Chapter 23: Reality

After having my access to Ed's private quarters revoked thanks to our ill-judged secret meetings, I'd felt like I'd been cut off from a part of his life that I'd always been part of. But now, as we reached an intersection that led left for the penthouse lift and right for the rest of the wing, it gave me an easy way to slip away from him.

"Any other plans for tonight?" He leaned a shoulder against the wall and slid his hands into his pockets.

If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if he was trying to entice me up to his room. But that earlier suspicion had reappeared, and with it, I trod carefully.

I hated lying to him, but admitting the truth would achieve nothing. He'd either tell me not to go—which would result in an argument—or he'd spend his night fretting about the potential consequences—which would then mean I'd be worrying about him being stressed rather than enjoying myself.

For just one evening, I wanted to make a decision only for me. Tomorrow my photo would be all over the internet, but tonight I'd blend in as an ordinary person. If I was going to continue this charade with him, I had to stay in touch with my own reality, too.

"It's midnight." I made a point of looking at the time on my phone. "And, honestly, I'm exhausted from pretending to fancy you all night, so I'll probably just go straight to sleep."

His lips twitched in amusement, but his broad shoulders tightened with tension. My lie hadn't fooled him.

"You were very convincing, Sophia. Congratulations on a job well done."

"Yeah, well," I said breezily, "the whole world fancies Teddy Stone. Not exactly a difficult job, is it? Just a damn long one. So, anyway, night."

As I turned to leave, his fingers darted out to curl around my wrist, clamping down and tugging me back towards him. I stumbled into his solid body, my hands flattening against the hard planes of his chest. For a moment, the suspicion in his eyes melted into a dark heat. For a moment, I forgot all about my plans with Camille.

"I don't want you to do anything stupid." The quiet words spilled from his lips, drawing my mind out of his bed and back to the dimly lit corridor.

I stepped back and smoothed down my dress. "Since when was going to bed stupid?"

Sighing, Ed folded his arms. "Trying to do something without me finding out is one thing. Lying to my face about it? I thought we were better than that, Sophia."

The remark struck me like a sucker punch to the gut. It was the final straw in a night that had sliced at my resilience over and over again. And rather than guilt-trip me into cancelling my plans with Camille, it spurred me on.

Inhaling a deep breath, I stared up into those beautiful blue eyes and said, perfectly calmly, "Night, Ed."

Frustration flashed across his face, but I didn't linger to watch it morph into anger. I strode down the right-hand fork and didn't stop until I reached my room.

*

"You look amazing!" Camille looped her arm through mine as I stepped off the Tube. "Thought you didn't believe in my disguise approach? Nailed it."

I smiled politely, my mind still partly on Ed. "I wouldn't go that far."

But I had tried my best. When using my straighteners to style my new fringe, I'd made a spontaneous decision to straighten the rest of my hair too. I couldn't remember the last time I'd sacrificed my waves—I didn't like what straight hair did to the shape of my face—but now seemed like a good time to take the plunge.

Although tonight was probably the last night I could avoid being recognised, I still wanted to minimise any risk. Those photos wouldn't go public until tomorrow, but if this was now my life—at least for the foreseeable future—then I needed to take it seriously.

Camille led us to a packed club, bustling with eager party animals on a Saturday night in London. As soon as we stepped into the main room, the thumping music deafened my residing doubts, the bass vibrating through my ribcage and warming my cold heart. 

This was me. Not some arm candy hanging off Teddy Stone. Not some convenient placeholder to pacify Hattie Steele's team. Not some subject in a scathing song.

Me.

*

I raised my arms towards the flashing lights shooting out from the ceiling, swaying my head in time with the upbeat tune. Every fear and doubt and pain drained from my body. Each song spoke to me—not via lyrics, but via its beat.

Who needed alcohol or drugs when music could bring you to such a delirious high?

