‘Sorry, I’ve gotta go,’ he said, untangling himself from her vice-like grip quickly and striding out of the gym as fast as his legs could carry him.
After he got back to his suite, he called Richie. ‘I need to change hotels – better yet, rent me an apartment. A similar set-up to my New York place, plenty of security.’
Richie was used to panicked calls. ‘No longer buying?’ he asked smugly, and Alex’s jaw tightened.
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Hmm, well, no problem, I can sort that out for you in no time. By the way, does your date for the awards need a stylist?’
Alex smiled for the first time since the incident with the woman in the gym. ‘No, she’s got enough style for the both of us.’
‘Hmm,’ repeated Richie, unimpressed. ‘Well,youwill definitely need a stylist. For your hair, if nothing else.’
Alex glanced at himself in the mirror. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’
‘You look like a hobo, like you can’t cope. Is that the impression you want to give your family when they next see you?’
‘Fine, book the stylist,’ snapped Alex.
‘I really wish you’d give me the name of your new girl. I need to shape the narrative, remember? I hope it’s someone who will show off your softer side. Prove to people that you’ve changed, that what happened with Savannah and your brother actually helped you grow as a person.’
Alex had had enough. ‘I thought you were meant to be on my side too? You know what, fuck the narrative. The world will just have to accept us as we are.’
He ended the call and threw his phone on the bed before storming into the bathroom. He needed a cold shower to cool off.
Chapter Twelve
On the day of the Olivier Awards, Ellie sat in her room quietly losing her mind.
There was no backing out now. Today was the day their fake relationship would be revealed.
The cramped space of her box room was dominated by moving boxes, as well as the bric-a-brac furnishings from the flat she’d shared with Hannah. She looked like one of those secret hoarders, surrounded by all of her shit.
Her suitcase for the Bahamas was by the door, already packed, as was her hand luggage. The essential toiletries bag sat on top of them, so she could still dip in and out of them when needed. In two days, she’d be last-minute squishing it into her suitcase and jetting off to a tropical paradise.
Her hands began to tremble and she flicked her wrists to try to dispel some of her nervous energy, before placing her elbow firmly on the dressing table. ‘Right, come on! Draw a fecking straight line.’ Five minutes later she was admiring her reasonably straight eyeliner.
The mannequin in the corner kept drawing her gaze, and she took a minute to admire the dress waiting for her.
The dress mannequin was still the best investment Ellie had ever made. The sections could be adjusted individually for any measurement rather than dress size, which meant she could tailor it exactly to her body – important when you were making a silk scarlet dress that clung to every curve. She was going for a Grecian style, something Venus might have rocked after stepping out of her clamshell if she’d had a lot of red silk going spare.
‘Soon, my love,’ she cooed, more to entertain herself than anything else. She winced when she remembered her mother’s reaction a few days ago to the half-finished dress, as if it were a patch of black mould on the wall.
‘Is that your dress?’
‘Yep,’ Ellie had mumbled, concentrating on hand-stitching the beads she’d bought to glam up one of her clutches.
‘It doesn’t look very forgiving on the hips.’ Her mum had frowned at the dress in the same way she’d always done when Ellie had eaten a dessert.
‘It’ll fit just as well as everything else I’ve ever made for myself.’
‘Yes, and you’re very good at making things to flatter a fuller figure, but for such abigevent wouldn’t you rather something a bit less… clingy? And the straps! You won’t be able to wear a normal bra, and strapless bras are always so uncomfortable. You’ve got a few more days, why don’t you join me on that soldier’s diet? You’re meant to be able to lose half a stone in just five days.’
Ellie had counted to ten in her head, but it still hadn’t been long enough. Why did her mum always have to bring up her weight like this? As if it were a hurdle to overcome, a shame to hide.
‘No, thanks. I’d rather eat more than a boiled egg for every meal.’
When her mum had continued to grimace at her dress, Ellie had had to put her needle down to stop herself from stabbing her. ‘I’m never going to be skinny, Mum.’ She’d almost added, ‘and neither are you,’ but that would have been unkind.
