by PJ Adams
Now another of Ray’s songs came back to her, the one he’d played for her when they’d stayed at Ronnie’s mansion. If there are ninety-nine ways to get together, there’s a hundred ways to break up.
She’d broken up with Thom, but by giving him an ultimatum was she in the process of breaking up with Ray, too?
18
She went back inside, pausing briefly in the Ladies’ to fix her face. She had to be strong. She’d already come close to wrecking Kayleigh’s day: there could be no more dramas.
She looked around, but couldn’t see any sign of Marcia. Had she slipped away while Emily had been outside? She didn’t know what she felt about her old friend and what she’d done, but she understood enough to know she would need time before she could really know. Maybe that was why Marcia had gone now: she always had been able to understand Emily better than almost anyone else.
She found the wine, and poured herself a fresh glass. It would be so easy to lose herself in a bottle or two right now, but she wasn’t going to do that. Now wasn’t the time for easy.
She tried not to think about Ray, for now. That old advice: focus on what you can control and let everything else go. She had no influence now over whether he was heading for the airport to get back here as soon as possible, or if he was just kicking back with Rake with a bottle of a local Vouvray by the chateau’s pool. She had to let that go, not even think about it, or she might just be sick.
She went over to join her mother, who was talking to another cousin and his wife whose name would come back to Emily soon, she was sure.
Her mother took one look at her, smiled apologetically at the cousin and his wife and led Emily away.
Finding a quieter spot, she stopped, put her hands on Emily’s arms again, and said, “You look like shit, Emily. Are you going to tell me why, now? It’s more than just Thom, isn’t it?”
Emily swallowed, then nodded. “It’s a long story,” she said.
“Then you’d better get started.”
§
She hadn’t expected him to just march right into the reception: Ray Sandler, in amongst the wedding gathering. She spotted him before most of the others did and then, slowly, people registered who he was, nudged each other and whispered until everybody had stopped and turned and stared.
When she’d said he had to come back for her, she hadn’t meant quite like this. Whatever had happened to discreet?
He stopped a short way into the hall and peered around. When his eyes found her his mouth opened a little, his eyes widened. He stepped towards her, then stopped, suddenly uncertain.
“I came,” he said.
The hall was in absolute silence. So much for no more dramas...
“I’d come back already,” he said. “I hadn’t finished working but I left Rake to finish off the last couple of tracks – he knows what I’m after. I had to come back, Emily. I couldn’t be away from you for any longer. Not when I knew what you were going through. Not ever.”
Emily didn’t know where to look, or what to say.
“What do you want?” she asked, finally. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about you. You’re the most extraordinary, beautiful person and you just don’t see it. I’m awe-struck by you. Star-struck. Emily, it’s you. It’s always been about you, since I first laid eyes on you. Can’t you let yourself see that?”
He held out a hand towards her.
“I should warn you that the press are out there,” he said. “They followed me, and now they’re waiting. It goes with the territory. If you come with me you’re going to have to accept that they’ll be photographing us, in our faces, hoping for a juicy story. There’ll be no hiding: you’ll be there, with me, in public. It’ll be us, Emily. You and me. And that’s exactly what I want. I came back for you, Emily. I love you.”
She swallowed. Looked around. All eyes were on the two of them.
She stepped forward, reached out, took his hand.
Immediately there was a loud whoop from Kayleigh. Emily turned and looked at her, and her cousin was jumping up and down. “You go, Emily,” Kayleigh yelled. “You go, girl!” That was when it struck her that she was the star of this show – Emily Rivers – and Ray Sandler was grateful just to have a role. In his eyes it really had been all about her.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out there and face them.”
§
Part 3
Why Does it Taste so Sweet?
Why does it taste so sweet
When all that you give me is poison?
Ray Sandler
§
1
When she’d given Ray the ultimatum she hadn’t known what would happen next.
She’d already broken up with her husband that day; she didn’t think she could handle another break-up.
But now... now, after Ray had come through with shining colors, after he’d taken her out in front of the waiting press in a statement that couldn’t be more public – This is us, we’re together, we’re in love, deal with it – after all that, she still didn’t know what would happen next.
It was Rake who stirred up all the doubts again that evening, when he said that thing she kept hearing from the reporters and on Facebook and Twitter. “So tell me,” he said, in that deceptively charming Irish lilt of his, “what does Róisín make of all this?”
Róisín. Still Ray’s wife, but only ‘technically’ he had assured Emily. Why did it always seem to come back to Róisín?
And why did Emily find it so easy to go from high to low in next to no time?
§
That afternoon at Kayleigh’s wedding, Emily’s head was rushing – everything was moving so quickly! First the fight with Thom, and then calling Ray, not expecting for a moment that he would be able to drop everything and get to her in her moment of crisis... But he had. She’d told him to get his sorry ass to her as fast as he possibly could and he had.
