Chapter 15
I return to my room after breakfast in a daze. Luke has taken the wind out of my sails. I was hoping to remain at a platonic distance from him for the remainder of the tour, but now he has spoiled it by being so… so… desirable.
I slap the newspaper down on the bed and remind myself of why I am here.
I’m at work. Luke and I are work colleagues.
I pick up my phone, suddenly anxious to speak to my dad.
I feel for the locket on my chest as I wait for him to answer.
I wonder if he has seen this picture. I wonder if he was at my mother’s first ever performance.
Was she nervous? Did she ever walk naked onto the stage and cause the audience to gasp before they collapsed into bawling sobs of laughter?
No answer.
I hang up and notice that I have a missed call.
It’s from Matteo!
I quickly ring his number back. I’d love to speak to him.
Tell him all about the tour. Well, perhaps not everything.
But I do want to explain why I’m in the newspapers making an exhibition of myself, why I appear naked on the front page today and why I’m staying in a room next door to my leading man.
It goes straight to voicemail. The message tells me Matteo won’t be monitoring his messages and to try calling again in a week’s time.
I’m so disappointed.
My phone beeps. It’s the Dollz WhatsApp group. Tash has posted a pic of me on the online news and a caption that simply says, ‘STUNNING’.
Then Liberty replies.
Look at that thigh gap.
Apparently, she is beyond jealous of the way my inner thigh triangle has been amplified against the backdrop of the orchestra, thanks to the stage lights – it’s all very classy.
INCREDIBLE BOOBS – they look fake but without the price tag.
Cherry, the only Doll to be a reluctant mother (the world’s first person to have birthed two oversized, pointy-headed babies nine months apart), is also jealous as she has paid a small fortune, the price of a much-needed second car, to transform her saggy spaniel’s ears into perky breasts post breastfeeding.
Sometimes, their priorities are misplaced. I am anything but body obsessed. That’s the opposite of what I am. But I miss them terribly.
Big Sue has posted:
Diva the shit out of it babe #bodyconfidence #womensupportwomen #nakedandproud #muffsout
Big Mand has love-heart-hands emojied them all. If anyone has body confidence it’s her.
My phone springs to life. It’s my dad. I should probably explain the newspaper headlines to him as well. He must be so confused.
* * *
There’s a knock at my door just as I’m saying goodbye to my dad.
Thank goodness he was okay about it all.
He laughed off the suggestions of the Royal Family being annoyed with me and the fact that my dress had attracted uncomplimentary accusations.
He said, ‘Connie, love. If you can’t embarrass yourself in public when you’re young, when can you? ’
Which was sweet but didn’t really cut the mustard in terms of me needing reassurance that I haven’t just killed my career before it has even begun.
I open the door, bracing myself that it is Luke armed with any flimsy excuse to see me, but it is the concierge. He is holding all of my costumes.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I cry, launching myself at them. ‘Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ I never want to wear that awful peacock dress ever again.
‘My pleasure, madam.’ His kindly expression is all that is needed to open the floodgates.
‘And just in time for the matinee performance today,’ I tell him as he waits politely to be excused.
‘Hopefully, nothing will go wrong this time, and the Maestro won’t have me sacked, and the chorus girls will finally get over themselves and treat me with the respect I deserve.
Because… because at the end of the day…’ I take a deep breath in. ‘I don’t deserve any of this shit!’
The concierge waits for me to catch my breath. ‘Your car is ready, madam.’
‘Sorry. Yes. I’ll be right down.’
Luke appears in the doorway. He fills the entire frame as he leans casually against it. ‘I heard shouting. Are you okay?’
I take a huge inhale. ‘Yes. Just letting off some steam. Things seem to be running away with me, but I’m fine. I’m fine.’
He turns to the concierge. ‘Can you book us both a table in the private dining room for seven thirty tonight, please?’ He smiles questioningly at me. ‘That okay with you, Connie?’
‘Oh, I, erm, hadn’t thought that far ahead.’
Why can’t he see that he’s the cause of things running wildly off track? I’m not sure we should be allowed anywhere near each other off stage. He’s too much of a distraction.
