18
Tuesday morning. The Royal’s ancient mattress had destroyed Emily’s back.
The light attacked first. Not gentle morning rays filtering through curtains like some romantic movie. No. This was the sun declaring war on her retinas through curtains she’d apparently forgotten to close.
Emily yanked the pillow over her face. Her skull throbbed like someone had replaced her brain with construction equipment. Her mouth tasted like she’d been licking carpet, stale wine, cotton, and that metallic tang that made her want to crawl into the shower and never emerge.
Everything hurt, her knees from the fall, her already injured ankle, her back from the saggy mattress, her pride from everything else.
She opened one eye and immediately regretted it. The room tilted, settled, tilted again. The sheets were scratchy beneath her.
Last night came back in flashes. The broken couch. The fall. His careful hands helping her up, his voice saying they should slow down. The humiliation of being rejected while pantless on ugly hotel carpet.
Emily kicked off the covers—too fast. The world lurched sideways.
She stood up slowly, legs unsteady, carpet rough under her feet. The apartment was quiet except for the shower. Leo was up, functioning, probably looking devastating while she stood here in his shirt like some morning-after cliché.
She shuffled towards the kitchenette, desperate for water, caffeine, or a merciful death. Whichever came first.
Two cups of coffee sat on the bench, still steaming.
He’d made her coffee.
She stared at it, her throat tight. Part of her wanted to tip it down the sink just to be petty. But the sledgehammer in her skull won. Her fingers wrapped around the warmth, and she inhaled deeply.
A sharp knock at the door cut through her headache. It was way too early for anyone to be visiting.
Emily shoved her hair back, tugged his shirt down as far as it would go and stumbled to the door, barefoot and squinting.
She didn’t even check the peephole, just yanked it open, already forming an apology for whoever…
It was her mum, arms crossed, eyebrows raised to dangerous heights, giving her the full-body scan she’d perfected when Emily was fifteen and got caught sneaking in at 3 am.
‘So were you going to tell me you were in town, Emmy? Or do I have to hear it from publicans?’
She swept past Emily like she owned the place, her heels clicking on the worn floorboards with military precision.
‘Well, I suppose I should be grateful someone in town thought to let me know my only daughter was here. Terry-Ann Carter called this morning. Imagine my surprise.’
Emily blinked, her brain still catching up. She was standing there in Leo’s shirt with no pants while her mother catalogued the evidence of her life choices.
‘Mum, I was going to call today,’ Emily managed, gripping the coffee mug like a shield.
Her mum gave her one of those looks, the kind that started at Emily’s wine-stained lips, travelled down the shirt that clearly wasn’t hers, and landed on her bare legs.
‘You look terrible. Your eyes are bloodshot. How much did you drink last night?’
Emily sipped her coffee instead of answering. The words would come out wrong anyway.
Her mum looked around the room, taking it all in, the listing couch with its broken leg, Emily’s jeans crumpled on the floor like evidence at a crime scene.
‘I’ve never seen the accommodation up here,’ she said, her voice dripping with judgment. ‘But then again, I’ve never needed to. Neither should you.’
Emily opened her mouth to defend herself, but at that moment the bathroom door opened.
Leo emerged in just a towel. Low on his hips, one adjustment away from indecent. Hair dripping, chest bare and broad and ridiculous in the morning light. Water traced down his sternum and disappeared, and Emily’s brain short-circuited completely.
Her mum turned. For once in her life, speechless.
Leo took in the scene and smiled with the same easy confidence he’d shown at the festival. Like standing nearly naked in front of his hook-up’s mother was perfectly normal Tuesday morning behaviour.
‘Good morning. I am Leo.’ He stepped forward, hand extended as if he wasn’t one towel slip away from making this infinitely worse. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Leanne,’ Emily’s mum replied, shaking his hand while maintaining eye contact with impressive determination. ‘Emily’s mother.’
The air crystallised between them.
‘You should probably get dressed,’ Emily said to the floor, face burning.
Leo glanced at her, then pointedly at his shirt. The one currently serving as her only coverage. He had one eyebrow raised, his mouth quirking in that way that made her want to throw something at him.
He moved to the coffee table, picked up his jeans and hers with unhurried grace. ‘Lead the way,’ he said, nodding at the bedroom.
Emily turned on her heel. ‘Excuse us.’
The bedroom door clicked shut.
Silence stretched between them, loaded with last night’s rejection and this morning’s mortification.
Then the towel dropped.
It happened just like that. No warning. All of him, right there, morning light on every angle.
Emily froze, everything in her shorting out. Twenty-one years old and she’d never seen anyone that naked, that casually, that close. Especially not someone who’d rejected her six hours earlier while she lay sprawled on the floor.
He stepped into his jeans like he hadn’t just caused a complete system failure in her brain.
‘It is rude to stare,’ he said, that slight smile playing at his lips as he zipped his fly.
Emily went red everywhere. But she saw her chance. Some small piece of power she could reclaim from this disaster.
She lifted her chin, met his eyes directly. Then reached for the hem of his shirt. And lifted it over her head.
The shirt came off in one smooth motion, full intention, no apology.
