Backstage with Her Ex

by Louisa George

  She of all people knew how hard it was to lose someone you poured your love into. How difficult to restart your life. How much you clung to a safety raft, the familiar, the known. Because the unknown was too terrible to contemplate. And how you avoided reaching for those painful memories at all cost.

  And yet here he was. Making her challenge her assumptions of the kind of man he was.

  But now the barriers were up again.

  She caught his eye, unsure of how to answer George’s question. Of course the kids would click they were in the company of someone important. Just one look at him and his star quality shone through. The dark edgy clothing, his diffident stance that was accentuated with every confident footstep. The whisky-deep voice.

  Whispering across the hall, she tried to coax him forward. ‘Well? What do you want me to say? I wouldn’t try lying—they’re not daft.’

  ‘Busted.’ Removing his baseball cap, glasses and hoodie, he walked to the edge of the stage and looked up into their wide-eyed faces, smiled at the collective sharp intake of breath. ‘Hi. Yes, pleased to meet you all. I’m Nate.’

  Her own intake of breath was as instinctive as the choir’s. But for a whole different reason. She hoped. Sure, they were blown away by his elevated celebrity status, the face that peered out from magazine racks on the high street. But she just couldn’t get used to—or tire of—the way his body moved so fluidly, the way his jeans hugged his toned thighs and appeared not to want to let go.

  The taut breadth of his chest, black collared shirt open enough—no, never enough—for her to glimpse the gift of his body underneath. That Californian sunshine sure had kissed his body. And, for a split second, Sasha wondered just how far down that tan went.

  ‘Ahem...it’s Mr Munro to you lot.’ She grinned, finding her breath again and trying to talk over the squeals of excitement. ‘We have manners, remember, No Limits choir. Mr Munro has agreed to help us with our fundraising concert, but we have to keep his visit here quiet. He’s a busy man and he doesn’t need the hassle of a zillion screeching fans every time he comes here—we can save that for concert night. And we have to show him we can be professional too, and listen. And do what we are told. Give me two more minutes while I chat to our guest.’

  ‘Scary teacher voice,’ Nathan muttered under his breath and leaned closer, the fresh heat in his eyes melting the sadness she’d seen moments before. And sending a flush to her cheeks, direct hit.

  ‘You haven’t seen anything yet,’ she whispered back to him out of the corner of her mouth. ‘They don’t call me Miss Sweet and Sour for nothing.’

  ‘Sweet and Sour? Ouch.’ One eyebrow raised as he met her wry smile with one of his own. ‘That sucks.’

  ‘It’s original, I guess, and they obviously think enough of me to make up a nickname. I try not to be too hard on them. It’s a tough area and life’s difficult enough as it is. I’m more about building them up than shooting them down.’

  ‘I wish we’d had more teachers like you at school. Ones that gave a damn.’ The sentence was loaded with memories, but he smiled back at her, the energy in the air smoothing into something less fraught.

  She wondered whether she’d imagined the intense heat in his eyes. But as she risked another glance there was still a warm spark there, simmering, that set her pulse jittering. ‘Some days I could cheerfully scream. They have a habit of knowing which buttons to push.’

  ‘But you obviously love it regardless, Miss Sweet and Sour.’

  ‘I get a kick out of helping people, realising potential. It’s all I ever wanted to do.’ Harnessing her energy into something positive instead of dwelling on the negatives of her life.

  ‘I remember. You wanted to be a music teacher just like Mr Taylor. You had a crush on him.’

  ‘I did not.’ She laughed, remembering the very bohemian long-haired music teacher who’d opened up a new world to her. Sure, Mr Taylor had inspired her, but the only person she’d had a crush on in her school years was Nathan Munro.

  ‘You followed him around for the whole of fourth form like a lost puppy.’ He leaned close to her ear. ‘That’s when I started to get jealous.’

  If she edged just a little closer they’d be touching. Hip to hip.