Afterwards, stepping out into the mid-afternoon sunshine on that West London street in front of the photographers and reporters had been the first time they had been public about their relationship. All this was normal for Ray: it went with that international rock star relaunching his career territory that he was currently occupying, and the press and social media buzz was something Ray’s publicist and general sidekick Mo had been working hard to generate. But up until now, Emily had managed to keep out of the media glare.
They paused in the street, cameras in their faces, voices coming at them from all sides.
“Ray: tell us about your new love.”
“Ray! Over here. Both of you.”
And then: “Emily, would you tell us how you two met?” They were using her name now: she wasn’t just some anonymous woman appearing in blurry photos, not merely the mystery ‘curvy beauty’.
“Where’s Róisín, Ray? Does she know about Emily?”
Ray let them go on for a few seconds, then he straightened, one hand raised to quieten them, the other arm around Emily’s waist. “Thank you,” he said. He spoke normally, and that more than anything forced the reporters to fall quiet, so they could hear. “It’s always good to see some old friends.”
A couple of the reporters laughed, and Ray went on: “Listen, guys, I’d really appreciate it if you’d move on after we’ve spoken. There’s a lovely young lady celebrating her wedding in there, and she really doesn’t need the disruption. Emily and I are hoping for a few quiet days, too. We’re flying out to France in a couple of hours for a bit of a break, and there’s not really much more to say than that, so if you don’t mind…”
He stepped forward and took the door-handle of a black Jaguar that had just pulled up. Opening the door, he ushered Emily inside and then he joined her and they were pulling away.
She fixed him with a quizzical look, and his expression faltered.
“I... I mean. I hope that’s okay?” he said. “France, I mean. We could go anywhere.”
And she knew they could. That wasn’t the problem.
“I need to get my things,” she said. “My passport, at least. They’re at Marcia’s place, only...” They’d fought at the wedding after Marcia had revealed she’d once slept with Emily’s husband. “Well, it might get awkward.”
Ray shrugged. “I can handle awkward,” he said, and smiled.
“Thank you.” Finally, her thoughts were catching up with events. He’d come for her. She hadn’t blown it all with her demands. He was here. “Thank you for coming back for me, and for putting up with all my dramas. I don’t know what you see in me or why you do it, but thank you.”
His finger pressed gently on her lips, silencing her. Then he turned his hand, cupped her chin, drew her into his kiss.
“I couldn’t do anything but,” he said, pulling slightly away. He turned and addressed the driver. “Hey, Mo. Can we swing by Marcia Chapman’s place on the way to the airport?”
“No worries. I’ve already called ahead and spoken to Ms Chapman and she tells me she has business elsewhere: the place is empty, Ms Rivers.”
She could have kissed the top of his shaved smooth head right then. It wasn’t that she never wanted to see Marcia again, but simply that she didn’t know. The revelation about her and Thom was too fresh. Sure, her marriage to Thom was already over, but Marcia had slept with him at some undisclosed time in the past, not now, and she had kept it secret: her best friend had cheated on her.
She needed time to process it all. She needed time to think about it, but also time not to have thoughts about it tumbling through her head.
She needed time to breathe.
“You okay?”
She glanced across and met those dark eyes and suddenly... “Yes. Yes, I think I really am.”
§
They talked about the wedding, and about how Emily’s manager had taken her aside at work this week and instructed her to take time off to deal with all the distractions. They talked about Ray’s time at his chateau in the Loire region of France, about how he had been working all hours in the studio there stripping back all the over-produced tracks from his new album, getting back to the raw energy that had made him write and record it in the first place.
“It was talking to you that made me understand I had to do that,” he said.
“I only asked why you were recording again.”
“You make me see everything differently.” She hit him on the arm, at that. She didn’t have that kind of effect on people; she was just Emily Rivers, that was all. She didn’t think she’d ever made Thom see anything differently.
They talked about working with Rake again. He and Ray had barely spoken in the ten years since the Angry Cans had split, but now the band’s old bass player had stepped in late in the day to help fine-tune the album.
“How is it with Rake?”
Ray grinned. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do what he’s doing,” he said. “We’re throwing away so much from the recordings, paring them right down to the bone. There’s a real buzz in the studio. It’s like we’re eighteen again. And having him around is like your ex-girlfriend has moved back in, only there’s no prospect of make-up sex, you’ll be glad to know. And it’s like two big cats who find themselves in the same territory, prowling around each other, always knowing where the other one is but pretending they don’t care. And do you know what? It’s the best fucking thing!”
They talked practical matters. Emily had moved out of the house she owned when Thom had tried to hit her that time; and now she’d fought with Marcia, and didn’t really have anywhere to go... “I have plenty of space,” said Ray.
At first Emily thought what an odd way that was of putting it, then she realized it was a combination both of him being sensitive and that he did, actually, have lots of options.
“You might feel awkward about just moving in,” he went on. “You might think it’s too early. Whatever. But moving in with me is an option. I have other places, though. There’s an apartment in West India Quay. A penthouse flat in Soho. A house in Henley-on-Thames – that’s nice, and it’s not too far from Ronnie’s place.”
