CHAPTER TWELVE
BELLA was dusting the shelves at the café the next morning, mentally choosing paint colours, when she heard the beep of her mobile. She pulled it from her pocket. Didn’t recognise the number. She didn’t recognise the voice either—fortunately the woman said she was calling from Take One Agency… .
Oh, God. The audition. Just over a week ago and frankly she’d forgotten it. It had been the day she’d had that massive argument with Owen.
‘I’m pleased to be able to offer you the part of …’
Bella tuned out—entering shock. She was being offered a part on a national touring show.
‘Rehearsals start in Christchurch next week …’
She’d be paid. A full-time job as an actress—in a musical theatre production. Excitement flooded through her. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t wait to get home and tell Owen.
Owen.
She pulled up short. Owen—who was probably designing her a pirate ship this very minute. Owen—who was probably the reason why she’d got the job in the first place. Owen—who had made her so mad she’d gone into that audition all guns blazing and uncaring of the consequences. Owen—who had never made fun of her parties, but who made everything matter.
She had to leave him. Leave the business—while it was still a seed, just a fragment of a dream. For one wild moment she wanted to turn down the part. Pretend it hadn’t happened. But as she listened to the woman warble on about the details she knew she couldn’t. This was it, her shot at the big time. Do well in this and she could springboard to other, bigger, better shows.
Sydney, London, New York … Her imagination ballooned.
But there was Owen. And she wanted Owen. And she’d thought if she had a little more time, she might show Owen how much he had to offer—and not just in the money sense. But it probably was for the best, because that was the fantasy, wasn’t it? Her winning him. She’d soon know anyway. She’d tell him about the part, see how he reacted. Then she’d know for sure if this was still just sex or something else entirely. She spent the afternoon totally excited, totally nervous, totally torn.
She raced home, but he wasn’t there and she paced round the big space. Not sure how to tell him. How to act. But when he finally appeared the thrill, the disbelief, the pride all bubbled out of her.
‘I got the part, I got the part!’ She ran to him, her smile and arms wide.
He caught her, sweeping them both into the embrace, lifting and spinning her, grinning hugely.
‘What part?’ he asked when her toes touched the floor again.
‘On the show.’
‘What show?’ He laughed.
‘It’s not the lead or anything,’ she clarified. ‘But it is a minor character. Well, quite a major minor character actually. And I do understudy the lead, which means in some matinees I’ll be the lead.’
He was still laughing. ‘This is fantastic. Which theatre? When?’
Her smile suddenly felt a little stiff. ‘It’s a travelling show.’
‘Travelling?’ His hands loosened.
She took her full weight, brushed a stray bit of hair back behind her ear and blurted it all. ‘Rehearsals are in Christchurch. The show starts there and then tours. If the New Zealand tour is successful, then it’ll go to Australia.’
‘Wow.’ He was still grinning as he stepped away. ‘Wow.’
He went straight to the fridge and pulled out a bottle. ‘This calls for a celebration, right?’
The cork fired right across the room, bubbles frothed. She watched as he poured, staring at the label. Good grief, she’d only ever seen that sort of champagne in the pages of posh magazines.
‘Yeah,’ she said slowly. Had he known a celebration was in order?
He handed her a glass. ‘When do you go?’
‘Later this week.’
‘How long do you rehearse for?’
‘Almost six weeks, I think. Then the tour starts. I don’t know how long that’ll be ultimately.’
He was all questions; she had no time to think of anything but the answers. It was a good twenty minutes before they quietened.
‘You did it,’ he said softly, smiling.
‘I did.’ She still couldn’t believe it—any of it. Especially that she’d be leaving, right when things were getting interesting. She finally broached the subject. ‘I’m really sorry about not using the space downstairs.’
‘Oh. Don’t worry about it. It was just an idea. I have lots of them.’ He grinned.
Her heart ached. He really didn’t mind.
‘You’ll have to phone and tell your family.’
She paused. ‘Not yet.’ She’d see how it went first—make sure it was a complete success that she could be proud of. And she was still nervous about contacting Vita. Her sister was too good at prying and she’d want to do a post-mortem over what had happened on Waiheke.
‘This is great,’ he said. ‘This is really good.’
She supposed it was. An easy, clean finish for him. She’d been the one building dream castles. Seeing them shatter, hurt.
Owen could see the shadows entering her eyes and steeled himself not to give in. His heart was breaking—just as he’d found he had one. But he could not do it. He could see the question in her face and he refused to answer it. He was not going to give her the out. He was not going to hold onto her only to have her resent him for it in—what?—six months or a year’s time. He was not going to ruin it for her.
She had to go. And she had to go utterly free of him. So he talked it up, went on about how exciting it was, how wonderful. She was finally going to realise her dreams. And not once did he mention how it was tearing him apart inside. Not once did he mention how much he wanted her to stay—to choose him. He gave her no choice. Because he knew that right now, inside, she cared for him. But she deserved to have her chance. For a moment there he’d thought they could have it all, but fate had decided it for both of them. The champagne tasted bitter. He’d put it in the fridge to celebrate something else entirely. He’d been going to cast off the coward label and embrace the risk—of emotion and responsibility—just as she’d challenged. Only now he was forced into a far more brave action—letting her go. The irony of it all really sucked.
