I didn’t go back to the Lighthouse Suite.
Upstairs, Leon packed his belongings, most likely shoving everything haphazardly into the suitcase since Allison’s schedule left no time for folding. He was gone half an hour later, taking his manager, PA and what felt like a small piece of me along with him.
There’d been a sleek black Mercedes waiting for them outside, complete with tinted windows that made it impossible to look into. Left to my imagination, I couldn’t help but visualise the three of them in the back, Allison’s intimidating presence enough to cause silence to fall across the entire car. I could almost see Leon perched in the back seat, knees hunched up, gazing blankly out of the window.
I watched the car leave from one of the upstairs windows; I told myself I was making rounds of all the rooms, but technically that didn’t need to be done for another hour or two. The car glided out of the hotel car park, disappearing around the bend, and that was it. I’d never see him again.
I hadn’t exactly been expecting a brilliant day, not after everything had kicked off. Somehow, though, it managed to stoop even below my initial expectations. Forcing a smile for the six guests I had to check in that day ended up being an excruciating task; it turned out to be near impossible to pull off an authentic cheeriness while falling to pieces inside.
The whole thing, of course, was ridiculous, and I was well aware of it. It wasn’t even like much had happened between Leon and I; when it came down to the facts, we’d only known each other for a few weeks. That wasn’t nearly enough time to get so emotionally invested, but somehow it had occurred anyway. All along, I’d tried to remind myself that nothing could ever come of it. We were part of two different worlds, after all. The lethargic lull of Walden-on-Sea stood miles apart from the glamorous life of Leon McCarthy: hopping from city to city; standing before crowds of thousands; selling the story of the small-town guy turned superstar until it was worth millions. The public eye never bothered to look upon Walden, which, incidentally, had been the attraction for Leon in the first place.
We’d both known it was never going to work out, but I was still at a loss to explain why it hurt so much.
***
I woke up ridiculously early the next morning, which didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand with the fact I’d gotten barely any sleep through the night. I returned to consciousness with a pounding headache: one that felt kind of like somebody had taken a sledgehammer and was bashing it against the inside of my skull. Combined with how my room felt like a greenhouse, the stagnant air ready to suffocate me, it was safe to say I wasn’t in the best of moods.
I showed up to the reception desk just before eight, signing off the night warden who looked ready to fall asleep on the desk. Thankfully, the worst of the headache had disappeared over breakfast, but it hadn’t taken my mood along with it.
Yesterday, I’d been mostly occupied with feeling sorry for myself, which I supposed had to be natural in the aftermath of Leon’s shock exit. Today, however, after a night to really think about what had gone on, the sadness had dipped away to make room for something else. Now, I was finding myself more angry than anything when my thoughts wandered back to Leon McCarthy.
It wasn’t just anger directed at him – though that was definitely there, too. I resented the way he’d left things up in the hotel room, as if it was acceptable to leave on that note after spending several weeks in my consistent company. But on top of that, I was angry at myself, because I was also to blame.
Usually, I had a tight rein on my emotions, and I’d been that way for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t sure exactly where I’d picked up the trait, but it was there all the same, serving me well for years. It was always the safest option; there was no need to be burdened by lingering attachment to temporary things, or intense emotions that got in the way of practical matters. I always stopped myself before I got too deep. And yet with Leon, somehow he’d let my guard down, and that had been perhaps the most dangerous thing of all.
The first part of my morning shift passed relatively uneventfully; other than the standard checkouts of guests on their way out of Walden, as well as a couple of trips to the kitchen to deliver breakfast orders, there wasn’t a lot going on. Time was dragging, and no sooner had I allowed myself to wish for something a little more interesting to happen, I found myself regretting it.
When Rosemarie burst through the main doors, her flushed face was the first thing I noticed. A natural redhead, the dark pink hue didn’t exactly compliment the tone of her hair, which bounced in a ponytail atop her head. I forced a smile as she came in, but this quickly fell from my face when I realised she was marching over with a determination that couldn’t possibly be a good sign.
“Rosemarie,” I said, a little nervously. As she reached the front desk, I found myself subconsciously leaning back in my chair: a natural reflex to her frightening expression. “What’s going on? I thought you had plans with your friends?”
“Jenny cancelled,” she dismissed, “but as it turns out, I’m glad she did, because it means I was on Twitter in time to see this.”
Suddenly, she was holding her phone in front of my face, leaving me no choice but to take a glance. It was, of course, exactly what I’d been dreading: the same picture Allison had held a copy of the previous day, in which mine and Leon’s faces were unnervingly close together. Thankfully, the image Rosemarie was displaying was a slightly grainier version, the features of my face too unfocused to really make out. It wasn’t hard proof that it was me, which was enough to let me relax a little.
