Page 207 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

Bri glanced at me, a tight smile on her face.

“What?” I shrieked from my sitting position on the hotel bed. I tried to peek at the papers. “Is it bad? Did they slate us? You guys aren’t making this fun. Just tell me.”

Liam crumpled up the papers, but not before I caught glimpse of the headline. Oh. It had nothing to do with my dance company’s latest creation and everything to do with my divorce. Yes. I was freshly divorced, had been for seven days, eighteen hours, andhowever many minutes. It had happened so fast I figured it bordered on the illegal side. The decree absolute was issued a day after the decree nisi. I knew there should have been a six weeks wait in-between, but I wanted everything finalized and frankly didn’t care how it happened. The papers I eagerly signed, under Collins watchful eyes, without representation. I just wanted it over. Matt hadn’t shown up for my signing, he’d already signed his part and I had read somewhere he was currentlystillholidaying in Montenegro, or was it St Barts? I didn’t care, we were divorced and I was glad for it. Had Matt and his fancy legal representation used their high up connections and bent the rules to engineer a lightning speed divorce? Most likely. As long as it didn’t blow up inmyface, I was fine with it.

Liam’s lips moved soundlessly, but anyone could catch the gist of his tirade. It was expletive laden and supportive to me, his boss, yet it left me feeling hollow. And humiliated.

So what if the whole world knew about my failed whirlwind romance with the increasingly handsome Matthew Bradley?

- Why was he looking so yummy all of a sudden? I mean, he always looked good, but now he looked deity-like handsome. The idiot.

Who cared there were some assholes out there already making embarrassing memes about me?

- The one Dante showed me last night did make me chuckle…a bit.

Did it bother me some forums were have a virtual laugh-fest at the now public demise of my short marriage?

- Some of those posts were hurtful though. The racist ones I simply ignored.

Was it fair I seemed to be bearing the brunt of the blame?

- That alleged ‘source’ stating I waswhollyto blame didn’t fool me. I was certain the article had been in a Walthamstow’s affiliate newspaper. Nathan. The rat was using his media connections to malign me!

Did it matter one ounce I was, in reality, financially worse off than before I’d married Matt?

- My corporate tax bill would be sky-high this year. Capital gains and all that dross from owning my building. I knew Matt’s, or whoever it was, underhand dealings would bite me in the butt and my accountant had yet to inform me on whether I could deduct any costs.

“I’ve got exactly two.” I said to no-one in particular.

“Two what?” Bri asked.

“Exactly two figs to give.” I finished with a self-righteous flick of hair.

“Figs?” Eddie asked. “Don’t you mean fucks? You’ve got two fucks to give.” He looked over at Dante, who was on his laptop over by the desk at the window. “That’s what she means, right?”

“She’s not cussing anymore.” Dante explained. A nod and a wink from him cemented the healed tension between us of late.

We were in Birmingham for the week. They had pushed my show back a week later and halved the agreed two weeks show. I feared the reasoning behind their decision but had simply smiled and nodded when the news had been delivered. For all intents and purposes, our performances at the Hippodrome were doing exceptionally well. Maybe The Ice Queen and Princess was my only world class creation. Crap. That would suck big time.

Lisa roared with laughter, rolling into me on the bed. “You? Not cursing? You’re having a right laugh.”

“She’s not.” Dante confirmed, and it wasn’t tongue-in-cheek. “She gets a pass on ass though. It’s in the bible so, yeah.”

I had decided no swear words would leave my mouth. It was the least I could offer up to God as penance for the mountain of lies I seemed to have found myself buried under. And by mountain of lies, I didn’t mean loads of lies…just a couple of big ones…enormous really…to people who shouldn’t be lied to…

“Clean tongue, clean mind, clean soul,” I shot back, silently mourning the blackness currently staining my own. It was the thought that counted, right? But back to the previous tension between Dante and myself. He was livid, that was the word he used. Livid over my behaviour that day the police raided my business premises. Fuc-fudging Kincaid! I would never forgive the snake. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Livid. Dante had called me the lowest of the low for giving Collins the erroneous impression ‘we’ were expecting. He demanded I set it right, and I had tried. Honestly, I had tried to tell Matt that very night but he was too angry and I was too scared. I always hated when he got angry with me, made me feel like a misbehaving kid. Dante hadn’t cared though when I confessed my failed attempt to notify Matt of the results of our night spent together in September. Dante believed I was deliberately,cruelly, cutting Matt out of something which he had every right to be a part of. My best friend was unusually pro-Matt when it came to the contents of my womb, probably because of his own absent father. He swore he would go straight to Matt and tell him himself, show him the ultrasound picture, drag me by my hair and reveal my growing stomach – I had smugly pointed out there was barely anything showing then, and he had worried his lip between his teeth. Dante still believed I should be way bigger. There was a bump, definitely a bump. Thankfully it was winter and my large sweaters covered the growing evidence of my folly.

