. He knows they have an arrangement – they’re both completely free for other people, that’s the whole idea. But Tilly doesn’t know that, does she? He’s putting her in an extremely unfair position here.
She looks scared. Like a deer frozen in headlights. Like she’s powerless to speak.
She sits up suddenly, shaking his hand off her leg. She draws her legs away, planting both feet on the step and hugging her knees. He lets his hand drop.
‘We can’t be here,’ she says. ‘I have to go.’
She stands up, fast, but as she does he grabs her hand, which pulls her off balance and sends her toppling onto him.
‘Reuben!’ she gasps.
He’s not sorry. He won’t say it.
She plants her hands on his chest and tries to push him away. But she doesn’t try very hard. He puts his hands over hers and pushes her back, softly, onto the step, intertwining his fingers in hers, gently pinning her arms. This is the part where she is meant to let go, but she doesn’t.
‘You didn’t tell me you were a fan, Maguire,’ he says quietly, their faces dangerously close.
‘You didn’t tell me you were a prince.’
They stare at each other. It’s a stalemate. Neither was fully truthful about their identity when they met, in the middle of everything, on those museum steps. And she is everything to him, he realises, until the reality of where they are, and what they’re doing, and what he’s committed to, starts flooding back.
It can’t be undone. It’s too late. To back out now would be to let Belle down on a scale of mammoth proportions. He is not that person.
He looks at Tilly. He can’t tell her now why he’s doing this – he won’t break Belle’s trust – but there’s still a chance for this relationship, later on. If only she’ll agree to be with him in secret . . .
‘This is complicated,’ he whispers. Her face crumbles. Hurting her kills him. ‘Tilly – I made a promise for decent
reasons. I think you’d understand, if I was able to tell you . . .’
He feels her fingers loosening their grip. She’s trying not to cry. So is he. He wants to ask her to wait for him, but it’s so unfair. What he’s offering – a half-baked, hidden relationship . . .
‘I’m not good enough for you,’ he says, defeated. Her expression changes, almost instantly. He moves as she sits up. He expects her to burst into tears. Instead, she looks at him one last time, like she’s finally figured all of this out, then she pushes him away so she can get up. She doesn’t even look back as she runs down the stairs and out of sight in the corner of the stairwell. He hears the door open and close – not slam. Just close. And then silence.
Chapter 58
It’s like a switch has flicked inside Tilly’s brain. She will not do this. She won’t be the girl endlessly waiting, like a neglected pet hoping for scraps to be tossed from the dinner table. Reuben Vaughan might be a multi-platinum, award-winning, stupidly rich royal pop star who seems on-again, off-again interested in her, but he’s clearly not anywhere interested enough!
She deserves more than this. He didn’t have to say she was second best. That was implied. She didn’t have to even think about what to do. She just had to leave. Immediately. She’s worth more than some simmering attraction with a guy who can’t bring himself to like her quite enough, no matter how amazing she feels in the moments when he’s properly focused on her.
Wow, it’s hard dragging herself away from him. But it’s worth it. Or it will be. The energy this relationship is taking up in her life is totally disproportionate to the reward.
The movie is over. Angie is waiting near the now open candy bar, nibbling at a choc top and wearing the guilty expression of a matchmaker. Tilly grabs her by the elbow as she power walks past and announces that they’re leaving.
‘Thanks for springing that on us, Angie.’
‘You’re so welcome!’
‘It’s made me realise something.’
‘Oh, thank goodness! You and Reuben can finally turn around a real fairy-tale ending to this train wreck!’
‘No.’
Angie frowns and stops still. She spins Tilly to face her. ‘He’s still going ahead with this stupid plan?’ she asks, clearly gobsmacked. ‘I was sure you could change his mind! If you can’t, no one can! He’s seriously going to go ahead and marry someone he doesn’t love, while he clearly loves someone else . . .?’
‘But it’s not clear, is it, Angie! That’s why I’m walking.’
Angie is speechless. ‘You’re walking? From His Soon-To-Be Something, Pop God, Reuben Vaughan?’
That’s exactly what she’s doing, and nothing has ever felt so right. She’s never felt more empowered, sticking up for herself like this. Wow, this feels good. Well, mostly. She’s broken-hearted of course. But it’s better to be broken-hearted with your self-worth intact than always second-guessing whether you’re good enough.
‘I didn’t come to England to go up against the Royal Family in front of the whole world and fight for someone who isn’t prepared to fight for me,’ she tells Angie. ‘I came here . . .’ Tilly stops. She stares at Angie like a light has finally dawned.
‘You came here why?’ Angie presses.
Tilly throws her weight against the heavy revolving door and falls through it, into the unseasonable brightness of the late-winter sunshine outside. ‘I came here to kick-start my writing career.’
Chapter 59
A few months later, the front page of every paper is splashed in Union Jacks and photos of London streets bursting with flowers and streamers and the crowds of people who’ve camped out for days lining the path to Westminster Abbey. They’re wearing a bizarre combination of English flags and Unrequited band merchandise, coloured face paint and crazy hats and leggings, and waving banners. It’s like a stadium concert, but it’s out in the streets and stretches for miles. Reuben takes a deep breath, and feels slightly sick.
