Page 81 of The Twelve Days of Christian
He reaches for a large pot of clear gloop. I see Tommy’s body cringe further into the seat as Luka’s fingers dive in, coming out witha glistening blob of jelly. He massages it between his palms, then plunges his hands into Tommy’s thick hair, taming its broom-like bristles into hip-looking spikes.
Luka turns back to me. “And Haley darling, I’ve got a little extra idea for you.”
He grabs at a curling brush. With a few deft twirls, he transforms my normally straight dark hair. Elegant spirals frame my face. The soft waves make me feel pretty and feminine, so different from my usual practical hairstyle.
That little boost of confidence damps down the sour taste in my mouth from the nausea that rises every time I think of what I’m about to face. The eyes of the world will see me revealed for the first time as no longer simply a nobody. Now, I’m a somebody because a person who cares for me happens to be famous; and some are going to judge me harshly because of that.
I’m opening myself up to criticism, even hatred, simply because Christian says he loves me. But I’m up for it. Not to say I’m not afraid. I’ve seen from the inside how bad this could get. Ollie’s unhappiness at the media attacks on Kendra reverberated through our family. The memory now whispers a warning. I’ve seen the sadness and anger in Christian when he talks about how they crucified him and Waverley. The echoes of the past pain still linger.
Although he’s ready for it this time. We both know what to expect; no outpouring of vitriol by some heartless journalist will crush us. We will get through this together.
Christian is fiercely protective of me; and I recognise that, even two weeks ago, when he first stood at my doorway, something about this man stirred my own protective instincts.
We’ve made a pact: we’re going to trust each other on this. Nothing can penetrate the shield built of his love for me and my feelings for him.
It’s too soon for me to find the words; I’m not brave enough yet, too scarred by the last time I let myself label an emotion as love—but I am falling for him. I have the courage to say I’m falling in love. Such a crazy term, like it’s a helpless plunge—and maybe it is. Or perhaps there was never any other option but Christian for me.
I stand, smoothing down the deep ruby velvet of my dress, the fabric luxurious under my fingertips. I took Bethany’s suggestion to choose something glamorous, a kind gesture on her part, ensuring I didn’t arrive here unprepared. Although, I’ve seen these post-final episodes before, and I knew the women would be in their finest outfits, with not a hair out of place, as if to remind the world this is the real them, not the wild unkempt creatures they became during the competition.
I don’t think I’m particularly vain, but it felt important the world sees me at my best. Many are going to question Christian’s judgement. I don’t want to give them any extra ammunition.
This is the dress I bought for The Brits, back in February. With the band nominated for Best Group, it was the biggest event I’d ever been to. Still reeling from Jack and Paige’s betrayal, seeing myself in the mirror that night, my bare shoulders framed with the soft ruffle of velvet, I’d had this sense of opportunity, as if this dress was a first step in reinventing myself. Little did I know back then that behind Christian’s appreciative glances, there was so much more. Wearing it tonight, I feel like his High Lady, the swirl of soft fabric rippling behind me as I walk towards the studio door, although nervousness still flutters in my stomach.
Tommy grabs my hand. “Ready?”
He grins at me, cocky and confident. I accept the squeeze gratefully, needing his reassurance, because although Peter Holt called me to explain what should happen when we go in there, nothing is certain. Tommy shoves open one of the double doors, ignoring the light above that flashes ‘Do Not Enter - Filming In Progress’.
We pause hand in hand at the top of the aisle, where steps flow down towards the stage. Heads in the audience turn, and we’re met with a mixture of puzzled frowns and wide-eyed curiosity. On cue, a production assistant races up the stairs towards us, hand raised, blocking our way. He knows the script.
“You can’t come in here. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Tommy Bunt, Loreena’s husband, and no little twerp is going to stop me from having my say about all of this.”
Tommy waves a hand at the group on the stage. Loreena sticks to the script too, eyebrows flying towards her forehead, then creasing in as much of a frown as the Botox allows. The audience gasps, fascinated by the scene. It’s time for my lines.
“And I’m Christian Steele’s girlfriend, Haley Templeton.”
My words are met with even bigger gasps. Some of the women look distraught. I hear a few hisses of disbelief and disgruntled murmurings. Several shoot me evil glares. I expected that reaction as jealous fans realise Christian is taken. There’s genuine sympathy in the eyes of a few; everyone knows what’s supposed to have gone down between Loreena and Christian in their little tent.
One guy has a camera trained on us, but other cameras are capturing him. He looks towards the floor manager, theatrically swiping a finger across his throat, as if questioning whether he should cut away. The floor manager looks between us and the group on thestage, gives a shake of his head, pausing dramatically before delivering the lines with a deep, convincing sigh.
“Let them in.”
The tension in the room is palpable. Almost everyone expects this is about to get ugly and their anticipation wafts around us.
Loreena lets out a small gasp, raising her hand to her mouth. Beside her, Christian refuses to play the game. His eyes meet mine, soft and trusting, the blue like a friendly sea, a tranquil shade which he seems to summon only for me. His lazy smile says it all, and he no longer cares what the world sees.
There is no doubt the audience wonders how he can smile, given the four players in this scenario, about to meet for the first time following the insinuations of infidelity. They presume I’m about to rip that expression away from his cheating face as an awkward scene unfolds for their pleasure.
They watch in fascinated horror as Tommy links his arm in mine and leads me down the aisle, head held high, like a proud father walking his daughter to the altar. Both of usareproud of what we’re doing here, part of bringing the truth to light and, in the process, hopefully getting a truckload of cash for others whose troubles are far greater than some bad publicity.
No one seems to question the convenient extra empty couch on one side of the stage, set there waiting for us. Tommy and I take a seat, Loreena giving us a sneaky wink. Christian’s eyes flicker towards me, brows raised in query, as if checking I’m OK. I give a slight nod and a smile. I can’t pretend to be angry at him like they want.
“Well, this is awkward.” Behind one hand, Bernard Bennett directs the little aside to the audience, accompanied by a knowing grin.But he doesn’t know anything. That smarmy little shit is in for a shock. He turns back to Loreena and Christian.
“So, Loreena, Christian, given all the rumours swirling around the two of you and what went on in that tent.” His voice is thick with innuendo. “Maybe it’s time to spill the beans, let the cat out of the bag, dish the dirt—”
“Bernard!” His exasperated co-host Lisa Mayberry, fixes him with a disparaging glare.
