The Song

Part Sixteen

“Paparazzi?” I asked Aston as he drove us home. He seemed extra cautious as he drove, constantly checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one was following us.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“They took pictures of us? How did you even notice?” I was a bit panicked by this. It hadn’t crossed my mind that this would be a regular thing for me now.

“We’ve been dealing with it for years,” he replied, “I know how to spot them.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You never have,” he said.

“Good.”

“You broke up with me less than twenty-four hours after agreeing to be my girlfriend because they put you in the papers.”

“Seems about right,” I said, a wry smile crossing my face at how I was having the same feelings now as I did four years prior.

We drove in silence for the rest of the journey and then back in the house I resumed my seat at the kitchen table as Aston emptied out our shopping bags.

“How did you get me back?” I asked.

“What?”

“You said I broke up with you right after we got together… But clearly we got back together if we’re married now. What did you do?”

“Well,” he said, passing me a cup of tea I hadn’t even asked for, “You broke up with me by text. Something like, ‘You’re a great guy, but I can’t be your girlfriend.’ I remember reading it and being completely taken aback because things had been fine that morning. I had no idea where it had come from or why and I was sort of freaking out that I’d done something wrong. I tried to call you but you didn’t answer so I text back and just asked ‘Why?’”

“Just the word ‘Why’?” I asked, a bemused expression on my face. Something like that would have probably pissed me off.

“I didn’t know what else to put!” he laughed, sitting down across from me with his own cup of tea. “It took you like half an hour but eventually you responded with something about how you didn’t feel comfortable being in the papers and it wasn’t going to work out, so we might as well end if before someone gets hurt.”

“Kinda harsh,” I said, “I didn’t even try!”

“It knocked me for a six for sure.”

“Then what?”

“Well I couldn’t go over to yours that night because I was tied up doing promotion and stuff with the band, but the next morning I went to the piano shop.”

“And…” I prompted.

“I pretty much begged you to give me a chance,” he shrugged, “I brought a bouquet of flowers and promised you that no matter what the papers put about you I’d always set them right.”

“And it worked?”

“Well I refused to leave the store until you agreed to go to dinner with me that night. A fancy dinner, not like the other meals we’d had at quiet pubs and cafes,” Aston said, “It took you three hours to agree.”

“You sat in the piano store for three hours?!” I asked, trying not to laugh at the dramatics of it all.

“And I missed a radio interview. First and only time ever… Well, until last week.”

My heart dropped by this statement. I hadn’t asked him about the accident… it seemed to bother him and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about it yet. Or if he did.