Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Gigi
Jamie’s rage wasn’t limited to the Circle headquarters. I also saw the limit of his anger after we arrived home. I’m now sitting in the changing room at Pixies, fresh bruising covering healed ones.
Thankfully, Pixies’ stage lighting is low enough for no one to see.
Jamie really thought our engagement interview would be worthy of front covers, but strangely, Mia never aired the article. There’s no evidence of our conversation anywhere to be found.
My private dressing room is occupied by Jamie and God knows who else. He barked at me to leave, forcing me to get ready elsewhere. I sit at a dressing table in the communal changing room, though only a few women linger now, ready to leave for the night.
I press my hands against the surface, sucking in a sharp breath as I rise.
Every movement sends fresh waves of pain through my sides.
The room spins a little. I let the darkness swallow me for a moment as I lower myself back down.
The sound of glasses clinking and the mutter of guests vibrates through the floor. They’re all waiting for me.
Those selfish minutes I used to ache for are a rarity nowadays, and I fear if I were given the opportunity, I’d sleep for eternity.
A few minutes’ rest, I vow this time. Five at a push.
I awake with a start as the changing-room door opens.
I peer up from my folded arms, meeting Poppy’s eye through the vanity mirror as she seals the door shut quickly. Her breath hitches as her gaze rakes over me, landing on the scar on my chest and the marks I haven’t yet concealed with makeup.
“Gigi, you have to get out there.” She tugs me under my armpits – an attempt that has my knees buckling. “He’ll kill you.”
I sink back into the scuffed velvet armchair. “Let him.”
She bites her lip, glancing at the door as if she’s half-expecting Jamie to burst in any second. Her words come out urgently. “If you don’t get on that stage, he’s going to lose it.”
I shrug.
She whispers furiously, “Your life is not the only one on the line here.”
Her words hit profoundly, reminding me why I’m tethered to this nightmare. My stomach twists, bile rising as I imagine Harry’s body going limp, his green eyes turning dull if I don’t play my part.
I need to get on that stage.
Poppy’s still ranting, her voice a distant buzz, as I return to the present.
A knock on the door makes her pause.
“Gigi,” Hudson calls from outside. “It’s me. Is everything okay?”
Poppy stares at me in question. I force a nod. Hudson’s seen me at my weakest – this is no different.
She storms towards the door, throwing it open. Anger barrels through her, evident in the way her hands flex round the handle. Hudson’s eyes drift over her shoulder, finding my reflection in the mirror.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“Yeah, Jesus,” she spits, ushering him away. “Go do something!”
His eyes widen. “Like what?”
“Anything! Trust me, you won’t like what I have planned for that cunt.”
Hudson’s gaze darts between Poppy and me. As he shifts to step round her, she moves the same way, blocking his path. Her hands are like a barrier, pressing the wall with one hand and the edge of the door with the other.
Poppy draws her attention past Hudson as someone approaches. I expect it to be Jamie, ready to act on his anger.
“We’re a bit busy here.”
“Her fiancé is asking for her.” A dancer shifts uncomfortably. “He’s pretty mad.”
“Shit,” Poppy mutters. “She’s just getting ready. Try to stall him.”
“I told him she fell asleep at the dressing table. He’s already on his way up.”
“What the hell would make you do that?”
Hudson slips past her in distraction, coming to my side. Unlike Poppy, his eyes are zeroed in on the floor, as if he can’t bear to look anywhere else. He fumbles with his collar, mouth moving to speak, but nothing comes out.
The woman retorts, “It’s her husband!”
“Fuck,” Poppy curses. “Just get out of here.”
I have to get up.
I white-knuckle the edge of the table and rise to my feet on unstable legs. They give out a moment later. Hudson grabs my hips, stabilising me.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fucking fine – tell her she’s not fine!” Poppy throws her hands towards me. “We need to do something.”
I attempt another step, only to be guided back to my seat.
Hudson crouches at my side, his hand gentle on my shoulder, careful not to press too hard. “Gigi?” He lets a moment of silence pass. “What shall we do?”
“I can do it,” I tell him. “I just need a few minutes.”
“We don’t have a few minutes!” Poppy rushes out.
Echoes from the hallway have her whipping her head back towards the closed door. Hudson passes me a bottle of water, but my hands are shaking as I bring it to my lips. Water trickles down my chin despite how hard I try to stay still.
Poppy’s suddenly at my other side, shaking her head. “We’ll just tell him she’s sick.”