‘I thought, considering your present notoriety, you’d appreciate a little privacy after the matinee performance today,’ Luke says in quite a matter-of-fact way.
‘Plus, we have a rare night off. We might as well use it to relax here at the hotel without any press lurking around corners. We can recharge our batteries, ready for tomorrow’s York finale. ’
I dither over my answer.
First the hot tub, then the locket and now private fine dining.
On the surface it seems very much like he is wining and dining me, but I’m really hoping it is more of a kind-hearted, innocent gesture.
Which is how I will be explaining myself to Ged later on.
He is hugely suspicious of all of this, especially now Liam seems to be Team Luke.
It’s the frilly sleeves and buttocks thing. Bridgerton has a lot to answer for.
‘I will make the necessary arrangements, sir. Will you require full butler service for this dining experience, sir, madam?’
What?
‘No. No, we won’t because,’ I say, looking from Luke to the concierge. They wait for me to spit it out. ‘Because the dinner, it’s just… erm, food. Not a dining experience as such. More of a food arrangement. Between colleagues.’
‘Yes, madam. Food will be served. We will make it very special.’
What I mean is that this is not a date date requiring anything special!
‘Seven thirty it is. Table for two,’ says the concierge, disappearing down the corridor before I have time to reply.
Oh, what’s the point?
‘Need a hand with those?’ Luke indicates the costumes draped over my arms. He is trying not to smile. ‘My outfits are already at the theatre.’
‘Yes, please. I only need a few minutes to get all my stuff together.’
Luke nods and waits at the door. I go back in, but it feels rude to shut the door on him and even ruder to leave him standing there holding all my gowns.
‘It’s okay. You can come in,’ I tell him.
‘No, really. I’m fine here.’
He’s certainly quite the gentleman. I immediately soften. It’s not his fault I’m finding him attractive. And I’m certain I can ignore whatever feelings I’m having and not act on them. ‘No. It’s fine. Come in.’
As soon as he is through the door, I immediately regret it. He looks from me to the huge four-poster bed with its many cushions, sumptuous quilts and blankets and swirls of silk, and back to me. His cheeks have pink spots growing by the second.
We stand for a beat too long.
He clears his throat, laying the gowns out carefully on the bed. ‘I think I’ll wait outside for you. Wouldn’t want any rumours to spread, would we?’
Now he’s made the mood awkward by insinuating that something untoward might happen if he didn’t step outside. It’s not like I’m going to rip his clothes off with my teeth and milk him dry. I must stop using that vulgar phrase.
But it is so handy.
‘I’ll only be a second.’ I must make it clear that this is nothing but a platonic working relationship. ‘Besides, you’re quite safe.’
‘I am?’ He half smiles. He must be so used to women constantly throwing themselves at him.
‘I mean, nothing will happen. I have no sexual interest in you whatsoever.’
God. Matteo said the same exact thing to me the night we first met. And look how that turned out.
Luke seems surprised. ‘Good to know. That’s just what every man wants to hear.’
A nervous laugh escapes my lips.
I’m relieved to see Luke jokes along. ‘I get that a lot.’
‘I really can’t imagine you do.’ Oh, God.
It just slipped out. Now Luke is giving me cow eyes.
I’m going to tell him I’m spoken for as soon as we get the next performance over with.
It’s time to clear the air so that his obvious attraction does not get out of hand.
I will add it to the list of all the other things that also need doing immediately: nipple tassels, Barbie-pink waistcoat with fringing, tell Luke that I’m practically a married woman.
* * *
The ride to the theatre is fraught with tension.
We are sitting in the back of a limousine.
There is a screen between us and the driver.
Luke is sitting next to me on the spacious leather seat, but I am keeping as much distance between us as I can, sharp bends in the road notwithstanding.
He leans towards me and in a low voice he says, ‘You know I’ve been thinking about your idea. ’
‘What idea?’
‘To ask someone else to marry me. To stop this ridiculous fake wedding going ahead.’
