S'more to Lose

by Beth Merlin

  “I thought for sure you’d be long asleep,” I said.

  He sipped on his nightcap. “I wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

  I hung my dress in the wardrobe and set my other bags on the floor beside the bed.

  “Since you’re up, can we talk for a second?” I asked.

  Gideon set his drink down on the nightstand. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  I took a breath. “Perry came to see me at The Goring.”

  “That was gutsy of him. Didn’t he consider you might not be alone? What did he want?”

  “To talk. About us.”

  Gideon stood up and paced the length of the room. “Does he want you back?”

  “He wanted to explain himself. Give me some long overdue answers.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “And now that you have them?”

  “Nothing’s changed.” I patted the spot beside me on the bed and Gideon sat back down. “I chose you. I choose you.”

  “You should know I’m falling more in love with you by the day.” He pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “So, if you’re looking for an out please take it now. I don’t think my heart could take it otherwise.”

  I leaned over and nuzzled into his chest. “I told you that chapter of my life is over.”

  “But you still haven’t told me what you want this next chapter to look like? You won’t come to Badgley Hall, will you?”

  I sat up. “I can’t, Gid.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  He laid down on the bed and held the blanket open so I’d crawl inside. I inched in and snuggled up against him. A few seconds later he was sleeping soundly, but I was still wide awake. I tossed and turned until finally, sheer physical exhaustion got the better of me and I fell into a deep sleep. I stayed that way until the morning when Gideon shook me awake to tell me my phone had been ringing and buzzing for the better part of the last half hour.

  I rolled over and looked at the clock.

  “I’m sure it’s just the American press reporting on Victoria’s looks from last night,” I mumbled into the pillow.

  Gideon sat more upright. “You have a bunch of missed calls from your mother and your friend Alicia though.”

  I slowly sat up and kicked the blanket off my legs then reached my arm out for the phone. Gideon passed it to me.

  “My mother called me twelve times,” I said, standing up. “Oh God, do you think something happened to my father?”

  I immediately dialed her back.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked as soon as she picked up.

  “Georgica. Finally. Thank goodness. Where are you?”

  “I’m just waking up. What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”

  “You haven’t turned on the news or seen anything yet?”

  “I told you I was just waking up. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

  “Your face is everywhere. Yours and Perry’s.”

  “What do you mean?” I tossed the remote at Gideon. “Quick, turn on the TV.”

  “What channel?” He asked.

  “BBC? CNN?”

  He turned on the TV and flipped around until he landed on a British news station. A picture of me and Perry standing in the doorway of a hotel room at The Goring was in freeze-frame.

  I dropped the phone. Gideon scooped it up and said, “Mrs. Goldstein, we’ll have to call you right back.”

  I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. We caught the tail end of the report.

  “Sources have confirmed that Perry Gillman and designer of the Duchess of Sussex’s wedding gown, Georgica Goldstein, have been concealing a past relationship and possibly even an engagement.”

  I looked to Gideon. “What sources? Oh my God.”

  I opened up The Guardian on my phone. The first thing I saw were two pictures that’d been secretly snapped last night. One was of Perry coming into my hotel room and the second was me whispering into his ear in the doorway as he left. My hands were trembling so badly, I handed the phone over to Gideon so he could read the accompanying article.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asked.

  I tried speaking, but no words came out so instead, I violently shook my head up and down.

  Gideon scrolled down a bit and started reading out loud.

  “Although fireworks celebrating the marriage of Prince Alexander and Victoria Ellicott could be seen all along the Thames last evening, the real fireworks were taking place at The Goring hotel where Perry Gillman was spotted sharing a very intimate moment with Georgica Goldstein. An article published early last year in the Milbank Monitor links Gillman and Goldstein, who met four years ago while working as counselors at a summer camp in Pennsylvania.

  Gillman and Goldstein were allegedly engaged for several months before breaking it off about a year and a half ago at the same time Gillman got involved with Annabelle Ellicott. Neither Gillman nor Goldstein disclosed their sordid past to the Ellicott sisters, both of whom have reportedly become close friends with Ms. Goldstein. Recent reports have claimed there has been a strain on the relationship between Perry and Annabelle. Could Georgica Goldstein be the reason?

  To further complicate matters, Goldstein is the G behind G. Malone, the designer of Victoria Ellicott’s wedding dress and several more of her winning looks. She’s also reportedly been dating Viscount Satterley, a close family friend of the Ellicotts.’

  Well, that’s just bad journalism,” Gideon said. “Shouldn’t it at least say, ‘she’s also reportedly been dating the wildly handsome and unbelievably charming Viscount Satterley.’”

  I rubbed my hand back and forth over my forehead. “Just finish reading.”

  He pulled the phone back up to his face. “At this time, no one in the Ellicott camp could be reached for further comment on this story.”

  I sat down on the bed and put my head between my hands. “I’m done for. Nobody’s going to believe nothing happened between us. Victoria must be devastated and God, what Annabelle must think of me. Can I see my phone again?”

