Chapter Four #2
Mona cut through the room, putting herself between us and the cameras. “We're getting out of here,” she said, glancing around the room as if she expected treachery in every corner. “Jack, you might need to carry her.”
Caroline stepped out from behind my head of PR. She went straight to Samantha and knelt beside her, her big doe eyes wide but filled with a calmness that surprised me.
“It's okay,” she said, stroking Samantha's hair. “You are going to get through this. You and that baby are going to be just fine, you understand? Do you have any idea how much love you're surrounded by, babygirl?”
Samantha's head turned. She looked at Caroline like she was seeing her for the first time.
“I am so scared,” she whimpered.
“It's okay to be scared,” Caroline said soothingly. “I'm scared, too. You're scared, but you're strong. You just have to get through the next minute, then the next, then the next.”
It reminded me of something I would've heard from Yui. I wondered if our new makeup expert didn't have a little bit of psychology somewhere in her background.
“You can be scared at home,” Mona muttered. “This interview's over.” She glanced over at Fiona, her entire manner radiating disdain. “Thank you so much for the ambush.”
Fiona blanched. “There’s not enough of this for us to air—”
Something snapped in me. “That's what you're worried about!?”
It came out far harsher than I'd intended. Fiona nearly fell out of her chair; next to her, Dawn took a full step backwards, as if remembering what I'd once done to her husband.
Soon to be ex-husband, I guess. Not like it mattered.
“Babygirl, I'm going to carry you,” I said, reaching for her hips. The irony wasn't lost on me that this was now the second time I'd be carrying one of my wives away from an interview that was supposed to increase our public support. “Just close your eyes. We'll get you home soon—”
But Samantha was already shaking her head. “Fiona's right,” she said, putting the heels of her hands against her eyes to wipe the tears. “The interview's half-finished. We can't... I mean, she obviously can't air what just happened.”
I wondered about that. But from the look on Fiona's face, I sensed she wouldn't dare be that callous.
“No,” Fiona blurted. Then, calmer: “No. I should be apologizing to you.” She glanced over at Dawn, her eyes narrowing.
“I was under the impression this was going to be a fun mother/daughter bonding session.
If I'd had any idea what was about to go down, I would've pulled this. This is an awful way to treat a guest.” She paused, putting on a sheepish grin.
“Especially one who's such a big fan she used to organize listening parties at her sorority.”
“We appreciate the apology,” Mona cut in. Miraculously, she actually sounded like she meant it. “But this interview's over.”
Fiona licked her lips. “Okay, but open offer,” she said, nodding in Samantha's direction.
“I'll hold the footage. If you want to come back, in a few days or a week, and finish out the interview, I'll bend over backwards to make it happen.” She managed a smile.
“No surprises. Just you and me, and no one else.”
I don't think anything else could have brightened my babygirl's mood like Fiona's offer in that moment.
It didn't banish the horror and the dread etched in her features, but it did cut through it a bit.
The Call Your Daddy interview clearly meant a lot to Samantha if she was still thinking about it now.
Mona turned. For a long moment, Fiona's heart was weighed on her scales, and my head of PR was less a shark than Anubis himself. Mona sized her up, processing.
Whatever she'd seen, she evidently judged it good.
Or good enough.
“We'll be in touch,” Mona assured her. “As for you—” she gestured at Dawn, “—that's for Samantha to decide. But I know what advice I'd give her.”
Dawn sniffed hugely. “She's my daughter,” she whispered, as if this wiped away any multitude of sins. “You can't just leave it like this. There are things we need to talk about—”
With a grunt, I lifted Samantha from the couch. The middle-aged arms that hadn't been lifting weights nearly often enough since coming to Boston protested as my muscles strained, but once she was up and against me, she taxed me no more than a bag of groceries would have.
She melted against me, warm and safe. Then she lifted her face from my shirt, the fabric still bunched together from her fingers and wet from tears, and stared her mother down.
You're right,” she said, the words paining her. “We do have to have a talk, Mom.”
Dawn relaxed.
“But not now.”
The older woman's expression fell.
“I'm not ready to do this,” Samantha said, cutting her off before she could protest further.
“I don't know when I'll be ready to have this conversation with you, Mom.
I've just...” Her expression collapsed; she clutched me, sobbing, trying not to fall apart completely. “I just got some awful fucking news...”
Dawn looked like she wanted to protest. For a moment, she teetered on the verge of the old urges. Then she caught herself and nodded. “Okay, sweetheart. I understand.”
“I...” Samantha nearly buried her face in my shirt. “I hate how much you've lied to me,” she said. “But just this once, I really, really hope this is a trick.” She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “And not just because of me.”
“I wish it was,” Dawn said. “I'll wait to hear from you, pumpkin. However long that might take.”
Of all the things that had rattled her sense of self today, it was that—the word 'pumpkin', a word that Dawn probably hadn't called her since she was in elementary school—that sent Samantha into a tizzy.
She managed a choked sob before pressing herself against me, her fingers digging into my chest as I braced her body with my hands beneath her hips and ass.
It might have been the only time in my life I'd ever had my hands on Samantha's ass and wasn't asking myself how quickly we could get a locked door between us and the rest of the world.