“Ah, keeping on the Burberry brand I see.” I pull lightly at his brown Burberry polo shirt. “You can take the boy out of England, but you can’t take England out of the boy.”
“Yep, eighty percent sarcasm, and twenty percent colonial guilt.” His infectious laugh worms its way into my ears.
Oh, how I’ve missed his laugh. That smile of his. His warm body pressed against mine.
I want to soak in this moment for as long as possible, but I know there’s a difficult conversation to be had.
“Let’s head up to the dressing room.”
As I lead him out of the hall and up the stairs, Rob joins us and follows behind.
Once we’ve settled in the small, cramped dressing room, an awkward silence ensues. One of us has to break the tension, so I go with the question that’s been haunting me for weeks.
“Why didn’t you return my voicemail?”
My gaze slides toward him to gauge his reaction. I rest my bum on a small wooden table. Lightbulbs framing the edges of the mirror behind me cast my shadow over Christopher, who sits on the worn-out couch in the corner. Looking down, I see a few specks of white dust—the cocaine I’d snorted earlier—left on the surface next to me, and I quickly flick them away with my finger.
“Oh, we’re jumping straight in?” Christopher leans forward. “No lubing me up first. Well, if that’s the case, why did you leave me in your hotel suite without the decency to let me know what was happening or to say goodbye?” The corners of his eyes crinkle. His smile is replaced by a frown.
My heart drops to my feet. A boulder-sized lump forms in my throat.
In all the pain and rejection I’d felt when he didn’t respond to my voicemail, I’d forgotten how hurt he must have been that I left so abruptly.
“I wanted to.” I move toward him and sit down on the couch beside him. “But Rob and Lucy came in that morning, grabbed all my stuff, and rushed me out the hotel.”
Christopher edges away from me, making the growing distance between us feel more like an ocean.
“But you could have woken me up. Left a note. You could have given me a heads up. Instead, I was startled awake by housekeeping, with no clue what had happened to you.” A moth flapping by a lightbulb draws his focus away from me.
“I wanted to, I really did, but Rob rushed me out to get the flight. I’m sorry. I really am.” I rake my fingers through my hair, scraping them over my head and down through my beard. I feel clammy, itchy.
“You were my boyfriend.” His eyes swirl with growing anger.
“I still can be.” I’m desperate to reignite the flame between us that turned to ashes.
Christopher gets up and moves toward the window, looking out. The gap between us is now so wide that I feel like I’m losing him. And if I’m going to lose him, then I might as well ask about the other issue that’s plagued my thoughts.
“Why were you so quick to sign the agreement?”
Christopher turns from the window back toward me.
“I thought you wanted me to sign it.” His tone is now less accusatory, more despondent.
“I never?—”
“I know. Connie told me the truth last night.” His shoulders drop as he reaches for a bottle of water from the table, then tenses as he twists firmly at the bottle cap when it won’t come undone.
“Told you what?” I shake my head at this revelation.
“That you hadn’t approved of the idea to pay me off and silence me, to cut all communication. That she felt bad for the way it was handled, the wayIwas handled.”
“Connie did that?” Anger and gratitude collide inside me. At what she did back then and what she’s done now to make amends.
“Can we forget about them? They’re not the main issue here.” Christopher takes a sip of water and returns to the couch.
“I’m sorry about the way I handled things, I truly am. The onething I always insisted on was you were not made to be the scapegoat,” I say.
There’s an awkward beat as Christopher goes to speak, then stops himself. He takes a deep breath and straightens his back before continuing.