  Gideon reluctantly handed it to me and I scrolled until I found the text I knew would be waiting for me from Gemma.

  “Thank you for your help. We are in receipt of Victoria’s final pieces. After today, your services are no longer needed. I will be in touch with Jordana to settle the account.”

  I scrolled a bit further and saw several messages from Alicia, my mother, my father, and then just one single solitary text from Jamie in all caps. Four words.

  GIGI, WHAT THE FUCK.

  The only person missing from my hit list was Perry

  I slapped my forehead. “I have to call Jamie.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  Gideon peeked through the door’s peephole. “It’s Jordana,” he said, opening it for her.

  Jordana charged passed him and came tearing into the room. She tossed her laptop on the bed. “The lobby’s swarming with press. I didn’t think I’d even be able to get back up to my own room, let alone yours. Christ, Gigi, what were you thinking?”

  “None of it’s true. None of it.”

  “None of it’s true? Did you not conceal your past relationship with Perry from Victoria and Annabelle for months and months? Sure, maybe nothing happened between the two of you last night, but you’re not completely innocent.” She started frantically pacing around the room. “I have no idea what this is gonna mean for all the potential investors or going public. Nobody wants to get in bed with a scandal. Have you seen the Daily Mirror yet?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and squeaked out, “No, why?”

  “They superimposed a large Scarlet A over your picture on the cover. This is no joke, Gigi. Victoria might be the people’s princess, but Annabelle’s the country’s sweetheart and you just got caught whispering sweet nothings to her boyfriend. Not to mention the fact you’ve been photographed all over town with the Ellicott sisters for months. The whole world knows you’re friends well…were friends. Do you understand th
e optics on this? You didn’t just betray the Queen, you betrayed your friends.”

  I sat down and laid my head in my hands. “What should I do?

  “Honestly, for the first time since I started with G. Malone, I don’t have the answer. Have you spoken to Jamie?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Well, you should. And soon. That, I do know. G. Malone is half his. He should hear it from you, not the press.” Jordana picked up her laptop from the bed. “I have a call with our PR firm in New York in ten minutes. It’s too late to get ahead of this story obviously, but maybe we can fan the flames in a different direction.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes and I all but crumpled onto the ground. “I’m so sorry, Jord. I really never meant for any of this to happen.”

  Jordana’s face softened as she dropped her arms to her sides. She walked over and put her arms around my shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, too. I sometimes forget I was your friend long before I became Global Director of Brand Events at G. Malone.”

  Gideon interrupted us to say he was going out to get some coffee. He must have wanted to give me and Jordana a moment to talk privately.

  After he left, Jordana took a seat on the bed. “What really happened with Perry?”

  I sat down beside her. “He came by last night to talk and said all the things I’ve been waiting a year to hear from him.”

  “And you got caught up in the moment? He’s Perry Gillman. Of course you would. Makes complete sense.”

  I turned to her. “That’s the thing…I didn’t.”

  “Really, Gigi? Nothing happened?”

  I was reminded of the time at Chinooka when Perry helped me back to his cabin after a night of too much drinking at Rosie’s. When I snuck back into my own bunk in the morning, Jordana had been up waiting for me and the juicy details about the night I spent with Perry Gillman. She was pretty surprised to learn nothing happened between us. Her reaction was the same now.

  “Nothing like what they’re claiming. Still, I know how it must look. And then there’s the article from the Milbank Monitor where Gordy gushes about our past love affair. It’s not his fault. It’s my fault for not being honest when I had the chance.”

  Jordana looked down at her phone. “It’s the PR firm calling. Let me take this. I’ll get back to you with our game plan. Until then, try not to leave this room and don’t say anything to the press.”

  About a half-hour later, Gideon returned holding two coffees and a copy of every British and American newspaper he could get his hands on.

  “I think every media outlet that was outside Westminster Abbey yesterday has repositioned themselves outside this hotel.” He handed me a cup and a stack of newspapers.

  I tore open The Guardian and closely examined the blown-up pictures of me whispering into Perry’s ear last night. Gideon came up behind me.

  I turned to him. “Doesn’t look great for the two of us, does it?”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he answered.

  “Things played out with me and Perry just the way I told you. This image is just a moment in time—it’s not the whole picture.”

  “I know,” he said in a tone that made it hard to believe he really did.

  “Gid…” I placed my hand on his forearm.

  “My parents are expecting us for brunch. We should start getting ready.”

  “I can’t go. Jordana told me not to leave the hotel until the PR team develops a game plan and response.”

  He slipped on his blazer. “I see.”

  Gideon was shutting down. Even though I’d been honest with him about the events of last night, these photos painted a very convincing alternative version of what might have happened. The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t sure what to believe.

  “Maybe I can meet you after I hear from Jordana?”

  Gideon raised his eyebrows.

  “What? Should I really stay in hiding? Are they calling for my head on a platter?” I said, jokingly.

  “Not quite, but you’ve successfully managed to offend the entire royal family.”

  I looked up and searched his eyes. “And what about you? What do you think of me?”