“What’s that?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“Leon McCarthy,” she said, though of course I knew already. “That’s what it is.”
“Oh.” I started fiddling with the pen in my hand, clicking the lid repeatedly, wondering if Rosemarie had noticed the flash of panic in my eyes. “He’s, uh… got a new girlfriend, then?”
“Looks like it.” There was a strange note in her tone, one that I couldn’t quite work out, and consequently had me on the edge of my seat. “Still, I thought you would’ve known all about that, Coraline.”
My heart was thumping beneath the fabric of my shirt, way too hard to be healthy. I only hoped she couldn’t hear it. “Me?” I swallowed. “Why would I know anything about this?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe the fact that it’s you in this picture?”
She held the phone closer, waving it in front of my face for emphasis. When her hand stilled, I let my gaze refocus on the picture. The two figures had their heads close together, ducked slightly away from the camera, so that only the slope of my profile and wet blonde hair were really visible. There had to be room for denial. And if there wasn’t, I was going to have to make some.
I forced a laugh. “Me?” I echoed in mock incredulity. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you dare try and deny it,” Rosemarie interjected, with a scathing look I never thought I’d see on her. “This is you!”
“You’re really accusing me of kissing Leon McCarthy?” I asked, trying to make the notion sound as ridiculous as possible. Two months ago, I’d have had no trouble, but now it was a whole other story. “You know this is me we’re talking about, don’t you? I’ve been working here all summer, not running around with rogue teen pop stars. And plus,” I took the phone out of her hand, pointing at the pixelated version of me onscreen, “you can barely see the girl in this picture. How do you know it’s anybody?”
But Rosemarie was slowly shaking her head. Her eyes were accusing, sweeping over me in a way that felt like I was being put under a bright spotlight. She knew I was lying, and I could feel all the trust we’d built up over the years seeping away.
As if I needed another reason to feel angry at Leon.
“You know, Coraline,” she said calmly, “maybe I would’ve believed you on that one. Had I not seen this other picture.”
My heart lurched; with one swipe of her finger, the picture had changed, pulling up a second one onscreen. This time, it was a clearer image, taken from a proper camera rather than a CCTV system. I recognised the backdrop instantly as Walden Beach, but that was evidently not the focus of the photo.
The photographer had obviously been stood on the boardwalk, because their view of the beach was angled slightly downward. There were people crowded all over the stones, huddled in groups bordered by windbreakers and kids’ sandcastles, but it couldn’t have been clearer what the subject was: Leon and I.
It must’ve been taken a week or so ago, because his hair was dyed, and he was wearing the same pair of sunglasses that had become the essential part of his disguise. Owing to the clearer picture, it was now entirely possible to make out the features of the girl holding his hand. The camera had caught me mid-laugh, bent over a little, looking up to meet Leon’s gaze. No mistakes about it, and certainly no room for denial.
I felt like I was going to be sick.
“I… That… Don’t…” I was stammering already, tripping over my words in my haste to get them out: anything to erase the expression that had crossed Rosemarie’s face. “I can ex—”
“Don’t tell me you can explain.” The words were accusing, stopping me in my tracks. “Because you obviously weren’t going to.”
“Look, I wasn’t trying to keep a secret from you, I just—”
“Started hanging out with the guy you knew I’d give absolutely anything to meet? Thought it was okay not to mention it to me?” she offered sarcastically. “You knew how much this meant to me, Coraline.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then let me understand,” she said. “Tell me what the hell you were doing having some secret affair with Leon McCarthy.”
“I wasn’t having a secret affair!” I protested, hating the way the words sounded out loud. It hadn’t happened like that; I hadn’t gone out with the intention of hurting Rosemarie, and yet it was proving increasingly difficult to convince her otherwise. “He just showed up here, okay? I didn’t know it was him at first. I found out accidentally, and he made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone…”
“And then you just started dating?” she asked, her tone verging on hysterical. “You don’t even like him! So don’t you dare tell me any of it was genuine. You pretended to like him because he was famous, probably made out that you were his biggest fan… you were using him…”
“No, I wasn’t!” Desperation was sending my voice up dramatically in volume. It wasn’t exactly professional to be having a shouting match in the middle of the lobby, but I couldn’t seem to help it. “It wasn’t like that, okay? I didn’t mean for it to turn into anything. We just started hanging out, and it sort of… went from there.”
“And did you think about telling me at any point in this?”
“He didn’t want it to get out.”
“So, what? You don’t trust me? You thought I couldn’t keep a secret if you told me?”
“No, Rosemarie, it wasn’t that…” I said, but I was biting my lip, and even I could hear the wavering truth in my tone.
