Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
His expression turned to stone, like Medusa had snuck into the iOS operating system.
“Different…bloody…?” I tried to guess at the extremely English word he would have spat next. “Tosser?”
Nah, not extreme enough, for the way he looked at the moment.
He actually answered, “I have no comment at this time,” and hung up without a further word. Before he could turn off the ringer, email alerts began exploding like microwave popcorn.
“What’s going on?” My arms crept around my stomach, as though I could hug myself safe from whatever was happening.
Weary, defeated, he said, “It appears Stephen has said some rather shocking things in an interview. There are members of the press looking for my comment on our ‘love affair’.”
“’Love affair?’” I choked back my revulsion.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to change this number.” He regarded the phone on the desk with his hand wrapped around his chin.
How could he just sweep those horrible words under the rug? How could he ignore this? Stephen was outing Neil and framing what had happened between them as though it had been romantic. “I think you need to do more than just change your number.”
“I’ll contact Joe Davis at Elwood and Stern. They’ve helped me with damage control before.” He almost picked up his phone, then turned to me and asked, “May I use your phone? If no one has ferreted out the number yet?”
“Why would they—” Because I was his wife. I was public knowledge now; our wedding had been in the papers, and we’d even profiled it in the August issue of Mode. Oh god, with this out, people would definitely have questions for me. “We have to do more than just change our numbers and get some PR guys.”
“Like what?” he demanded. “What would you have me do?”
His mood had understandably changed, but his anger now focused on me, so ferocious that it shocked me. Worse, I didn’t have an answer for him; I didn’t know what I wanted him to do. I wanted him to fix this, somehow, so it would all go away. And I felt selfish for wanting that, because I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to go away for his sake, or for mine. What I’d experienced during his chemotherapy and transplant had been so similar. I’d had moments of private crisis during which I couldn’t tell if I wanted him to get better because he was in pain, or if I wanted him to get better because I was tired of seeing him in pain. That kind of confusion is hard to deal with, and I was out of practice. I’d put myself on the spot, now, and I didn’t know how to back out.
“I want to know, Sophie, what you would have me do to handle this situation, over which I have no control, and which does not affect you!” he shouted, raking a hand through his hair.
“I’m not affected?” My breath exploded from my gaping mouth in a hoarse puff of disbelief. “First of all, I’m going to be affected when people start trying to trick me into saying stuff about you. Second, do you think it doesn’t affect me when you’re hurting?”
“I’m not hurting! I’m annoyed to have my private number given out to a pack of vultures who want to, to…revel in my public humiliation.” His voice cracked, and he turned away from me, a hand over his eyes.
I wanted to go to him, but he was so angry, it wouldn’t have done anything but piss him off more. He hated feeling helpless. But I couldn’t just leave him like this.
“Neil…this wasn’t your fault.” My heart ached for him. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Stephen raped you. He’s the one who should be embarrassed by all this.”
Neil squinted and rubbed his forehead. “Will you please stop calling it that?” he scolded, trying to sound reasonable above the weariness in his voice.
“Why not?” How could he not see that this was an injustice being done to him? How could he not understand that any freak out he might have over this would be totally understandable? “Why are you sitting here, diminishing what he did? Protecting him? Why can’t you just call it what it was?”
“Because that’s not who I want to be!” he shouted. “I don’t want to be a victim or a survivor or whatever the hell you expect me to call myself. I don’t want it to have happened to me. I don’t want to know exactly what it was. I’m not stupid, Sophie, I know what happened that night! The man I trusted, the man I believed I was falling in love with, had no regard for my safety, my feelings, my body… It was emotionally damaging, and yes, it has made me wildly suspicious of my romantic partners for years after, but it’s what happened to me. You don’t have a say in what I call it!”