‘Was that my idea?’ I cast my mind back. I’m not sure who said what.
‘Whatever,’ he says, quickly dismissing it. ‘The point is I think you might be right.’
I blow my cheeks out. ‘Luke. I’m not sure I did come up with that idea, but anyway, what are you saying?’
‘I think I’m running out of time. I need to do something, and I need to do it quickly.’
I swallow. ‘And you’re asking me to help?’
He nods.
‘As in, find someone for you to marry?’ I had jokingly mentioned Liberty, but in all honesty, I can’t see them making a good match. She’d eat him alive.
Luke shakes his head slowly. He’s about to say something when the car pulls up outside of the theatre and the driver jumps out to open the door.
* * *
We are just about to go back on stage for the matinee finale and the big ‘Mi Amore Mi Amore’ number when Luke drops a bombshell.
‘My parents just messaged me. The palace has been in touch to begin tentative protocols and background checks on my suitability for Hermione, and this “delicate situation”, as they’ve put it. I guess this shit is getting real now.’
He sounds unbelievably down. Not a great frame of mind to be in, considering the song we are about to sing together.
I reach for his fingertips. ‘Try not to worry. No one will make you marry someone you don’t love.’
He gives me an intense look, and it’s a moment before we realise the Maestro is calling us onto the stage.
Our duet of ‘Mi Amore Mi Amore’ is turbocharged with emotion.
Luke is belting out the lyrics as though this is his final performance as a free man.
The emotion in the tone and delivery is his best yet.
When it comes to the part where we sing together, and he holds me in his arms, the electricity crackles between us.
It throws me completely off guard. His lips hover over mine as he sings the final lament.
He is literally taking my breath away. It’s as though he has become the character, and I am caught up in his spell, enthralled by him. I am his one true love, and he must leave me to go off and fight in a war he doesn’t believe in, knowing he will never see me again.
In response, I can’t help but be swept along. I give such a soulful rendition of the aria that you can hear a pin drop at the end.
He has me clamped to him. His heart is beating out of control.
Our lungs are contracting and expanding against each other.
His lips are millimetres from mine, while his eyes frantically search my own.
I feel his hand on the small of my back, bringing me closer.
He wants to kiss me. I can feel it. There’s an energy drawing us together.
I look up at him through my huge fake stuck-on lashes.
My lips are parted and primed for action, and my boobs, crushed against his chest, are bursting to be free of this corset.
‘Christ,’ he growls in a low voice that only I can hear.
For a second, it is as though we are lost in our own little world, before the audience erupts into applause and brings us back to reality.
Luke gazes lustfully at me before a look of panic spreads slowly across his face. I feel something gently nudge my thigh.
Nudge. Nudge. Nudge.
My eyes snap wide open.
Nudge. Nudge. Nudge.
Luke whimpers quietly.
Good God Almighty.
We’re on stage, and Luke has a raging hard-on.
‘What do I do?’ he whispers between his clenched teeth.
I have no idea. I’ve drawn a blank. The moment I move away, his massive cucumber will be on full display. Even the back row will get an eyeful. I dread to think how the Maestro will react. This may well be his tipping point.
Suddenly, I get the giggles. I bite my lips together, but that doesn’t stop my shoulders from shaking.
Luke is horrified. ‘This isn’t funny.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I snort.
The Maestro points his baton, directing the applause our way.
Luke gives me a pleading look. It is time for us to relinquish the embrace and for Luke to hold my hand at arm’s length while I curtsy to the audience, and he takes a bow.
Instead, we stay facing each other, my bustling skirt hiding his embarrassment, and we try to do a sort of uncomfortable side-bow as though we are conjoined twins.
We are met with a sea of confused faces.
As I remain clamped to Luke, my only option is to point behind me so that the audience can direct their applause to our talented musicians, who are now shaking their heads at our weird behaviour.
The Maestro joins us at the front of the stage. I hear him mumble under his breath, ‘For fuck’s sake.’ He faces the audience, takes a swift bow and stomps past us off stage. ‘I’m never working with you imbeciles ever again.’