  “I think you should probably listen to Jordana and stay here until things die down.” He bent to grab his coat and cap from the chair. “I’ll see you later.”

  After he left, I walked to the window and took a peek outside. Paparazzi and reporters were lined up all across the street hoping to catch a glimpse of the most wanton woman in England. I didn’t need to take a tour of the Tower of London—here I was in my very own modern-day version of it. I swore I could even hear the angry mobs below chanting “off with her head.”

  I flipped through the rest of newspapers Gideon had brought back. Most of the articles seemed focused on the close friendship I’d developed with Victoria and Annabelle and my betrayal in failing to disclose my past relationship with Perry. Perry. I wondered if any press was hanging around outside of Perry’s house or at the theater. I thought about picking up the phone to call him but knew there was one person I needed to reach out to first. I dialed Jamie’s number.

  “He can’t speak to you now,” Thom said after picking up on the third ring.

  “Please Thom, just let me talk to him for one minute and explain.

  “He’s with the twins and can’t talk,” he said sternly.

  “I get that he’s probably furious with me. But, if you’ll just let me talk to him and explain myself I know he’ll understand.”

  “Gigi, don’t make me be the one to say this to you.”

  I gripped the phone in my hand. “Just say it. Whatever message you’ve been asked to deliver. Just do it.”

  “All his work from this last year was just erased with a single headline and a moment of carelessness. Did you stop to think about how your actions would affect him or G. Malone?”

  “Thom, he’s my best friend. Please,” I begged.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  Sometime later, Jordana called to tell me the PR firm was working on some ways to rebut the story. The decision Perry and had I made not to disclose our past relationship was what people seemed most upset about and that was the one fact that couldn’t be refuted or undone. The people of Great Britain had spoken, and I was firmly on their shit list. Jordana advised me to keep a low profile and maybe even spend a few days at Badgley Hall to get out of the limelight ‘til things died down a bit more. She rattled off a few final instructions and told me she’d be by later to check on me before heading to the airport for her flight home. After that, she promptly hung up. I tossed the phone onto the bed and crawled in after it. I pulled the covers over my head and stayed there for several hours until I was awakened by a loud banging at the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Georgie,” said a bellowing voice from outside the hotel room door. “Georgie, open up.”

  “Dad?” I replied, slowly inching out from under the comforter.

  “Yes, let me in,” he shouted.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been asleep. Maybe I was still asleep? Why was my father London?

  “Am I still dreaming?” I called out to him.

  “I just flew seven hours to be here. Can you please open up the door?”

  I got off the bed and undid the deadbolt to let him in. He pushed his way into the room and tossed his small bag on the floor beside the wardrobe.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He opened his arms wide to me. “I got on the first available flight this morning. I thought you might need me.”

  I rushed into his arms and rested my head on his shoulder like I used to when I was a little girl. He caressed my hair and kissed me sweetly on the head before stepping back.

  “How are you, Georgie?”

  “I went to bed on top of the world and woke up in a nightmare. I’m on the cover of every paper. I’m the laughingstock of London. The woman who seduced
Perry Gillman away from Annabelle Ellicott.”

  “You know what I always say. Today’s headlines are tomorrow’s fish wrap.”

  I looked up at him. “You only ever use that line with your clients who are in the most trouble.”

  He laughed and took hold of my hands. “You’re not in trouble, Georgie, you’re just the focus of some unwanted attention. It’ll blow over. Things like this always do.”

  “Don’t your clients pay like a billion dollars an hour for your sage counsel? You don’t have any other advice to pass on?”

  “Be patient, it’ll come to me,” he said, looking around the room. “Where’s your friend, Gideon? What’s he up to?”

  “He left hours ago to have brunch with his parents, the Earl and Countess of Harronsby.” I raised my eyebrows. “What do you think the chances are that he’ll be returning to my den of iniquity anytime soon?”

  He laughed. “First things first then, let’s get you out of this hotel. You’re holed up in here like some sort of political prisoner.”

  I moved the curtain away from the window. “There’s still a ton of press outside. How can I get out of here without being seen?”

  “You can’t, but who cares. I’ll have a car waiting for us and we’ll get in it. They’ll snap a few pictures and that’ll be that. The important question is where we can find decent Chinese food in this city?”

  Back when I was a dramatic, headstrong teenager, I’d found my father’s pragmatic nature nothing short of infuriating. I never felt like he quite understood me or my rollercoaster of emotions. Now, I was beyond grateful for his calm nature and steady resolve. It was comforting and reassuring in a way nothing else had been since I awoke to this storm.

  “Go take a shower. Maybe change out of that Camp Chinooka T-shirt unless you really want to feed the gossip mill. Let’s go seek out the best eggrolls London has to offer,” he said.

  “There’s a place called Y Ting in Soho. The hot and sour soup is decent, but the fried rice excellent. Gideon discovered it when he was trying to find a place to best Wo Hop,” I said with a longing smile.

  My father put his arm around me. “He’ll come back around, Georgie, just give him some time to digest all this.”