I'd been very clear with Camille on what I wanted from this night. Firstly, under absolutely no circumstances were we to dance with anyone other than each other—even if they didn't recognise us, I refused to flirt with someone else. And secondly, if it looked like someone was staring a bit too hard, we were to move elsewhere.

Camille leaned into me, wrapping her arm around my neck as she pressed her mouth to my ear.

"There's a guy by the door watching you. Want to move?"

Out of instinct, I glanced over my shoulder towards the entrance. Apparently even this short period in the club had eroded some of the experience I'd gained through working with Teddy Stone, because I was momentarily surprised to see Mark here.

And then the surprise at him being here evolved into surprise only at his clothes. Having foregone the usual suit, he wore acid wash jeans and a loose, black tee. Ostentatious pecs peeked out above the deep v-neck, his massive biceps stretching the short sleeves. My eyes followed the casual outfit downwards until they reached the white loafers on his feet before retreating back up to his expressionless face.

For a few seconds, we stared at each other. How long had he been there? I wasn't aware of any GPS trackers hidden in my belongings, which meant he must have followed me here from the hotel. So had Ed seriously ratted me out to him?

Groups of nearby girls had also clocked him, and now that we'd both acknowledged each other's presence here, I turned back to Camille with an easy smile.

"It's fine. I know him. Security team."

If he wanted to speak to me, he could come onto the dance floor to do it. Judging by the hungry looks those girls were casting in his direction, I'd give him less than ten minutes before he had to fend off their propositions. Although... I'd love to see him squirm.

"He's fucking hot. You get all the good ones, don't you?"

I grinned at her. "Seriously? After the performance you and Jamie put on earlier? Platonic, my arse."

She threw back her head to laugh. "I swear! We're just so used to each other now that the PDA comes naturally. I'm not his type. Trust me."

My curiosity yearned to know more about their backstory. I didn't ask, though. Tonight wasn't about the fake girlfriends of famous pop stars. Tonight was about two women clinging onto their version of reality.

*

As I sifted through my bag for my wallet, a hand reached past me and tapped a debit card against the payment reader.

"Careful," I said to Mark. "You start paying for my drinks and I'll get the wrong idea."

"Hopefully those girls over there get the wrong idea, too."

"I see. And here I was thinking you were spying on me. Turns out you're here for a good time."

His straight mouth actually twitched at that. "Planning to leave any time soon?"

"You mean you're not going to drag me out?" I drummed my fingertips against the bar top in time with the music and angled my body to face him.

"Of course not, but I don't know how many more times I can tell someone I don't want to dance with them."

I arched a brow at him. "Maybe you should leave, then."

He mirrored my arched brow. "You know I can't do that."

"So make it worth my while and dance with me? I bet you've got some mean moves within those robotic limbs of yours, and I'd love to see them."

"Absolutely not."

"It'll be two birds with one stone: those girls will stop targeting you, and you'll restore my buzz. Because I was very buzzed but seeing you here has killed that. And when I get my hands on Ed, I'm going to kill him, too."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. We've got a great legal team."

Thanking the bartender, I scooped our drinks from the counter and weaved my way through queuing bodies, back into the open space. Mark followed, nodding politely at Camille when I handed over her cocktail.

"I'm afraid you're wasting your time hitting on her. She told me she didn't want to pick up any men tonight." Camille's face stayed perfectly straight, despite the faux-innocent words she directed at Mark.

"That's reassuring," he said dryly, folding his arms.

Reassuring for him or for the pop star I was supposed to be dating? He didn't elaborate, and I took a sip of my coke, hoping the caffeine would restore my buzz.

"Look." I placed my glass onto the shelf behind me, and Mark immediately reached out to grab it, temporarily distracting me from my original train of thought. "What, so you can buy my drinks but not your own?"

His jaw ticked. "I'm not drinking it, Sophia. I'm stopping you getting spiked."

"Ah, so you're not just a pretty face for me to enjoy tonight? You really are trying to protect me."

