Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Heidi.
Instinctively, I know this is Everett’s writing.
More photographs. Some grainy, taken from a distance, so perfect. Like the one taken in The Pussy Cat. I have a silver try in one hand as the other removes a customer’s hand from my ass cheek as I smile. You’d be forgiven for thinking I was enjoying myself. Another at the grocery store, my coat wrapped tight around me as I buy bread and milk and a newspaper.
But maybe this isn’t all about me. There’s a photograph of a couple; a glamorous blonde and an older man with his arm wrapped around her. He’s wearing a dark suit and a crazy tie while she wears a tiny dress with spaghetti straps, fashions from decades ago.
‘I don’t know who this is,’ I whisper, pushing the image back across the table even as I realise my denial is ridiculous.
‘That’s okay.’ My skin crawls as leans forward and covers my hand with his own. ‘I don’t know if this is all about you. But what I do know is Remy hasn’t been honest with you. This is you, no?’ He holds up a photograph. I’m wearing my Pussy Cat uniform. Knee high socks and stripper heels, my ass practically hanging out of my shorts, my boobs sitting almost under my chin.
I’m smiling in this one, too. A smile that says I need the tips.
‘You are Heidi?’
‘Just stop it.’ I begin to gather the photographs, the emails and whatever the fuck the rest of this stuff is. ‘Put it away. I don’t want to look at it anymore.’
‘You don’t want to know who you’re marrying? Why he’s marrying you?’
‘I don’t want to look at it in here,’ I grate out. ‘For Christ’s sake, let me think.’
But thinking is something I’m beginning to struggle with. More than anger and upset, more than pain and embarrassment, I feel sick. Dizzy. Like I’m wading through glue.
‘I don’t feel well, Ben.’ I reach for my cup, my hands knocking it over in the saucer.
‘It’s okay. You’ve had a shock,’ he says, examining the dregs in the tiny vessel before righting it. He waves away someone from behind me. I suddenly very much want to ask them to stay because, though his manner is mild, the word sinister rings through my mind.
Sinister. Sinister. It’s all I can think. But I can’t say it.
Because nothing will come out of my mouth.
‘I can see you find this all very upsetting. Let me put everything away and take you to Remy. I’m sure he can explain, okay?’
Yes. Remy.
I need him.
48
Remy
‘Rose?’
The house is dark. No music. No dancing. No tuneless singing.
The kitchen is empty. The outer kitchen, too. Then I remember we’re going out for dinner. Everyone has the night off.
Except for security, but I won’t go there yet.
Because that would be admitting something is wrong, and I refuse to let my mind run with such thoughts.
‘Rose?’ I take the stairs two at a time, my heart lodged in my throat when I realise it’s dark up here, too. Our bedroom door rebounds from the wall as I open it. The bed is made, clothes scattered across it. Her clothes.
Underwear. Shoes discarded on the floor. Cosmetics lying spilled.
I move to her dressing area to find coat hangers empty. Clothes lying dropped on the floor.
‘Merde.’ I turn and swipe my hand through my hair. Pull at the ends. My reflection in her mirror shocked yet not at all. Didn’t I deserve this? ‘Fuck! Fuck it all.’
I seem to take the staircase in one leap as I drag my phone from my pocket and dial her number.
‘Pick up. Come on, pick up!’ It cuts out. I dial again, this time the automated message informing me that the subscriber is unavailable.
I send her a text—more than one—panic invading my chest until it aches.
Where are you?
Please call.
Talk to me, Rose.
I check the rooms once more as I make my way to the office she doesn’t use.
The desk lamp is on, the low light illuminating a mess of paperwork.
Photographs.
Documents.
Things she would never have seen if it were up to me.
I step closer, my heart filling with cement because what I’m looking at is betrayal.
My betrayal of her.
My phone is still in my hand. I hit call.
‘Rhett. She’s gone.’
‘Who has?’
‘Rose has left. I don’t know how, but she’s seen everything.’
‘How the fuck can that be? You haven’t even looked at everything.’
I didn’t want to. Like a child, if I’d closed my eyes, I wouldn’t be party to it all.
‘I’m looking at it all now.’ All of it as I begin to sift the things I know and the things I’m now learning about.
‘I’m on my way.’
The phone cuts out.
49
Rose
My head aches and my limbs feel like they don’t belong to me, my feet numb yet tingling.
‘Remy?’ I push myself up to sit, the sensation under my palm as hard as stone.