“He won’t believe you,” Hudson says, voice low.
I watch him through a half-lidded expression, though he’s not able to face me properly.
A harsh knock echoes on the door.
“Gigi?” Jamie knocks again. “Open up.”
Poppy and Hudson’s gazes meet, the silent debate of whether they should open the door or not. But as the third knock comes through harsher, I watch the way their shoulders jostle in a slight flinch.
“Open it,” I tell them.
Someone exhales a heavy breath.
Hudson takes slow steps towards the door. I fist the bottle of water, the plastic crunching in my grasp as the lock flips. For a painful, breathless moment, none of us move.
Poppy stands behind me, a reassuring hand on my shoulder as if she won’t let Jamie lay a hand on me, though her strength would never match his. Hudson stands in the corner, his frame rigid. They both watch Jamie cautiously, tracking his every breath.
But he’s calm – eerily so. His frame fills the doorway, his lips curving into a faint smile. His tie is askew, his hair in disarray. The air thickens with his presence as he steps into the room.
His eyes sweep over us. “All enjoying ourselves up here, are we?”
Poppy’s hand quakes on my shoulder, her eyes darting to Hudson for a split second, then back.
“Those bruises look nasty.” Jamie’s dark eyes find mine, his head angled sideways. “You fall and slip again, darling? You’ve got a habit of doing that.”
I watch him silently, my nostrils flaring. Poppy remains close, her silence a form of protection. Hudson remains in the corner, his watchful stare never leaving Jamie.
“Get on that stage, Gigi,” Jamie demands, voice still quiet. “I won’t ask you again.”
As his eyes meet mine, I see it: the silent promise of pain. The threat hangs in the air, unspoken but crystal clear. His eyes don’t leave mine as he speaks again slowly.
“Poppy, be a dear and help her cover up those nasty marks. We wouldn’t want anyone mistaking her clumsiness for anything else, now, would we?”
His smile widens just a fraction.
As he turns to leave, she strides ahead, fists clenching at her sides. I reach forwards, tangling my fingers into her T-shirt and pulling her back. She could push ahead if she truly wanted to, but she draws to a stop, watching him leave.
Jamie leaves with quiet grace that’s more terrifying than any outburst, the door closing behind him. The bass from the club pulses below our feet, each thump like a ticking time bomb now he’s left.
Poppy starts. “Gigi—”
“You heard what he said.” I cut her off. “We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression.”
She nods stiffly, lowering herself down, knees pressing into the grimy carpet as she starts rifling through my makeup bag. I tilt up my head at the sound of shuffling, watching as Hudson closes the door, leaving without a word.
It’s been an entire week since Jamie walked into the Pixies changing room, and I’m still on edge. Seven whole days of him acting like nothing happened; like I didn’t screw up and need him to put me back in check.
I expected him to lose it. To scream in my face, and the usual shit that follows.
He’s been acting like a saint, all smiles and calm voices. It’s the first time in months I can breathe without my limbs screeching. But I know him better than that.
This calm act … it’s a set-up. I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop.
Every look has me on edge. Each time, I find myself holding my breath, wondering if this is the moment he’ll finally snap.
Something’s about to happen, but I don’t know what.
Has he set up cameras in the house, waiting for me to break?
Is he anticipating I’ll break the terms of the engagement?
Or worse, is he planning something I haven’t even thought of yet?
The feeling is unnerving, especially since the air tonight is suffocating, like it’s pressing down on my chest. Like a warning that I need to get out of here before I’m roped into something deeper – but there is no escape, only reality.
I pass by Jamie in the living room with a pile of laundry in my arms. He doesn’t watch me pass, sprawled out on the sofa with the TV blaring some action movie. It’s as mundane of an evening as any. That’s what makes it so peculiar.
I slip into my walk-in wardrobe. All the jackets have been hung perfectly by colour, dresses lined up without a wrinkle, shoes in a neat row underneath them. It’s like a showroom, thanks to the cleaner we pay a fortune for.
As I slip past the wardrobe, a basket tips over, spilling its contents onto the floor in a heap. Shit. I kneel to pick up the mess, placing the laundry pile aside, clothes now everywhere. I return the items to their basket – and stop.
My fingers touch the soft garments with high price tags that once gave me comfort at such a dark time. Burberry. Gucci. Prada. Each as disgustingly expensive as the last. I shake my head, pushing the memories away as I stuff them back into the basket.
An outfit makes me pause.