"Stop that." He shoved the drink into my hand, and my fingers closed around the cool, damp glass.

"Stop what?"

"Pretending to flirt with me. It's not going to work."

"Work? And what is my intention exactly when I pretend to flirt with you?"

Camille's eyes darted between Mark and me, her mouth fixed around her straw as she sipped her drink and watched our exchange.

"You're trying to get a rise out of me," he said.

Okay, fair enough. That was indeed my intention.

"Mark, you're dressed in civvies, at two in the morning, in a busy London club. I think I've succeeded in getting a rise out of you. Sorry that it took me living my life like a normal human being to achieve it."

His eyes narrowed a tad, and then he raised his hands in surrender. "Just doing my job. I'll go and do it somewhere more discreet. You let me know when you're ready to leave. Deal?"

I pressed my lips together, expecting more of an argument. I should have known better.

"Deal," I said. "See you at six."

And still, he didn't react. If the prospect of staying in his idea of Hell for another four hours didn't get a rise out of him, nothing would.

As he disappeared into the shadows, Camille puffed out a breath and fanned her face.

"Holy mother of God. That man is something else."

"Hm." I swirled the coke around in my glass. "I don't like being supervised."

"Comes with the territory," she said. "They tailed me for months before they realised they could trust me."

Fantastic. If this came down to trust, I'd never be a free woman. It was a harrowing thought. Even if Mark and Helen ever did learn to trust me after the stunt I pulled in spring, it would be so far in the future that I'd probably be recognisable by then, having appeared with Ed multiple times. And then I'd want their stupid protection.

"I just wanted one night. Just one where I could pretend life was normal before everything changes."

"You still can." She reached to squeeze my arm. "I know you were joking about staying here until six, but we can do that if you want. Your security man is nowhere to be seen."

"No, but he'll be here. Watching..."

"And what? Ignore him. This is your night."

She had a point. If this really was my last night of fake freedom, did I want to waste it sulking?

Hell no.

*

Ninety minutes later, Camille and I embraced at the taxi rank before she hopped in a cab. I turned back towards the entrance, ready to look for Mark, but paused when I spotted him leaning against a wall further down the street, looking extra casual in a leather jacket. Although his eyes were on me, he didn't move.

Trust. Everything about this came down to trust.

Taking a deep breath, I hurried towards him as fast as my aching feet would carry me, and only when I came within a few metres did he push off the wall and slide his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I'm ready to leave," I said.

He jerked his head down the street and I fell into step beside him. Silence accompanied us until we reached his car. Mark opened the passenger door for me, and I quietly thanked him, dropping into the seat. As he crossed over to the driver's side, he plucked a slip of paper from beneath the windscreen wiper and shoved it into his pocket.

"Marketing?" I asked as he ducked into the car.

"Parking ticket."

"Oh. Shit. Sorry."

"Not your fault. The label will pay." After securing his phone into the hands-free socket, he pulled on his belt and started the engine.

"It sort of is my fault, though. You're here because of me."

"I get tickets all the time, Sophia. It's not a big deal. In this job you don't always have the luxury of a convenient car park."

He shifted the car into gear, checked his mirrors, then pulled off. I stared out of the window as we meandered through the streets until his ringing phone drew my attention back to the interior of the car.

ES

And just like that, my new reality stormed through my bubble of serenity and sucked all the positivity out of me. One night. All I'd wanted was one night to feel like a meaningful human after spending hours functioning as nothing more than an accessory. A PR stunt. A get-out-of-jail-free card. Instead, he'd sent the babysitters after me. Because under no circumstances could we risk the perfect Teddy Stone looking bad.

"You gonna get that?" I asked Mark.

He didn't take his eyes off the road. "No."

Clearly he didn't want to take the call hands-free when I'd be able to listen in. My fingers twitched, but trust. I had to be trusted.

"Mind if I answer it?"