  Trouble was, she didn’t want simple touching, not where he was concerned. She wanted what every hot-blooded woman would want faced with him in close proximity. And that frightened her.

  To stop making a fool of herself in front of the whole choir and Mr Celebrity here she shook free and busied herself with the long-lost contents of her bag.

  ‘You weren’t even going out with me then.’

  ‘No, but you were very definitely on my radar.’

  And he’d been on hers. Out of her league, the cool loner who never quite seemed to belong to one gang or other and had dangerous written all over him. Some things hadn’t changed. He still had the remarkable ability to set her on edge. And, worse, after ten years of putting him well behind her, she was reacting like a giddy teenager all over again.

  She kept her voice steady and attempted to regain some composure. ‘Okay, let’s get this thing going. And you, Mr Obnoxious, stand right over there. Away.’ From me. She ushered him to the back of the hall. ‘It’s better acoustics.’

  * * *

  An hour and a stratospheric improvement in the choir later Dario tapped Nate on the shoulder. ‘Time to go to your next appointment, Nate.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? What is it this time?’ Thank God he had someone with their eye on the ball, because right now he was way too engrossed to think of what next.

  ‘De Facto Art Space on Portobello.’

  ‘Okay. Five minutes.’ Nate sighed inwardly. And he was having such a good time, a surprisingly good time.

  Not least the fact the choir had listened and performed far better than he could have imagined, but working with Sasha had proved easy and fun. She was a natural with the kids and brought out the best in them. Her refreshing honesty and openness made him believe there were some genuine people left in the world. Maybe not in his world. But out here, in reality, away from his chaos.

  ‘I’ll be outside waiting. Is she coming too?’ Dario nodded towards Sasha as she packed her bag and waved the last stragglers off home.

  Another insane idea.

  She grimaced at them both, eyes wide. ‘She? Who? Me?’ She touched her chest. ‘Thank you for such a kind and genuine invitation, but I wouldn’t want to cramp the Tweedle twins’ style. Besides I have an assembly to prepare...then, paint to watch dry.’

  But when her lips curved into such a sweet smile and her eyes shone with teasing Nate didn’t want this afternoon to end so quickly. He only had a few hours with her all up—maybe one more rehearsal, then the actual show. Then he’d be out of her life, out of this jaunt into a past he’d stuffed at the back of his mind. A few more hours wouldn’t hurt. No big deal. His schedule meant he’d be gone soon enough.

  And then what?

  More sleepless nights wondering, what if? His imagination running wild over what she wore under those demure dresses, how her bare skin would feel against his, how her cute mouth would taste.

  Just once.

  He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. What was he doing? Inviting her to ruin his life again? He knew what being with her cost. How much she’d trampled over everything they’d had. Thrown their relationship back in his face. And yet...he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  It was a shock, that was all. Meeting her again after so long, wanting to learn more about her, to see how much she’d changed. Finding answers to those half-asked questions that had flitted through his brain every now and then. People reconnected all the time these days—social media was awash with reunited friends.

  Normal. Natural. Nothing to get hung up about.

  ‘So you’d really rather stay ho
me than come to a party of celebrities drinking carb-free wine and eating organic macro-vegan canapés? I just don’t understand you, sweet thing.’

  ‘Wow.’ She laughed. ‘You A-listers certainly know how to have a good time. Shame I’m so busy.’ She curled a lock of hair round her finger and looked up at him through her fringe. ‘Did I mention I was going to cook old-fashioned bangers and mash, with lashings of butter, and onion gravy?’

  ‘Temptress.’ He stepped forward and his arm brushed against hers. Like a kid on a first date at the movies, breathless and overflowing with testosterone, he felt the shock and static as they touched. And was it his imagination or did she jump too?

  ‘No, not at all.’ She shrugged away and flashed a nonchalant grin. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m just hungry.’

  ‘Me too. Starving.’ Just not for food.

  But duty pulled at him. ‘The artist’s a good friend of mine. I promised I’d go. If the trendy food doesn’t tempt you, maybe the art will? It’s Rocco Baldini.’