Back on point: I told Dante my ex-husband would probably think I was trying to trap him. I wailed Matt would probably demand a paternity test immediately and once it was confirmed he was the father…I told Dante the truth. Matt would take them from me. I had no doubt about that, not with the memory of Grumps’s threat echoing in my head. They would take the babies.My babies.It was the stark realization of that very possible occurrence which changed my perception. Instead of being the absolute worst thing to ever befall me…yes, I had believed it was worse than losing my parents, and yes, that was messed up. Instead of being bad, my unexpected pregnancy was suddenly very real and in need of protection fromthem.The thought of my kids being raised in the same environment Matt had been raised…a small shudder went through me.

Matt would take them from me out of spite. He was vindictive like that. Although my heart argued with my head, reminding me of the times he’d willingly done something which led to my benefit; I kept thinking of his treatment of me before our divorce. He had thrown me away without blinking. What if the babies looked black, not bi-racial? Would he accept them? I mean, he had wanted kids while I categorically hadn’t. Would he and his family be ashamed of them? Would they grow up feelingdifferent? No. I couldn’t let it happen and Matt was not a man to be crossed. His pride would demand some form of painful retribution if he ever found out he’d been duped. Once the lie had been set there was no going back. Of course, I should have maybe tried harder to tell him, but all I could picture was him trotting out Dr Brown and that notebook of hers in the Family Courts. Proving I was a crazy ass and unfit mother. He had money, loads of money. And contacts, the Bradley name carried a lot of weight. If Matt knew, I would lose them. I couldn’t lose anyone else. Fuc-fudge it.No-one was taking them from me. It was inevitable that making such a decision would turn me into a grown-up. I was a grown-up now because there were two little beings depending on me to get my crap together.

Dante had stopped pestering me to tell Matt once he saw the wild terror on my face. Even though he felt I was over-reacting, he didn’t want to risk it either. One could never be sure with the English, as inherently reserved as a people they were, they were ultimately a dangerous breed. History proved they were not a country to mess with. Barmy, Matt would definitely say barmy. They were all barmy. Despite my own English nationality, I was decidedly more of a watered down version. A mishmash of colourful traits, heck, I was an adopted Yank and proud of it. Oo-rah.

The other lie was to Aunt Cleo. I had told her of my predicament Christmas morning. I believed she would be full of goodwill to man, so full she wouldn’t reach through the phone and strangle me. She rightly assumed Matt was the sperm donor and said as much, in very dangerous tones too. But I denied it. I lied because I knew my aunt. She would hunt him down and make him face up to his responsibilities, by force if needed.

I lied. It had rolled off my tongue like silk, the untrue admission of a father unknown. A one night stand I had been careless with. Aunt Cleo had surprised me, she had tutted in disapproval then sighed softly before assuring me it wasn’t the end of the world and I had the full support of my family. Her parting words: ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways’.It was not mysterious and not His doing, just bad luck and a piss poor lack of due care and attention concerning contraception on my part. It was embarrassing, getting knocked up like some stupid character in a stupid story who everyone rolled their eyes at, but it was a mistake I would have to live with. I had lied to my now ex-husband and my family. I was certainly going to hell for my deception but I would deal with that when it was time to pay the piper. Everyone had to pay the piper eventually, I wasn’t going to stress about it now.

Right now my main worry was the less than favourable reviews Sinners and Saints had received, oh and the small issue of my costume no longer fitting. Our loyal, and overworked, costume designer had made some alterations before my trip to Birmingham. Yet I was starting to feel the pinch, literally feeling the pinch, aroundmy waist. Bianca hadn’t questioned why I needed my costume altered, all she advised was to watch what I ate. Cheeky.

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