The paps didn’t know we were gone yet, but they would soon. After that…
This was the moment that’d kept me awake at night before Asher and I started dating. The moment when my life changed and was no longer my own.
It was one of the many reasons I’d been hesitant to get involved with him, but he’d proved time and again that none of those reasons mattered. My life hadn’t truly been my own since I met him, and if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.
However, that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared of what was coming. It wasn’t the scrutiny that unnerved me; it was the uncertainty.
Would the press paint us as heroes or villains? How deep into my life would they dig? Would they limit their attention to me, or would they go after everyone I worked and interacted with?
“Don’t worry, darling.” It was like Asher could read my mind. “We’ll get through it together.”
I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat.
We’d spent the better part of the summer preparing for the storm. Well, the storm was here, and he was right: we’d get through it together.
We didn’t have another choice.
When we arrived at the hotel, we made it to our suite without incident. Sloane had sent someone to bring me extra clothes and essentials from my flat, so I wasn’t stuck wearing the same outfit for God knew how long.
While Asher showered and I waited for my belongings to arrive, I called my parents back. I finally had the energy to talk to them, and I didn’t want to compound their worries by being radio silent.
I checked in with my father first. He must’ve been waiting for my call because he picked up on the first ring when it usually took me several tries to reach him (he was a big believer in digital detoxes).
“Scarlett.” His worried voice flowed over the line and made my eyes prickle with emotion. I hadn’t realized how long it’d been since we actually talked. “How are you, ma chérie?”
“I’m fine. I just got out of the hospital.” I explained the situation to him. “We’re staying at the hotel until things with the press die down.”
“The press.” My father made a disgusted noise. His opinion of the press hovered just above his opinion of politicians (whom he despised) and below his opinion of fast food (which he considered an abomination). “The press are vultures,” he said, switching fully to French. “It is their job to be as horrid as possible to get clicks. Don’t listen to a thing they say.”
“I’ll try not to.” I forced a smile even though he couldn’t see me. “How are you feeling? Is your hip still bothering you?”
“It’s okay now, but you know, it was so terrible over the summer.” My father heaved a huge sigh, and despite the circumstances, my smile turned genuine. Jean-Paul DuBois was nothing if not dramatic. “Luckily, your brother was here to help, or I would’ve been stuck with the nurse by myself. Can you imagine? Me, alone with a stranger twenty-four-seven in my house? Bah!”
“Really?” I leaned deeper against the headboard. “Vincent said you quite liked the nurse after a while.”
“What? He said what?” My father sounded flustered. “Don’t listen to your brother. He should focus more on taking care of you and not about whether I like my nurse. That’s what he’s there for.”
“He’s here to play football, Dad, not take care of me,” I said, glancing at the bathroom door. Asher was still in the shower. “I don’t need taking care of. I’m an adult.”
“An adult who was hospitalized and now has her picture all over the news.” I flinched, and my father sighed again when I didn’t answer. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh, ma chérie, but you must understand why I worry.”
My throat clogged at way his voice softened. In his eyes, I was still his little girl, but he couldn’t soothe all my hurts with a hug and a kiss anymore. That time had passed, and we both knew it.
“I understand, and I know I’ve made mistakes,” I said. “But I’m fixing them. Don’t worry too much about me, okay?”
“It’s in a parent’s nature to worry.” Nevertheless, my father didn’t press the subject. “If the attention gets to be too much, or if you need a break from the city, you can always come and stay with me. Paris is better than London, anyway.”
Another smile flickered over my mouth. “Thank you. I’ll visit you soon. Just…just not now, okay?” I couldn’t run away to France and pretend my problems didn’t exist, no matter how much I wanted to.
We spoke for another few minutes before I hung up, took a deep breath, and called my mother. As expected, she was beside herself.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said after I gave her the same summary I gave my father. She sounded like she’d been crying. “I know how much the showcase means to you, and you know how thrilled I am that you’re dancing again, but you have to take care of yourself. I’m not in London anymore to watch over you, and I just…” I could practically hear her shaking her head as she sniffled. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”
“Trust me. I’ve learned my lesson,” I said. I hated making her worry, but I also hated how everyone in my family infantilized me sometimes. “I know better than to push myself that hard in the future.”
There was a long silence before my mother spoke again. “Are you sure you want to stay in the showcase? Perhaps it would be better if…” She trailed off, but her sentiment was clear.
I sat up straighter, my heartbeat quickening. My mother had always been my biggest supporter when it came to ballet. She’d been devastated when my doctors said I’d never dance professionally again, and I knew part of her secretly hoped I’d make some sort of miraculous recovery so my career could pick up where I’d left off.
For her to suggest I pull out of the showcase…she really was worried. I should’ve known when she didn’t even bring up Asher. Normally, my love life was at the forefront of her mind.
“I’m sure,” I said, my voice firm. “It’s only a few months away. I can do this. I have to.”
If I quit, all my hard work would’ve been for nothing. I would’ve been hospitalized for nothing. I refused to let that happen, especially when there was so much riding on my performance. I needed to prove to myself I could do it, if only for one last time.
“Alright.” My mother must’ve heard the determination in my voice because she didn’t argue. However, her sigh contained a multitude of worries. “Just promise me you’ll take better care of yourself, okay?”
“I will,” I said as the bathroom door opened and Asher stepped out. I gave him a small smile, which he returned. “I promise.”
ASHER
To say Coach was angry was like saying Mount Etna got a little spicy sometimes. He was, to put it simply, livid.
It was the Monday after the Holchester match. Scarlett and I were still camped out in the Ashworth’s presidential suite, and when I’d arrived at Blackcastle’s training grounds, the paps were already out in full force. I’d have to pull MI5-worthy maneuvers after practice to ensure they didn’t tail me back to the hotel.