He’s in a dressing room at Kensington Palace, in grey pinstripe morning-suit trousers and a crisp white shirt. The waistcoat and top coat are lying on a chair nearby, beside his phone, which is permanently lit up with a barrage of incoming notifications that he ignores.
He picks up the black-and-grey tie, unfolds the collar of the shirt, looks in the full-length mirror near the window and threads the silk fabric of the tie around his neck. He can’t bring himself to meet his reflection in the eyes. To do that would reveal a truth he couldn’t run from. But the feel of the tie around his neck stirs an unwanted memory anyway: Tilly, crouching awkwardly below him on the steps of the museum in that crazy green dress, wrapping his tie around her ankle by the light of what seemed like a million exploding camera flashes. Reporters were shouting at her, at him, dazzling and confusing, while he stood there, in a remarkably deceptive state of control, given what he was witnessing. It was as though everything that had happened in his life before that moment had smashed headlong into everything that would happen after – a seismic collision between his past and his future, from which there was absolutely no escape.
The ends of the tie stay undone as he picks up a tablet helpfully pre-loaded with news subscriptions. The public obsession with this wedding has been unprecedented, bordering on neurotic. Security is off the charts. It’s like every Unrequited fan around the globe has somehow flown in to line the streets alongside royal watchers of all ages.
‘No pressure,’ Angus says, entering the room, and seeing what Reuben is scrolling through. He’s dressed for his role as best man, looking like he’s walked straight off a catwalk in Milan. Wait til the fans get hold of him on social media.
‘You going to get ready?’ Angus asks. ‘Or just stand around surfing news sites all day?’ Angus stands behind him, looking at their reflections in the mirror. He spins Reuben around and knots the tie for him. ‘You never could tie these things right. You’re totally ill-equipped to be a prince, you know?’
Reuben does know. He’s always been underwhelmed by the idea of his nobility, and is even less impressed by the idea of receiving a British title as well, to be bestowed during the service itself. He’d have stepped down from this completely if it wasn’t the simplest way he could see to rescue Belle. Wasn’t it just something best friends did?
He shakes Angus’s hand off his shoulder, hands him the tablet and picks up the grey waistcoat. Angus scrolls through the news, while Reuben puts on the black jacket with tails and pulls it all straight and together.
Angus pauses, reading, then looks at his friend like he’s lost for words.
‘What now? Buttons in the wrong hole or something?’ Reuben asks.
Angus swallows, holds out the tablet then pushes it into Reuben’s chest. ‘Blog post you should read.’
Chapter 60
Belle tries to concentrate on the article she’s reading as little cousins of various ages race around the room in flower-girl dresses, completely hyped, while she stands carefully, phone in hand, trying not to wreck anything. She’s been ready for an hour. Her dress is the kind that’s going to make fashion history. An exquisite mix of simplicity and grandeur. Heavy cream satin, with tasteful gold flecks, falling away in delicate pleats and into a long train, perfectly befitting the size of the aisle in the Abbey. And the extravagant fairy tale that this is.
Or the fairy tale it’s supposed to look like, anyway. It’s like she and Reuben are actors in a play being beamed around the world to billions. Given the enormity of what they’re about to do, she feels surreally calm. At least, she was feeling surreally calm, until she clicked on an article on a news site five minutes ago and made the mistake of getting dragged into it.
In the middle of all the wedding speculation and special-edition fanaticism, right there, next to a live feed from the Abbey, on practically every news website she switches through, is a blog post written by Matilda Maguire, offering her personal commentary on the royal wedding, and so much more!
Belle goes cold as soon as she sees it. Whatever th
is article contains must be pretty explosive if all these websites thought fit to publish it on her wedding day. But surely if Tilly had broken her confidence and outed Belle’s sexuality in the media, she’d know that by now. Everyone would. Her mother would have stormed in here, furious, for starters . . .
She reads: I came to England to learn how to spin stories about other people.
Oh, great. Here we go. Belle isn’t strong enough for this fallout. Not today!
I had one job. I botched it spectacularly, within minutes, in front of the world. The implications were far-reaching for two other people, for which I’m truly sorry. The implications were also far-reaching for me.
Hmm. Belle pulls a chair out from the dressing table, rearranges her veil to the side so she won’t crease it, and sits down.
I learned that we can rescue ourselves from some mistakes, but not from others. Sometimes, all we can do is walk away from wreckage we created, even if we didn’t mean to, with broken hearts and heads held high, trying to avoid the triggers. Determined to start again.
She wonders if Reuben has seen this . . .
A wise person told me to stop imagining who I want to be and just be that person. Just do that thing, even if that feels like the biggest risk in the world.
Belle blinks to stop tears. Her makeup has to stay perfect! She checks her mascara in the mirror and catches her own gaze. Even with the veil pulled over her face, she can’t hide.
So, this is me:
Scared my words are not enough.
Scared of writing the next chapter.
Scared that monsters under beds grow into monsters behind screens.
Scared people might see me.
Scared they won’t.
Scared of falling in love, now I know how much it hurts.
Belle’s heart pounds. She thinks of Angie and her radio silence since Belle and Reuben announced their plans. It’s killing her.