  ‘Rocco?’ Her eyes grew large. ‘Really? Ohmygod, you know him? Some of his work is...well, amazing.’

  Excellent. He’d got her on the hook. Now he just had to reel her in. ‘I know. I have one of his installations at my house in Malibu. I’ll introduce you if you like.’

  ‘Ooh, gosh, no. I wouldn’t know what to say.’ Strapping her bag over her shoulder, she walked to the door and flicked off the hall lights. The corridor was empty and shadowed. ‘Since when were you into art?’

  ‘There’s so much about me you don’t know.’

  ‘Oh? I thought since you were such a big media star we all knew everything about you. You certainly live your life out on the page, on the stage...’

  ‘Don’t be so naive. I collect art and good wine...race motorbikes, own a gym... You want a copy of my resumé?’ He took her arm and walked her through the school, fighting the urge to push her up against the lockers as he used to way back when. ‘How about you spend a few more hours with me finding out what I’m really like? Put some of your assumptions to the test? No strings.’

  ‘I can’t. I told you—’

  ‘Can’t? Or won’t? Or...scared? Scared that you might be wrong about me?’ He drew to a halt outside room B4. Music class. Where he’d first found the courage to ask her out on a date.

  This was a stupid place to come and bring back a host of memories. He had to get out. His hand was on her arm and he searched her eyes for some kind of agreement. Something that said he wasn’t the only crazy one here.

  But all he found was amusement, shock and a frown that said he was on dangerous ground. ‘No. I’m not scared.’

  ‘So...prove it.’ He made a pretty poor attempt at her teacher scowl.

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, God. How did I not see that coming?’

  ‘Two can play at that game, Miss Sweet and Sour. Besides, one good turn deserves another, right? I need a little help here. I hate going to this kind of place alone, where I’ll have to waffle on about texture and depth and stuff.’

  ‘Is that because you wouldn’t know what it was? Depth?’

  ‘Hey, I can do deep.’

  ‘Sure. Nothing says deep like a quickie with two hot blondes with big bazookas, followed by a date with a whole different woman.’

  ‘I didn’t do that.’

  ‘You were going to.’

  ‘Can’t blame a guy for trying.’ Seriously, she had no idea. ‘That was just guy talk. I didn’t do it. And I didn’t have a date—it was just an excuse to get Dario off my back. Come on. You owe me. Big time.’

  For the first time that afternoon her face grew serious, her eyes dark and hollow. She thought for a second, seemed to reconcile his words. ‘I guess I do. Okay, you’re right. You’ve been great with the kids and you’re doing the concert—’

  ‘So you’ll come, save me from a night of pretentious boredom?’

  ‘Just to help you out. Then the debt’s repaid?’ She looked down at her soft green dress and wedge sandals. ‘I’ll need to go home and change.’

  ‘No, don’t. I like the way you look, this whole vintage gig.’

  ‘This whole cheap gig. Ferret around in junk shops often enough and you can find a real bargain. I like it though. It reminds me of an era when people were honest and faithful and...predictable. When life was safe.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He loved to watch her face as he teased her, see the dawning realisation. ‘The nineteen fifties, time of the Cold War, the Iron Curtain, the threat of nuclear bombs...yes, very safe.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her whole face lit up as she smiled. ‘So maybe I just like the clothes. They’re pretty and feminine.’

  ‘And as luck would have it, I happen to have a thing for big skirts.’ Although it was more that he wanted to know what was going on under hers.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘But I don’t think it’ll work for tonight.’

  ‘It works for me. It makes you stand out from the crowd, your own style. Unique.’ Definitely unique. And if he gave her an out to go home she might change her mind again. He wasn’t prepared to take that risk. ‘You look amazing. Seriously, amazing. You’ll give them all a run for their money.’

  * * *

  But Sasha didn’t feel amazing. Not when she stepped out of the car to the flash of a thousand light bulbs. Not when all she could hear was the screech of Nate’s name to look right, left, who’s the date? Who are you wearing?

