Page 60 of Saving Mr. Bell

He waved a hand to where the pendant rested on my chest. “That’s a Christmas present. This is…”

“An investment. My accountant is always telling me I should put some of my money into property, so I have.” I tapped a finger on the deed he held. “Besides, it’s got both of our names on. Half yours, half mine. I figured it could be a bolt hole for both of us. I can’t see the paparazzi bothering with the drive, even if they find out about it. And if they do, we can always feed them to the wolves. The cubs need to eat. Although some of those fuckers would probably give them indigestion.”

Arlo shook his head. “I can’t believe you set this up before you came back.”

I shrugged. “Like I said, Sophie did all the hard work. I just answered her calls and said yes or no, and agreed to give some tickets out for a show that doesn’t exist.” Arlo waved the piece of paper in my direction. “You had that much faith in us?” He lifted his gaze to mine again. “I hadn’t even told you I loved you at that point.”

I gave him my cockiest grin. “I kind of knew. It’s like I keep saying, you’re an awful liar. Your face gives away a lot of stuff you don’t mean to. You were like a cartoon character with hearts coming from your eyes when you looked at me.”

Arlo leaped across the space and bore me down to the carpet, arms braced on either side of my head so I had to stare up at him. “You’re a…”

“A menace… A tease,” I finished for him. “Yeah, but I’m your menace and your tease. Whether you like it or not.”

Arlo grinned. “Oh, I like it. I like it a hell of a lot. Kidnapping you was the best decision I ever made.”

“At least you admit it was kidnap now. It–”

I didn’t get to finish what I was saying on account of being thoroughly kissed.

Epilogue

Arlo

I shifted in my seat, nerves getting the better of me as I stared at the lone piano in the center of the stage. I checked my watch. Ten more minutes before Rudolf was due to come on. I’d offered to stay backstage with him, but he’d insisted on going it alone. Now, with nerves eating away at me and ten minutes feeling like a lifetime, I wished I’d kept badgering him until he’d given in. Atleast then, I could have spoken to him and confirmed whether he still wanted to do this.

Shifting my gaze from the piano, I tried to concentrate on something else, the enormous Christmas tree at the side of the stage decked out in blue and silver, providing an adequate distraction. It had never been the plan for Rudolf’s break to last the best part of a year; that was just the way things had turned out. I’d reaped the benefits of it, though, Rudolf accompanying me to Mexico when I’d made a documentary on drug crime on its streets, and to the USA later in the year for the far more lighthearted topic of wrestling.

The media had taken news of my divorce about as well as they ever took anything, and despite Rudolf and I being careful not to be seen together for at least a month after the announcement, they still added two and two together and came up with five to paint him as the other man, something I couldn’t apologize enough for. Rudolf had taken it in his stride, pointing out that he’d had far worse things said about him, and that it made a change from being portrayed as a drug-addled sex addict. But it had felt like another thing he had to endure.

I checked my watch again, only a minute having passed. I prayed he came on stage on time or I wasn’t sure I’d cope. Both Sophie and I had tried to dissuade him from having his first concert at the Barenboim-Said Academy in Germany, but Rudolf had refused to budge. To him, it made perfect sense to exorcize his demons by reappearing on the same stage he’d once walked off halfway through performing. I hoped he would exorcize those demons, but there was no guarantee. He’d played the piano since, often putting in long hours, but I’d been his only audience. There weren’t many people who got to wake up to a Rudolf Bell concert right outside their bedroom door, and I cherished every one of those moments.

Five minutes to go. A woman and her husband took their seats at the end of the row and I offered a nod when she looked my way. I’d never seen her before, but I knew those were the seats Rudolf had earmarked—as promised—to the couple he’d bought the cabin from. Our cabin. We’d spent three weeks in summer there, the break a completely different experience without the snow, but no less enjoyable for it. And at the end of next week, once Rudolf’s series of concerts was complete, we’d go there again for our second Christmas. I couldn’t wait for it to be just me and him. First though, I had to share him with an auditorium of a thousand people, the sense of expectation that permeated the air as they waited for his arrival on stage almost palpable.

The media were here, because of course they were. They were probably hoping he’d mess up again because that was far better fodder for their newspapers than him doing well. Rudolf’s father hadn’t been able to make it because of bad weather in London grounding flights. As if I’d summoned him by thought alone, my phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my pocket to find a text.

Jeremiah:How’s it going? Is he nervous?

Given Jeremiah had once thrown me out of his house and terminated a project because he was concerned I might corrupt his son, it was nothing short of amazing that the two of us got on so well now. And if anything, things were the other way round these days, Rudolf far more of a corrupting influence than I could ever be.

Arlo:He’s not on stage yet. Soon.

Jeremiah:Get him to call me later. I don’t care how late it is.

Arlo:Will do.

When the lights dimmed, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, a hush falling across the auditorium. Rudolf never hadanyone introduce him, my lover deeming it as unnecessary admin, and pointing out that the audience knew who they were here to see, and that if they needed a compère to remind them, they perhaps shouldn’t be out on their own.

It was another two minutes before Rudolf appeared on stage. He might have been naked in my bed only that morning, but even I wasn’t immune to the striking picture he made dressed in black jeans that molded to him like a second skin, and a sleeveless white T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. His feet were bare. Because new start or no new start, there would have been uproar if he’d dared to wear shoes. His hair was styled to look like it hadn’t been styled at all. The media described it as “his just got out of bed” look. Well, I was an expert on what Rudolf Bell looked like first thing in a morning, post fucking, and any other hour of the day you cared to mention, and at no point did it look like that without help.

The crowd surged to their feet to applaud his entrance, and I went with them. If any of them had attended his aborted concert—and it would surprise me if they hadn’t—they’d obviously forgiven him. To them, he probably oozed confidence. I knew him well enough to see the signs of strain: the tightness around the eyes, the shoulders an inch higher than they should have been, and the fingers curled into his palms hard enough for his nails to leave marks.

When he bounded over to the piano and took his seat on the stool, the audience sank into their chairs like they were so attuned to him, they wanted to synchronize their movements to his. We’d discussed at length whether he should say something, Rudolf seeming to think he should at least acknowledge his long absence. It was Sophie who’d pointed out in that calm manner of hers that Rudolf always let his music do the talking, so why would he change that?

Rudolf took a moment to get comfortable before turning his head and looking straight at me. I gave him an encouraging smile, one that hopefully said I had every faith that this would go perfectly, and if it didn’t, it wouldn’t matter a jot to me and I’d love him regardless, because I’d never fallen for Rudolf Bell, public figure. I’d fallen for the sometimes sweet, sometimes acerbic, but always sexy as hell, man who lay behind all that.

Rudolf lowered his hands to the keys, and I held my breath. If there was one thing that had caused disagreements in the past few months, it was what Rudolf’s opening piece should be. He’d been all for facing his demons straight off and playing Allegro Sonata, the piece that had caused him so many problems, with Sophie and I standing our ground and insisting it was far too complex and that he needed to work up to it.

Or—and this had been Sophie’s suggestion—leave it out of his set list altogether. I’d known Rudolf wouldn’t go for that because one thing he wasn’t was a quitter, but it had been entertaining to watch Sophie come up with reasons. How Jade had ridden roughshod over Rudolf for so long when he had no problems standing up to Sophie, I had no idea.

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