As he spoke, he started to interrupt himself with laughs, realizing just how ludicrous this was.
“There’s probably more,” he said, now managing to look apologetic. “I lose track. You know how it is. I was a twenty-something rock star with more money than sense. Back then I could buy a place in London with cash, no problem. What I’m saying is this: you don’t need to worry, Emily. We’ll get your stuff and you’ll have somewhere to stay, on whatever terms you want.”
She did that thing he’d done to her. A finger on his lips to silence him. Then, moving to cradle his chin, the scratch of stubble on her hand sending weird little thrills through her, she leaned against him, kissed him.
She pulled her head away and rested it against his neck, coiled up against him as best she could against the restraint of the seatbelt. Listening to his heart. Breathing him in. Letting him kiss her on the crown of her head, letting his arm loop around her, his hand on her ribs, the side of his thumb pressing against the swell of her breast.
She shouldn’t feel so good. Her marriage now officially dead. Kayleigh’s wedding repeatedly interrupted by Emily’s dramas. And Marcia... well, she needed time to digest what had happened between her and Marcia.
She really shouldn’t feel so good.
So. Damned. Good.
§
She still couldn’t get used to the fact that she could walk hand in hand with Ray Sandler through somewhere as public as an airport. She couldn’t get over the fact that she didn’t need to worry about all the eyes following them, or the people holding their phones up to take photos.
But she could certainly get used to the way Mo just dropped them off at the City Airport entrance and they walked on through, no worries about baggage or security. Straight through Customs and into a VIP lounge where waiters hovered discreetly with champagne and canapés.
She could get used to flying first class, too.
They drank more champagne and talked. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked so much that her voice started to go, and she had to drink more champagne just to soothe her vocal cords.
Somewhere over northern France she had to stop and snuggle into him again, wait for that arm to loop around her, for the thumb to start gently caressing. He had such a delicate touch when he wanted.
She let her arm rest on his lap, and he pressed up against her.
Suddenly this didn’t just feel right, it felt incredibly horny.
She peered up at him. That look in his eyes: he felt the same way, too.
She rolled her arm, and felt hardness shifting against the inside of her wrist.
There were people all around, though. Lights on, people reading and chatting. Cabin crew moving around with drinks. Even Ray’s status didn’t get him privacy on a flight like this.
She craned up so she could speak softly, close to his ear.
“Imagine,” she said. “Just imagine...”
She moistened her lips, let that guide his imaginings.
She loved that he wanted her so much. That he responded to her in that way.
She loved that just a word, a shift of position, an increase of pressure, and they were communicating in ways that were far more basic than words.
2
They landed in a small, provincial airport somewhere in the French countryside. Emily didn’t even notice the name of the place. By the time they had passed through security there was a limo waiting for them, their bags already loaded. As they drove to the chateau Emily tried to take in the scenery but she couldn’t concentrate. Some of the way they talked and laughed and sometimes they just lapsed into silence; always there was that undercurrent of sexual tension. Anticipation.
As their journey drew to a close, Ray gestured out of the window. They were approaching a country house up an avenue flanked by tall poplars, vineyards to either side. The building was constructed from pale gray stone, with columns by the doors and slat
ted shutters at the windows. Wisteria and vines scrambled up the front wall, the whole scene cast in a soft golden light from the evening sun. It was a picturebook French stately home.
The limo pulled up in a wide area of gravel at the front of the chateau, and instantly Ray was out, leaning back in to take Emily’s hand and help her out. His eyes were sparkling, and that grin was pulling at his face as if he was trying to suppress it but just couldn’t.
“Let me give you the tour,” he said, and led her by the hand in through double front doors into a wide entrance lobby with more doors opening off it and a sweeping staircase curling up to a mezzanine floor.
The ‘tour’ only made it as far as the first room.
Ray pushed at a door and pulled Emily inside, kicking the door shut behind her. The room was like something out of a museum, all wood panels and dark furniture with curved legs and fleur-de-lys upholstery.
Emily barely had a moment to catch her breath and take it all in because all of a sudden she was in Ray’s arms, his mouth on hers, his body hard and urgent against her.
Forced up against the door, she ground the back of her head against the wood, the onslaught on her senses so intense. His hands were on her, pulling at her clothes, slipping inside to find bare flesh. His hard thighs were against her and – oh my God! – finding just the right spot to press so that all of a sudden everything focused in the pit of her belly.
He could do that, take her from nothing to the edge of climax in almost no time at all.
She clung to him like the vines clung to the wall outside, pushing back against his pressure. Now this was a two-way thing: his hardness against her and now the way she could control it, use it, take herself right to that precipice and...
“Oh my God!” Had she actually screamed those words? She had never been a screamer, had always been discreet and polite in her orgasms, but now... all that was gone. “Ah!” That last was a long, drawn-out sigh that was almost a wail as that initial tightness in her belly blossomed and then burst out through her body.