  Who? Idiots. Clothes, she wanted to shout back. Can’t you see? And they’d all die if they knew she’d bought hers from a Chesterton High Street charity shop.

  ‘Scaato and Paul, Frederike,’ Nate called back, in a language she didn’t understand.

  And she definitely didn’t feel amazing when he leaned in and said, ‘It’s a bit of a maul but we just have to get through this bit.’

  She didn’t want to just get through. She wanted it to end. Didn’t want them to see her, to ask who she was. She didn’t want them to know. The last thing she needed was her past dragged through the papers all over again.

  Plan A: she would stay long enough to be polite, then leave through the back door. Plan B? She’d come up with something...just as soon as he removed his distracting hand from her back.

  He steered her into the sparse concrete-grey space. Once the front door closed behind them her heart rate normalised. Not many guests so far, but enough to keep the ambient noise above a whisper. And no more photographers.

  What groups of people there were she recognised from the TV as they air kissed and mwah-ed their way round.

  ‘I feel seriously underdressed,’ she whispered.

  ‘You look fine. You look—’

  Nate brushed a curl back from her face and looked down at her, his dark eyes locked with hers. A ripple of heat engulfed her, sucking air out of her lungs, stalling her breath. Everything around her lost sharp focus, then he abruptly dropped his hand, startled by something—some war inside him that played out in the shadows of his cheeks. There was a flicker of doubt in those heated pupils, a question that he seemed to be pondering.

  Like her. What was she doing here?

  Flustered by his proximity, she dragged her eyes away from his, and refocused on the surroundings, trying to make the best of it. After all, it wasn’t every day she was invited to such a schooshed-up event. ‘This place is astonishing. I’ve never seen anything like it. Although, I guess for you it’s nothing unusual. It’s part of your job. A way of life.’

  He shrugged. ‘It is my life. Heart and soul.’

  ‘You never think of stopping? Settling down? Family even?’

  Oh, Lordy, where did that come from? She hoped her question didn’t sound too much more than idle curiosity. Which it wasn’t. Seriously. ‘I read that you got engaged once.’

  Again with the shrug. S
he got the feeling he’d brought the shutters down just a little the moment he’d felt her prying, or was it just before that? ‘In this job if you stop, you die. Or your profile does, which is about the same thing. Truth is, I’m just not the settling kind.’

  And she’d known it, so why her stomach contracted, just a little, she couldn’t say. ‘Do you get proper time off, ever?’

  ‘No.’

  Casting her eye around at all the beautiful people, she asked him, ‘Do you have real friends?’

  ‘As opposed to what? Imaginary ones? Because I grew out of those years ago. Of course I have friends.’ In a swift motion he stepped back and spread his arms out. Laughed. ‘I’m just a regular guy.’

  A smile tugged at her mouth, just watching him laugh had a relaxing effect on her. ‘Believe me, Nathan, there’s nothing regular about you. Or this...’

  She pulled her shoulders back and wandered through the cavernous room towards the bar refusing to be intimidated by the designer suits and sky-high heels, people who wouldn’t know where Chesterton was or how desperately needy the area was. Who had never met a special-needs kid let alone fought for their rights.

  And they were the poorer for it.

  Unless, of course, she was being overly judgemental.

  And spending time with Nate had shown her that she could be. She’d been wrong about him, after all. Was that how she’d become? Placing people in boxes, with labels? Was that what being safe meant? That she couldn’t see further than her own experiences?

  She rolled her neck from side to side, eased the muscles, and tried to relax.

  Nate leaned against the bar with languorous ease, his legs crossed at the ankles, sleeves rolled up. A regular guy at a regular work function. Worth about a trillion dollars. ‘You want a drink, Sash? It might help you relax a little.’

  ‘Just a fruit juice, please.’ He had a way of making her want to do things she shouldn’t, like attend pretentious parties, lean into his palm on the small of her back. Kiss him.