“Ready?” Rose asks. Everyone is waiting in the living room downstairs, our publicists, her father, her mother, her three sisters, Sam, Ryke, Loren and his son. Before I face the world, I have to face the people closest to us.
And the severity of the situation is clear with one fact: this has become an extended family affair.
“Wait,” I tell Rose. I comb her hair over one shoulder.
She inhales strictly, her collarbones jutting out.
I kiss the nape of her neck, and she clutches onto my arms. I kiss the line of her jaw and the softness of her cheek. She may be tentative and rigid, but this woman in reality is the same woman in my fantasies. No one else may ever understand this, but many people won’t ever come to understand me.
“I love you,” I whisper before kissing her forehead, my free hand holding her face.
Her yellow-green eyes narrow, scorching a hole through me. The corners of my lips begin to rise.
“I can’t cry again, Richard.” She’s afraid she might, and she just put on mascara.
I grin more. “Does love make you cry?”
“Not all love.”
“Just ours,” I say, as though pocketing a first place prize.
She covers my lips with her palm. Rose never steps away from me. We draw closer, our daughter between us. When she drops her hand, I still wear an unrestrained grin.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Her gaze flits to my lips.
“Because I love all of you.” Now I’m ready.
* * *
The minute we descend the stairs and round the corner, everyone rises off various pieces of furniture. I sometimes receive this royal treatment, my confidence propelling people to their feet. While I am fully poised—standing straight, expression composed, hand firmly in Rose’s while cradling my daughter with the other—I recognize that this is more of a trial proceeding than a kingly salutation.
Rose and I say nothing. We sit on the vacant couch, and everyone else follows suit. Our two publicists are seated across from us on wooden chairs. The one on the left works for the Calloway family: Corbin Nery, mid-fifties, extremely focused and bold enough to be a shark in high-profile crises, but also paid to protect Greg and Samantha’s reputation, even at the cost of mine.
The publicist on the right works for me: Naomi Ando, astoundingly diplomatic, rational and objective—all valuable assets.
Corbin and Naomi act like they’re working in conjunction—friendly, side-by-side allies—but they’re no more accomplices than I’d be to Jonathan Hale…who is suspiciously missing from this formal meeting.
Naomi clasps a folder. “We have a lot of ground to cover, Mr. Cobalt.”
Corbin unfurls his legal pad. “First, we all need to know what we’re dealing with here. Regardless of how we plan to approach the press, we need to know the truth.”
I unbutton my suit jacket, my daughter asleep on my lap, and I look straight at my father-in-law, seated next to his wife in the two Queen Anne chairs. In so many words, he’s basically telling me that he wants the truth, using Corbin as his mouthpiece.
Greg Calloway may be quiet-spoken and benevolent, but he loves all of his daughters above the men they attach themselves to. He’s only appreciated me for my business skills, my ability to kiss ass and paint a fake smile. He has no idea who I really am. I’ve been in the game of building relationships, not destroying them, and the truth will ruin everything.
Samantha touches her pearls once. “It has to be a lie.” I sense her judgment before I even utter a word. My irritation almost translates to my expression, but I force back any facial movements, remaining impassive.
Rose is biting her tongue, ready to lash out, but she won’t unleash this answer before me.
It’s mine to set free.
“Be more specific,” I finally speak. “What exactly am I acknowledging?”
Naomi says bluntly, “GBA News and eleven other outlets are suggesting you’ve been in a sexual relationship with three men, two of which were former students at Faust Boarding School for Young Boys.”
“Is this true or false?” Corbin asks.
In this room, there are a handful of people unaware of my past: Sam, Poppy, Samantha, Greg, and maybe even Lily if Lo hasn’t caught her up yet.
I choose to meet my father-in-law’s stern gaze. I can’t falter this time, not like I have with my friends. I want it to come out like it means nothing, even if it may change everything.
As easily as if I’m stating the temperature, I say, “True.” My core tightens, but I’m the only one who feels this.
