Poles Apart

Her mouth popped open. “Oh, Carson, you didn’t!”

He frowned, ignoring her as he slammed his hand on the counter and shook his head, turning to me. “Stop making this hard, for fuck’s sake. Get over it already and just be fucking grateful you now have everything people dream about.” His steely glare bore into me as he spoke.

Words failed me. My mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out as I struggled to comprehend exactly how crazy he actually was. Apparently, he was expecting me to be grateful to him for forcing this life on me, disregarding what I wanted and taking away all my choices, free will and liberty.

He blew out a hefty breath, looking away from me as he gripped his hand into the back of his hair. “You hate me, I know,” he muttered sarcastically.

I shook my head. The most pathetic thing about me at that moment was when I realised I would never be able to hate him because I loved him too damn much.

“I’m not hungry anymore. It was lovely to meet you, Gloria.” I turned on my heel, needing to escape before the tears came. Behind me, I could hear his housekeeper laying into him on my behalf. I silently prayed she would drum some sense into him.

FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS, I sat on the bed with my knees pulled up to my chest. My heart hurt. My tears had stopped over an hour ago. My emotions were now just resigned to the fact this wasn’t going to change and I was trapped.

When a knock sounded at the door, I wiped my puffy face and went to answer it. As I pulled it open, Carson stood there, awkwardly kicking his toes against the expensive carpet. “Everything’s done now. Maybe we should go and pick up Sasha and Rory?”

Not having the energy to argue anymore, I nodded, turning back and picking up my mobile phone and handbag from the side where I’d left them. The house was quiet as we walked through it. Lots had changed since I came in yesterday. Half of the furniture was now gone – stored somewhere, no doubt, because it was mostly sleek glass or expensive-looking china. Every socket was plugged with little plastic covers, and stair gates were fixed at the top and bottom of the sweeping staircase, ruining the beautiful effect of it.

Wordlessly, I followed him to the interior door and down the staircase, which led to his garage. Instead of going to one of the sleek sports cars, he pressed the key to a massive black off-roader. To me, it looked a little like a monster truck. When he opened the passenger door for me, I had to climb to get onto the brown-leather bucket seat. A child car seat was already placed in the back. He certainly had thought of everything, it seemed.

“So, where am I going?” he asked as he started the engine.

After giving him the address and some basic directions to Lucie’s flat, I slumped down into my seat as he searched for her address on the satellite navigation system. When the garage door opened, my eyes widened as I spotted a few reporters camped outside the gates to his house. They all jumped up, snapping photos and shouting questions through the tinted-glass windows.

“They can’t see in, don’t worry,” Carson assured me, turning carefully into the street as the reporters surrounded the car, still shouting their questions and asking for a quote.

“Why are they still hanging around here? Hasn’t the story already broken? What more could they possibly want?” I asked incredulously.

He shrugged. “We’re big news right now, Em. They have to make money somehow.”

I huffed and folded my arms over my chest, knowing another outburst from me would do no good. Clearly Gloria the friendly housekeeper hadn’t been able to make him change his mind, either. Silence weighed heavily on me as I stewed inside, wondering how long this attention surrounding us would last. I had work tonight – would they follow me there asking for an exclusive quote, too? I hoped not.

“What do I do if the reporters are at the club tonight? Do I call Mason?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.

Carson snorted and shook his head. “You’re not going to the club.”

I raised one eyebrow at the sternness in his tone. “I am. I have work tonight. I can’t pull a sickie two nights in a row, Jason will be pissed.” I didn’t want to lose my job. Although I hated doing it, it was the only source of income I had.

“You don’t work there anymore. I’ll sort it out.” He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road as he spoke. “I can’t let you do that anymore, I’m sorry.”

I almost choked on air as I gaped at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “The press would crucify us if you carry on doing that. It’s not exactly a respectable job, is it? Now that you’re in the public eye, things will need to change.”

“Not respectable enough for a celebrity’s fiancée, you mean?” I spat. He shook his head but didn’t look at me. “It was respectable enough for you to get your kicks with, though, huh? A lap dancer isn’t exactly marriage material, though, is she? I guess you have to think of your image and what other people think of you.” I ground my teeth in frustration at the disrespect. “What happened to the ‘I don’t care what you do, you’re Emma Bancroft to me’ shit you spouted last week?” I asked acidly. Talk about double standards! “My job was all right when you were just after a casual fuck, but now all of a sudden I’m not good enough?”

“I never said you weren’t good enough!” he snapped, glaring at me before turning his attention to the road again. “I just can’t have you do that job if we’re getting married.” He shook his head forcefully as he pulled into an empty space outside Lucie’s block of flats. “I don’t want to argue with you anymore. I’m done. You no longer work there. End of.”