Chapter Twelve #2
I knew he’d bring this up again. I mean, how could he not? But the casual way in which he says it has me squirming. “That was… No. I was just really drunk.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Right. So, you feel like this whole thing is karma because you don’t feel sad enough about not marrying the man who was probably cheating on you?”
“Yes,” I say but shake my head. “No. I mean, it’s not that. It’s that I can’t shake this guilty feeling. It’s like I did something wrong or made a bad decision that led to this, even though I know I didn’t.”
“I don’t know you well, but I suspect you make good decisions.”
“And how did you come to that conclusion?”
“You don’t seem like the type to make random, mad-dash choices. Current situation notwithstanding.” He grins, trying to shift the mood but blows out a breath when my lips wobble. “So what? What’s the guilt really about?”
I’ve been thinking about this exact thought for weeks.
Trying to claw together the reason that my stomach swoops every time I think about the wedding.
It’s as though I’m in trouble, as if I’ve done something wrong.
I know I haven’t. I know it was all him.
And yet I can’t shrug this horrible feeling that maybe I should’ve waited until I had more evidence, that I shouldn’t have trusted my gut feeling alone.
I don’t know how to explain this to the man I barely know so I take a different angle.
“Well… This is also our honeymoon. Even if it was all my idea and I’ve virtually bankrupted myself to make it happen.”
“Ok so let me get this straight. You’re feeling guilty because you’re on a holiday you planned and paid for yourself, and you feel like you shouldn’t be here… for yourself?”
I pause while his words sink in. “Well, when you say it like that it sounds insane.”
“Right.” He nods, expression telling.
I shake my head. “No. You don’t get to do that. Men aren’t allowed to diagnose insanity in women. You lot used up your quota with all those witch trials. It’s not allowed anymore.”
“I’m not calling you insane. I’m calling your guilt insane.”
“Well, you’re not allowed.”
“Ok,” he says, raising his hands. “I stand corrected. I am a bad man. I am infected with the patriarchy.”
“Yes. Yes, you are. You need cleansing.”
“How do you do that?” he asks, genuinely curious.
I shrug, drying my tears on the back of my hand. “I’ll throw some vodka at you later and it burns right out.”
“Delicious.”
“Ugh. What do we even do now?” I ask, feeling depleted and pathetic.
I never usually allow myself a moment of self-pity like this, especially in front of other people.
I’m unsure what it is about Gus that makes me feel like he’s immune, it’s probably because he’s a stranger who I’m likely never going to see again.
And yet, something tells me I, maybe, dangerously, and inadvisably started trusting him.
A celebrity, no less.
Gus crosses his arms, then spreads his thighs as he leans back on the bench with a sigh.
Exactly, what a FAC would do. “I say we find somewhere to stay for the night. Explore the city. Figure out our next move.” He pauses to see if I’m going to protest. When I don’t, he continues.
“We can eat copious amounts of carbohydrates, fish and garlic, then share a bottle of wine.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I want my own bottle.”
He laughs. “Deal. Have we got enough money?”
“For wine?”
“For a place to stay.”
“I have some money. It should get us through the night. Only issue is I only have access to my money through my phone, which is dead (again), so we’ll need to find somewhere to charge it.”
Gus nods, hopping up from the bench and holding his hand out to me to help me up.
“I’ll call my sister. I’m sure she won’t mind throwing some money our way. I’ll keep the reasons vague. She too likes to charge me interest,” he says, with a spark in his eye.
“I don’t want your bloody interest,” I say, giving him a stern look.
He only grins, passing me his phone. “Type your bank details in. I’ll ask her to send it to you since I have no access to my bank right now.”
“Oh, sure.” I take his phone, sniff back the last of my tears and give him a look. “But won’t she find that suspicious?”
He shrugs. “I doubt it. I’ve been in weirder, vaguer situations.”
“You’re not an elaborate scam artist, are you?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. Once I’ve sorted the details and passed his phone back to him, I say, “Right, shall we go on a hunt for an internet café then?”
He nods. “It’s possible that the taxi guy has already outed me to the press but let’s give it a go, shall we?”
“Nah. Adriana would never disrespect her favourite popstar like that.”
“True.” He holds a hand to his chest, dropping his chin. “She is my one true love.”
I faux gag. “Please tell me you didn’t write that.”
He snorts. “Nah. We’re trained not to do that. It encourages unhinged behaviour from fans.”
“What’s the most unhinged fan experience you’ve had?”
He cringes. “Can’t talk about it.”
“That bad?”
“No. I legally can’t talk about it.”
Despite myself, I actually laugh. “Are you serious?”
He nods. “The second most unhinged thing was finding a fan hiding in my closet after a concert, wearing the exact same outfit as my then girlfriend was that evening. Same hair, same clothes, even the same makeup.”
“No! She was going to trick you?”
“I mean… She was a least a foot shorter and didn’t speak English… I know I’m a bit of a fool, but you have to try harder than that.”
“Amazing,” I shake my head. “I applaud her dedication.”
“She moved on to Callum anyway. And now there are two restraining orders against her.”
“Solid effort.”
He grins across at me. “I’m starting to think you’re the type to root for the villain.”
“I just like seeing women kicking arse. That’s all.”
He clicks his finger at me. “Great point. I have no comeback. Charge phone and then wine?”
I nod. “Yes. Like a bucket of wine.”