Chapter 12
Guilt Trip
Prince Walker
Iswirled the red liquid around in the glass as I waited. Angelique was always late, held up by a shoot or a meeting, sleeping off the stress of a shoot or a meeting. Not that I minded. I knew her modeling career kept her too busy to even find time for herself. I marveled when she had mentioned a week ago that our relationship would clock its first year in two months. Before Angelique Delavigne, the longest period I’d spent in a relationship was two weeks. The girls had always gotten too clingy too quickly. Angelique was different. I’d spent some time chasing her; she surprised me by ignoring my gifts and calls in the beginning. It took more than just my money to have her going out on a date with me.
Refusing to give up, I’d asked Andy about her and finally gotten a yes to a lunch date with her through Sophie, her mother. The rest was history. She made it clear that her career was more important; it turned out she was perfect for me. I was aware that the reason we’d been together so long was all the time we’d spent away from each other. It buffered down the number of quarrels we might have had, the monotony that would have crept in, eventually. Though I wasn’t sure if I loved her, and she had never said it to me either, we got along, had a lot of mutual interests. She laughed at my jokes, and I found her body irresistible.
Angelique appeared at my side and kissed me on the cheek. She put down her white Chanel purse on the table, dropping her car keys beside it with a clang. As she flung her hair to the side and it whipped onto her other shoulder, the shiny midnight-black waves painted a stark contrast against the white turtleneck top she had on. She waved a waiter over and turned back to me. Taking notice of the glass of wine I was sipping from, she knew something was wrong. I never drank this early.
“Are you okay, love? Are we toasting to something?” she said in dry humor. She must have been worried by my dour expression. “Tell me how your day has been so far,” Angelique pressed, taking the glass from my grip and entwining her fingers with mine.
“Shitty. Do you want to get out of here?” I asked on a whim, mischief creeping into my eyes. “I have ideas on how you could make it better.”
∞∞∞
Angelique Delavigne
Angelique looked up in confusion at the waiter, who had just reached their table with a menu for her. She knew Prince was trying to stall the moment before they could have a real conversation about what was so visibly troubling him, but she decided to indulge him. She asked the waiter to bring the bill and turned back to him.
“I’m hungry, though. I was really looking forward to lunch.”
“We can stop at a drive-through on the way. Get your purse.” He stood up and dropped three hundred-dollar bills on the table. Angelique didn’t protest like she normally would at his extravagance. He reached back to link his arm with hers and steered them towards the door. Angelique knew he had developed the protective gesture over time because of the paparazzi. They were always following him around, trying to get the scoop on their activities. Someone must have tipped them off about their whereabouts because as soon as they walked out, they were met by flashing lights and the loud click of cameras. Aside from a few exclusive restaurants, the rest didn’t bother having their security warn them off because any publicity was welcome.
“Are we taking my car or yours?” Angelique asked, angling her face away from the growing crowd of tabloid reporters bearing cameras and notepads. The red Porsche Prince had gotten her for her birthday was waiting behind his Bentley.
“Mine,” Prince replied without hesitation, “Your driver can follow.”
“I drove myself here,” Angelique replied, stilling under his glowering gaze. She liked to drive herself, liked to control the steering wheel, whizzing in and out of lanes, the breeze playing with her hair. Prince didn’t understand a career like hers; being told how to look, stand, sit, having brands decide her outfits, her mom control her life—driving was the one activity that passed the reins back to her.
“Fine. I’ll drive us back; my driver will follow in your car. It’s a wonder why we still bother to pay yours. You do all the work he is being paid to do.” He opened the door for her to climb in and walked around to tell his driver about the change of plans.
Angelique waited with bated breath for Prince to join her in the car. When he didn’t continue the tirade, she exhaled and lay her head against the headrest. They continued the journey quietly, the air heavy with awkwardness.
“Don’t forget we have to stop at a drive-through,” Angelique piped up.
“I know,” Prince flung in response. His tone was brittle, like he was barely managing to be civil.
“We should have told the driver to go straight home. No need tailing behind us for the food run,” she said, trying to coax him into having a conversation. She knew something must have happened at the office, but she didn’t want to press for information. Sometimes dealing with him was like stretching a wristband; if you drag too hard, it recoils and stings your hand.
“Prince,” she placed her left palm on the thigh nearest to her and squeezed, “I’m here if you want to talk.”
Prince shut his eyes briefly and dragged in a long breath. She knew then that whatever it was, it was serious. He didn’t say anything to her, but she let her palm rest there in silent reassurance. When they pulled into the drive-through, he joined the small queue of cars and brought the Bentley to a halt. He placed his palm above hers, his huge hand dwarfing hers, and squeezed.
“I apologize for being a brute, Angel, forgive me?” he pleaded, raising the curve of her palm to his lips and placing a light kiss in the center. Angelique closed her palm, cupping the side of his face soothingly.
“I forgive you, love. Still not ready to talk about it?”
Prince shook his head to show he wasn’t.
“Alright,mon amour.”
They pulled into Prince’s driveway, the electronic gate closing behind them as they pulled up before a five-bedroom stucco-styled house.
Prince got out, carrying the bags of hot food, and Angelique followed. They entered his house, walking straight to the kitchen counter to deposit the bags. It was Angelique’s cheat day, a day in the week when she could splurge on food and not worry about her diet or losing her current most important asset, her body. She had gone crazy with her order—onion rings, chicken nuggets, a double-decker beef burger that was dripping with mustard, and a giant cup of slushie to wash it down. She also got a banana split and two crème wafers for dessert. She grabbed the high stool beside the counter and was settling down to dig in when Prince came up beside her.
“Angel, can food wait? I told you I had other ideas.” He nuzzled her neck, littering small kisses as he moved. Angelique sighed and relaxed into him. She tied the bags so the food would not grow cold and turned around to face him. If they were going to make love instead of discussing what had got him all stiff and moody, she did not want to have onion breath. She let him take off her top, her mind wandering off to other things.
