Roman leaves around three that afternoon, telling me to be ready for seven; we’re going for dinner first and then on to a beach party his friends are throwing a few miles down the coast. Apparently, we will stay over tonight, but it will just be on the beach. He will bring a couple of sleeping bags; no tents required as it’s so warm, but I might want to bring something comfy to change into later. This is what he must have meant about taking me out of my comfort zone, but he has no idea that I’ve spent weeks on a tour bus with Sean, roadies and backing musicians. Camping on a beach for one night is going to be no problem for me.
I decide on a long, floaty skirt for the evening, with a gypsy-style, cheese-cloth blouse, and dress it up with beads and bangles. I simply stick a pair of flip flops on my feet, laughing at all my designer heels I have sitting in the wardrobe that I brought over with me. Out of the twelve pairs sitting there, I think I’ve worn one pair, on two separate occasions.
I leave the apartment and head down to the bar, where I said I would meet Roman. I order a drink and sit up at the bar talking to Jess, one of the waitresses, when I notice a couple looking at me from a corner table. I try not to look as I don’t want to encourage them, but every time I take a peek, they are watching me.
I knew this moment would come. I’ve been here for over two months, now but as the peak Christmas period gets closer and more tourists come to the bar, I always knew there was a chance someone would recognise me. I turn on my stool as I feel someone beside me, a million different thoughts running through my mind as to what to say to these people, but it’s Roman who I make eye contact with. He smiles at me with both his mouth and those sparkling eyes of his.
“You look beautiful and you smell even better,” he says quietly into my ear, breathing me in as he speaks. I look over his shoulder at the couple who’ve been watching me and see the woman reaching for a camera.
“Thanks, Jess,” I call out quickly, “Let’s get out of here.” I grab Roman’s hand, tilt my head low and drag him out the door.
“You hungry, darl?” I walk around and jump into his truck without speaking; the couple haven’t followed me, but I just want to get out of here now. “George, what’s wrong; you okay?” I look across to him and realise he hasn’t started the truck yet.
“Sorry, I think someone just recognised me, and I needed to get out of there.” He gives a slight nod, starts the engine and we drive off in silence.
After a few seconds, he asks, “What’s the problem then; why don’t you want to be recognised?” I have a bit of a headache after the surge of adrenalin I experienced at the bar, and I rub my temples as I answer.
“I don’t care about being recognised. People are generally really kind when they talk to me, but it’s what’ll happen if the press then find out I’m here. I can’t… I don’t want them here; this is my place, my place I can just be me. Just Georgia, not Maca’s wife, not that poor girl who lost it all, not Sean’s widow, just me.”
The thought of the press invading my sanctuary terrifies me. I’m not ready for that; I’m not ready to face the world yet. I wind down the car window and let the warm evening air blow against my face. I’ve had meltdowns since I’ve been here, but right now, I suddenly feel like I’m about to have a full-on anxiety attack. Roman pulls the truck over onto a layby at the side of the beach, jumps out and comes around to my door to open it. I’m trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to remember everything all the different shrinks I saw after the accident told me about dealing with an anxiety attack.
The road we’re on is so quiet; I can hear the waves lapping. Roman holds my face in both his hands and keeps his eyes on mine, rubbing his thumbs gently over my cheekbones.
“Breathe, baby, just breathe. Listen to the water, keep your eyes on me and just breathe.” I swear to God, this man is unbelievably attuned to me, or he just knows how to handle someone having an anxiety attack. I don’t know and I don’t care; all I know is he is exactly what I need right now.
He nods slowly. “You okay?”
I nod back at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Georgia. Don’t ever be sorry for the way you’re feeling. You wanna tell me about it?” My mouth is dry and my lips are sticking to my teeth.