“You thought it’d be all over Twitter in seconds, didn’t you? You thought I was going to act like an immature fangirl and ruin your precious relationship with the guy you’ve spent two years hating on…”
“It wasn’t like that!” I said. “You’re making this sound so much worse than it really was. I wasn’t trying to keep secrets from you. This whole thing with Leon and I… it just happened, okay? I can barely understand it myself. I don’t know why it did, or even if I wanted it to happen, but you’ve got to stop acting like I set out to hurt you.”
“Maybe I’d find that a little easier to believe,” she said, shaking her head, “if you’d told me before I found out from a random picture on the internet.”
With that, she turned on her heel, making to head out of the lobby.
Overcome by a stroke of panic, I found myself yelling after her. “Rosemarie! Don’t leave. Please. I’m sorry.”
She turned back to me, spinning on the spot, fiery ponytail whirling in the air behind her. “You know what makes this whole thing worse?” she snapped. “I actually thought you were honest. I always thought I was lucky to have such a cool older sister. But then you go and do something like this… lie to my face multiple times… now I’m not even sure I know you at all.”
“Rosemarie,” I pleaded.
“Don’t even bother,” she told me, shaking her head. “You’re not my sister anymore.”
When she made to head out of the room once more, I leapt from my seat, not thinking about the fact I was abandoning the front desk. I was halfway across the room, overcome by a desperate sense of panic that had already begun to set in, when the main door bounced open without warning.
There was some kind of commotion outside; I could hear it growing louder. It sounded like a large crowd, the general hubbub associated with lots of people packed into a small space. There was also an unidentifiable clicking noise, which I couldn’t put my finger on.
A man had burst into the lobby; he was slightly scruffy looking, with hair that didn’t look like it had seen a brush in a while, an expensive-looking camera slung around his neck like a prized possession. As our gazes locked, his eyes lit up in a way I’d never seen on a stranger, and his fingers tightened around the Canon.
“Coraline Hart!” he exclaimed, in a voice that was full of poorly restrained glee.
“Um…” My eyes darted from Rosemarie, who’d also frozen on the spot, to the stranger and back. “Yes?”
Without warning, he lifted his camera, and a blinding flash filled the entire lobby. “Exclusive interview for the Daily Star on your relationship with Leon McCarthy?” he asked, suddenly advancing on me.
During my momentary distraction, I realised the noise outside had grown much louder, a round of bright flashes now lighting up the room from multiple sources. In a pause between flashes, I noticed that more people had piled into the lobby, all of them bearing cameras and microphones and shouting very loudly.
I was frozen on the spot, unable to react to anything. Maybe I should’ve been making some attempt to hide; they were all taking pictures of me, snaps that would probably appear in some kind of newspaper the following day, and I wasn’t exactly making an effort to stop them. My muscles, however, felt like they’d been locked into place, refusing to cooperate. I couldn’t move.
Then, suddenly, I saw a woman elbow her way through the crowd, heading for me. My back met the wall; I realised I’d taken a few shaky steps back, but there was nowhere for me to go anymore. After another shot of panic went through me, I suddenly recognised her: the same auburn hair and staggering heels I’d come to know the day before.
“Collette!” I breathed, half in surprise and half relief.
“You need to get out of here,” she told me a little breathlessly, skipping over any greetings. She shot a glance over her shoulder at the group of paparazzi who were becoming increasingly lenient with their boundaries. “Have you got a back room, or something? Just get out of sight.”
Instantly, I made a grab for Rosemarie’s arm, trying to ignore the sound of my name being shouted fifty times over. “In here!” I called, as I dragged her towards one of the back exits.
There was a noise of general protest as I escaped through the door and shut it safely behind us. The chaotic babble was still audible from the adjacent room, but at least it was significantly dulled through the layer of thick wood. It also meant we were spared the intermittent flashing and microphones being shoved into my face.
As I glanced over at Rosemarie, who still looked like a deer caught in headlights, I sunk down against the door and began to wonder what on earth I’d gotten myself into.
------------------------
Hi, guys! Bet you were shocked to see an update of this, huh? I've been writing like crazy the past couple of days, and I felt like I kind of owed you an early upload after how patient you've been with the rest of the chapters. This story's nearing an end now (two chapters left!), which is kind of sad because I'm just getting into the swing of it. After all the trouble I had before.
As a side note (and a bit of shameless self promotion), if there are any Harry Potter fans among you (particularly Romione shippers), you might be interested to know I uploaded a one-shot the other day on my second account, @newparchment. There are three up now, but the most recent is entitled "Inspiration from Amortentia" and is basically 5000 words of Romione fluff. If that interests anyone, feel free to go check it out.
Love you guys :)