Greg turns his head, unable to look me in the eyes. He practically grinds his teeth. I think his hatred stems from a father trying to protect his daughter, so he must believe the whole story then—that’d I create a business arrangement with Rose. If someone in our inner circle actually believes this dramatic elaboration of the truth, then we’re as sincerely fucked as I thought we’d be.
“Rose,” Samantha says in a scolding tone. “Did you know about this?”
“Yes,” Rose says powerfully. “And I don’t care. We all have past relationships…” she trails off, and I glance at her in my peripheral. She made a slip—since she’s never been in a relationship before me.
I squeeze her hand in comfort, but her shoulders lock.
Samantha rocks forward, her trembling fingers pressed to her mouth. Greg is glaring at the wall, and I’m more concerned with how Rose is handling their reactions. While she’s had many disagreements with her mother and sometimes even her father, none have been this serious.
I study her sharp breathing, about to move this conversation along, but Rose’s older sister interjects.
“You’re really comfortable with this, Rose?” Poppy asks as though trying to make sense of the truth.
Lo chimes in, “For Christ’s sake, he slept with some guys—he didn’t commit a fucking murder.”
Corbin makes a checkmark on his legal pad. “It’d be helpful if you stayed quiet, Loren,” he says. “You’re going to make this worse if you talk at all.”
The bottom of my stomach sinks, but I’d been waiting for Lo to realize the shredder our friendship is about to be put through.
“What was that?” Lo sends a scathing glare at Corbin and then passes Moffy to Lily, his family of three cuddled on the loveseat.
“It’s one of our talking points,” Corbin states. “We’ll reach it in a minute. Let’s not go out of order.”
Lo clenches his teeth and turns to me for answers, his questioning, baffled look asking, did you know we’d be a fucking talking point?
Yes. I knew.
“Why w
ouldn’t I be comfortable?” Rose suddenly spouts at her sister. “I’m married to him. We have a child together. Do you worry about all the people Sam has fucked in the past?”
“Whoa.” Sam raises his hands in defense. “Please don’t drag me into this.”
“No,” Poppy tells Rose, her tone calm. “I don’t worry about his exes, but this is a little different, don’t you think?”
My mother-in-law, Samantha, pipes in, “Why wouldn’t you tell me if you knew this entire time? I’m your mother.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Rose retorts. “Have you told me everyone your husband used to bang before he slept with you?”
Greg yells, “It’s not the same, Rose!” He rises to his feet.
“It should be!” Rose stands with the same ire. It should be. Maybe one day it will be, but right now, today, me having sex with a woman and me having sex with a man does not hold the same connotation to them the way it does to me, the way it does to Rose.
Yelling isn’t the solution, even if I’d love to rise by her side and scream as loudly and as passionately. I clutch her hand, pulling her until she sits down again. I rub the small of her back and whisper, “Give them time to process.”
She whips her head to me, eyes on fire. “I just want them to understand.” Her low voice is only audible to me.
“Patience, darling.”
She lets out a vexed breath.
Greg remains standing, hands on his waist, pacing to the window and back to his chair a couple times. He motions to Corbin to continue, unable to produce the words, unable to look me in the eye and ask me himself.
So I must speak to someone who works for him. I imagine myself laughing in frustration, glaring at the ceiling, shaking my head, every reaction that I can only internalize. I don’t wear my antipathy or my outrage or my aggravation—but it fucking exists inside of me, scraping at my brain.
Corbin asks, “Did you marry Rose to hide your sexuality? And is this arrangement consensual between both parties?”
I can feel my jaw muscles try to contract. Consensual. As though I forced her into our marriage. “I married Rose because we love each other,” I state plainly. They wait for an emotional downpour from me. It’s not in me to kick and scream and drop to my knees. Rose thinks she may have a hard time convincing the world that she loves me, but I’m going to have a much harder time convincing her parents that I love their daughter. “We had no ulterior motives,” I conclude.