I lean across, putting my arm behind him, and rub his back reassuringly.
There’s a steady stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.
“Eight months later, my team lead an intervention when my drinking got out of control. I’d been sober ever since. Up until last week, when my team gave me a two-year sobriety chip. Everything came flooding back. Then when we argued last nightand you left, and I thought I’d lost you too.” He wipes his eyes again.
“You’re the first person I’ve actually cared about since Samuel. I’ve already lost one person who can see beyond all the pop star business and see the real me. I don’t think I can handle losing another.”
His words set off a number of fireworks in my chest simultaneously.
Fear, hope, excitement, trepidation.
I’d assumed this was just a tour romance for him.
That I was just a quick hookup.
That he probably had a different guy in every city.
But judging by the longing in those blue eyes, I’m starting to get the sense that this, whatever this is, means more to him than just a casual fling. And I also get the feeling that Samuel must have been more than just an assistant to Alexander.
I hesitate, debating whether or not to ask about Samuel, when the doorbell rings.
“That must be room service,” Alexander says, rolling his eyes before pushing himself up from the couch.
Rob emerges out of the meeting room, but Alexander waves him off.
“I got it,” he calls. He checks the mini-TV screen at the side of the door, quickly rubbing his face before opening the door.
“Sorry for the delay, we’re short-staffed tonight.” Imani wheels a trolley through the entrance, making me slightly less frustrated at the interruption. Two plates, covered by silver domed lids, sit on top, along with some cutlery and a range of condiments.
“Where would you like me to put them?” she asks.
Her eyes briefly meet mine, and a soft smile appears on her face before she turns to Rob. A pang of guilt hits me. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m not sure if I should try to justify it… blurt out that I’m Alexander’s dialect coach, but Rob steps forward and pushes the guilt away with his movement.
“You can place the rib eye down there, and I’ll take the rest in there,” he says, nodding at the office behind him.
“Do you want anything?” Alexander asks me as Imani puts the dish down on the table. She lifts off the lid, and the smell of steak hits my nostrils.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say, as he returns to the couch.
Rob retrieves a fifty-pound note from his pocket and hands it to her. He shows her out of the suite before returning to the other room.
Alexander digs into his meal, bypassing the knife like so many of my American friends do, and using the side of his fork to cut the steak. He inhales it, barely chewing before swallowing it down and then grabbing a handful of fries, scarfing them down too.
And I thought Stephen was bad when it came to food etiquette.
I’m unsure where to pick up. Doubt lurks in the suburbs of my mind.
Where do I start? Should I reassure him he hasn’t lost me? Clarify who Samuel is? Acknowledge my own guilt that I’ve been living with? Or explain why I was so triggered by the trust issues?
I tap my fingers on my knee, and realize that if I’m expecting him to be more intimate and open with me, then I need to be too. I readjust myself on the couch.
“I know what it’s like to live with the guilt of feeling like you’re responsible for someone’s death,” I say.
Alexander almost chokes on a french fry. I immediately reach over to pat his back as he coughs it out. Rob comes racing out, only for Alexander to hold up the offending food item.
“Just a fry,” he says, waving it at Rob.
“Eat slowly,” Rob admonishes him. He scowls, shaking his head as he returns to the room.