Leo’s hands stilled on his zip, his breath catching audibly. For a second, his composure cracked completely. His eyes tracked down her body once, then jerked back to her face like he’d been burned.
Steady despite her racing pulse, Emily held his gaze and calmly fastened her bra. Pulled on yesterday’s jumper with deliberate slowness.
‘So’s walking around with no pants,’ she said coolly, stepping into her jeans. ‘Rude,’ she added.
He laughed, not smug, genuinely surprised and maybe a little impressed.
‘Still angry with me?’ he asked quietly as she headed for the door.
Emily glanced back. ‘Obviously.’
The word carried weight. Last night’s humiliation, this morning’s disaster, the strange dance they were doing around each other. But her small act of defiance had changed the temperature between them, and she’d reclaimed a piece of dignity.
They emerged to find her mum examining the limited teabag selection with the intensity of someone decoding state secrets.
‘Much better,’ she said, noting Emily’s actual clothes. ‘I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten what pants were. Though given the state of that couch, perhaps that’s a recent development.’
Before Emily could respond, Terry-Ann appeared in the doorway like a hangover angel, apron on and smile ready.
‘Morning, love! Just popped up to let you know I’ve switched on the machine downstairs. Proper beans. And if you’re feeling a bit dusty, I can knock up some bacon-and-egg rolls?’
Emily looked at her, then at Leo, who somehow managed to look as good as he had last night: polished, unruffled, not a hint of wine headache anywhere on his unfairly perfect face.
‘You are literally sent from heaven,’ Emily told Terry-Ann.
‘That’s what I keep telling Jason,’ she said. ‘He never listens. Come on down when you’re ready.’
The stairs felt steeper than they had last night, each one a reminder of why tequila shots were not her friend. She gripped the banister, hyperaware of Leo behind her, of her mother’s heels on each tread.
The bistro was mostly quiet. Tradies with iced coffees, an elderly couple with a scone each.
They slid into a back table. Leo beside Emily. Her mum opposite, adjusting her necklace like she’d been invited to high tea.
‘I hope you’re not too embarrassed, Emily,’ she started, reaching for sugar. ‘Everyone has those nights. Though not everyone parades them down a hotel hallway.’
Emily flushed. Leo reached for a menu.
‘I am certainly not embarrassed,’ he said calmly. ‘We had a wonderful night. Dancing. Singing. Meeting so many local people.’
He glanced at Emily. She managed a grateful half-smile.
Her mum’s attention shifted immediately.
‘You’re very well-spoken. Polite. Respectful. Your mother must be a lovely woman.’
Leo hesitated. ‘She passed away when I was twelve.’
‘Oh. I am so sorry, dear.’ She pivoted without missing a beat. ‘And what do you do, Leo?’
‘Mum, he’s a musician,’ Emily said firmly. ‘He’s travelling with Eurofest.’
‘Of course. But you’re clearly very articulate. You must have done some study? Something to fall back on?’
Leo waited for her to run out of breath.
‘I finished a law degree two years ago,’ he said quietly. ‘Took some time off to travel after that.’
‘Law!’ Her mum brightened. ‘Well-travelled and well-educated. Did you know Emily was offered a partial scholarship to Ballarat Uni? She could have done law too. She was dux of her year with one of the highest entry scores in the region.’
Emily wanted to disappear.
‘And she threw it all away,’ her mum continued breezily, ‘to hand out loaves of bread from the back of a promo car. Street team for a radio station. No plan B. Just handing out cans of Coke and competition tickets, hoping someone might actually put her on the radio.’
The words landed exactly where she aimed them. Emily stared at the table, her jaw tight.
Leo sat back slightly. ‘I believe you under-appreciate what she does.’
Her mum raised an eyebrow.
‘When I met Emily,’ he said, ‘she was on stage, in front of fifteen thousand people commanding their attention. She had them laughing and cheering. They were completely in her hands. She had presence. Authority.’
He turned to Emily. ‘She will be one of the best radio hosts in the country, if that is what she wants.’
Her mum didn’t speak. For once.
Leo nodded politely. ‘It really was a pleasure meeting you, Leanne. However, we do have to get back to the city.’
Outside in the morning sun that felt too bright for Emily’s hangover, Leo kissed her mother’s cheeks in that European way that left her slightly flustered. She actually smiled before getting in her car.
Emily stayed on the footpath, trying to process what had just happened. Then a movement caught her eye.
Next to her dusty Hilux sat that familiar black BMW. Engine purring. And behind the wheel, the same man from the festival. Suit, sunglasses, professional stillness.
Like he’d been trained to wait. Like waiting was his job.
Emily looked at Leo.
‘You survived,’ he said quietly, touching her elbow briefly. ‘That could not have been easy.’
She exhaled slowly, then tilted her head towards the car. ‘Has your driver been here the whole time? All night?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s the same security guy from Eurofest.’
Leo followed her gaze, something flickering across his face. ‘That is Claude. He mostly reads newspapers and solves crosswords. He’s very good at crosswords.’
Emily studied Leo, this man who played guitar in a pub but travelled with security, who had a law degree but chose music, who defended her to her mother like it cost him nothing.
‘You are not just a musician, are you?’
He smiled. ‘I am exactly the man I have been with you.’
Which wasn’t really an answer at all.