For a split-second, his gaze shifted across to me. It could have been a combination of the streetlights, headlights and taillights surrounding us, but his eyes seemed to sparkle as he answered me.

"Be my guest."

Smiling, I plucked the phone out of the socket and slid the bar across to answer it.

"Mark Anderson's phone," I sang.

Silence. Then, cold and distant, "Put Mark on."

"Oh, this is disappointing. When I saw these initials pop up, I was hoping it was Ed Sheeran."

I waited for another equally icy yet increasingly annoyed response, but instead the line went dead.

"Rude," I said, pulling the phone away from my ear. "He hung up on me."

Mark said nothing at first. He slowed as he approached a junction, flicked on his indicator, then floored it when a gap appeared in the traffic.

"He was worried about you," he said.

"He wasn't worried about me," I said. "He was worried I'd do something stupid like go home with a random guy when I'm allegedly dating him."

"He didn't think that."

I glanced across at him, hands steady on the steering wheel, jaw relaxed as we coasted along the road.

"What are you, his spokesperson?"

"No, but I may as well be. He's been on the phone to me non-stop all night."

Sighing, I hung my head. "Sorry. It shouldn't be your job to babysit me—"

"It's not babysitting, and it is my job."

"Whether I like it or not, right?"

Mark scraped a hand across his face. "Sophia."

"Sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just tired. Long evening."

"You don't have to apologise. I know how you're feeling. It'll fade."

"What'll fade?"

"The panic. The fear that life as you know it is slipping away. The pressure. Ed knows it, too. He went through a similar thing, remember. That's why he's worried about you."

I let his words settle, an unfamiliar wave of compassion towards this robotic man soothing some of my residual frustration.

"He's still pissed with me. He'll probably hate Camille too now, which isn't fair."

Technically it had been Camille's idea, but I'd agreed to it. I'd put it into motion. I'd lied to Ed's face about it. She shouldn't get the blame for that.

"No," Mark said. "He knows you're out, but he doesn't know where or with whom. I just said I had eyes on you, and all was fine."

My heart stuttered as I whipped my head right to look at him. "Honestly?"

He briefly met my eyes. "Honestly."

I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat. "Why?"

"Because it's none of his business. If you don't want him to know—whatever your reasons for that—then it's not my place to tell."

For the first time, I felt like Mark was protecting me as my own person, not as a commodity of Ed. I shifted in my seat and crossed one leg over the other.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"If you're unhappy, Sophia, you need to talk to Helen."

I sighed and tilted my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. "I'm not unhappy. It's just an adjustment period. And believe it or not, I do care about Ed. A lot. Professionally and...otherwise."

"I don't need convincing. We can all see it."

"He probably thinks I don't give a shit, but it's not true. I give too much of a shit about him. That's the problem. I need to make sure I'm still looking out for myself too. I need to remember who I am. I know this role—however temporary—comes with personal sacrifices. And I know he makes sacrifices every day to enjoy this lifestyle too. But if everything I'm doing is all for pretend, I have to keep a hold on what's real."

Mark made a non-committal humming sound, drawing my eyes across the centre console and onto him. Despite the personal nature of the conversation, he still appeared relaxed behind the wheel, like this free therapy session he was unknowingly offering me didn't faze him.

Or was it unknowingly? Ed had once said that Mark became a supportive shoulder to cry on during his darker days, that he'd looked out for him on a personal level, too. Watching them interact now, they often had a friendlier edge to their conversations—not purely professional.

Perhaps it was delusional of me to wonder if Mark would play that same role in my life, but if nothing else I knew he wouldn't judge.

"Sorry," I said again. "Hearing about my love life is absolutely not part of your job."

A deep sigh fell from his mouth. "If only that were true."

And then he cast the tiniest wink in my direction, so brief that I might have imagined it, if it weren't for the smile that followed. 

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

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Longest chapter so far! Do you understand how Soph is feeling? Is this the start of a better relationship with Mark, or should she be wary of trusting him?