Bella didn’t take time off work. Nor did Owen. In some ways it was a relief. She worked the last two days at the café totally on auto. They had pizza one night, Thai the next. Before she knew it, it was the last night. She was flying. He’d insisted. Reckoned he’d got a cheap deal on the Internet. She’d let him. It beat the ferry and bus option. She was always sick on the ferry.
They’d talked and teased and joked their way through sex. And it had always been wonderful and fun. But this was no joke. She was making love to him for the last time and then she was leaving.
There was nothing she could say. There was no way of changing it—there was no time.
And so for the first time she caressed him in complete silence. Kissing and kissing and kissing so there was no chance to voice the secrets lodged in her heart. That she’d fallen in love with him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to stay.
As he moved down her body she couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t quite give herself over to the lust. Couldn’t enjoy it the way she really wanted to. He couldn’t and wouldn’t give her what she wanted. And what she wanted was taking her away. Acting was what she wanted most, right?
This was their last time—she had to make the most of it. But all she could think was that it was the last time. And that was ruining everything. She wanted to stop. She didn’t want there to be a last time.
He must have known because he stopped nuzzling her breasts. Instead he lifted his head and looked in her eyes, framed her face with his hands—so gently. And then he kissed her. He kissed and kissed until she could no longer think. Until there was no room in her head for doubt or pain. Only touch.
And then, when her mind was gone and she was all sensation, he stroked the rest of her, leaning close so he could follow the path of his fingers with his eyes. He stroked and kissed and gently blew on her hot skin. Moving with such powerful gentleness it was almost her undoing. But he too was silent.
She closed her eyes against the message she so badly wanted to read in his and just let him play with her until the need for the ultimate satisfaction grew too strong for both of them.
When he entered her this time she held her breath, tightening around him, closing him into her embrace with her arms and legs and everything. In her head words had returned and she was chanting: not going to let you go, not going to let you go.
But she was the one going. And she didn’t know if she really had the strength to follow through on it.
But later, as she dressed, alone in his bedroom, she knew she had to leave. It was to protect herself. She owed herself the chance of meeting her dreams. And she couldn’t stay with a man who didn’t want long term—not when she did. Marriage and babies were on her wish-list and she couldn’t change that—just as she couldn’t change him.
She tried to make the goodbye as quick as she could. It didn’t dim the pain at all. She wouldn’t look him in the face—couldn’t. He wanted to take her to the airport, was insistent. It tore her up inside as he objected.
Finally she looked at him, unable to hide the ache. ‘Please, Owen. Let me do this myself.’
He stopped then, a shadow passing over his face. ‘You don’t have to do everything yourself, Bella. It’s OK to have help from people when you need it. Remember that, won’t you?’
Yes, it was OK, but not all the time. And she had to do this alone; it was the only way she could.
The taxi was there in minutes and she turned to him feeling as if she had sawdust in her eyes and sandpaper in her throat. He lifted her bag into the boot.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said.
‘Actually—’ she cleared her throat ‘—I’d rather you didn’t.’
He stared at her.
She didn’t want to be half hoping—wholly hoping—for the next however many months or years it was going to take to get over him. She needed it to end now. It was the perfect opportunity. Clean, final. Just how he’d like it. She didn’t want him to pretend to offer anything else.
‘You don’t want me to contact you at all?’
She forced her head to move, slowly, side to side.
He stared at her for a long moment, ignoring the driver waiting patiently in the car.
‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘If that’s what you want.’
She nodded then and looked down, not wanting to misread anything more in his face. Wanting to kill all her hope now. She didn’t trust her voice at all.
There was a moment of silence. She knew she should move—the driver was waiting, the meter was ticking already. But all that moved were her lashes as she lifted her eyes, unable to resist one last long look at him. His eyes were still a brilliant blue, but charged with a variety of emotions—confusion? Regret?
She couldn’t take any more and turned, got the door open. But as she did his hand was on her upper arm and it wasn’t gentle as he grasped and swung her back to face him. The door slammed shut again, she had only a fraction of a second to see the blue ablaze and then he was so close and she shut her eyes. The kiss wasn’t gentle either. It was hard and demanding and hurt.
But, as always, she softened for him, opened for him, couldn’t say no to him. He could have her and take from her as much as he wanted. And then he softened too, his tongue caressing where moments before his mouth had pressed so fiercely, his fingers lightened on her arm and his lips soothed.
And at last she had the strength—she knew not from where—to twist away from him. He couldn’t have everything from her when he wouldn’t offer the same. It wasn’t fair.
She turned, blindly groping for the door handle again, wrenching it open and scrambling into the seat.
‘Drive.’ It was sort of a bark but it ended as a broken sob. ‘Please just drive.’