So I Married a Rockstar

Chapter Eight

Ch.8: Red Roses

Within twenty minutes, a silver Bentley arrived to collect me. Because Annie had been in charge of organising everything else so far, I'd assumed that she'd probably be behind the wheel, too. Instead, I was met by a big guy in his forties, with hair creeping back from his temples, and eyes framed with a fantail of deep laugh lines, who introduced himself as Don McLaren, Jude's personal driver.

And apparently mine too.

Leaving the loft was awkward as hell. Since we still hadn't talked about the physical part of our trial marriage, I had no idea if I should kiss Jude goodbye or not. I kind of wanted to, but what if he thought it was too soon? What if he refused or avoided me, and I completely humiliated myself in front of him and Elle?

So I just mumbled, ''bye', took the key that Jude gave me, and scurried into the Bentley without looking back.

Central London was as congested as usual, but sitting in the back of a spacious Bentley, with tinted windows so no one could see me, and soft music piped in from hidden speakers, I couldn't exactly complain. It really did beat the crush of the Tube.

Don didn't say much as we drove, and I was relieved about that. There was too much going on in my head to make small talk. I still hadn't told my parents or Tasha what had happened – as far as they knew, I wasn't flying back from Vegas until tomorrow. Maybe Jude was right about not telling them yet. Expecting them to come to terms with something that I still hadn't fully, was a big ask. But lying to them about something like this – even if it was a lie by omission – made my chest squeeze tight.

When we were two streets past Market Row, Don pulled up to the kerb. I was pretty sure cars weren't allowed to stop here, but since when did rules apply to anything connected with Jude Scott?

"This is where Mr Scott instructed me to drop you off," Don said, looking back at me.

I fought the urge to laugh.

A couple of days ago, I'd been sitting on the pavement in Vegas, nursing a cracked heart and a cheap bottle of vodka. Now I was being chauffeured around London as if I was Somebody.

"Thanks," I said.

"He also instructed that I wait here at five-thirty for you. He's put my number into your phone, so if anything changes, call me and we can alter the arrangements."

Of course he had, and I hadn't even seen him do it.

I climbed out of the car and shut the door, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. But no one was looking at me. It was only the people who knew me that I had to worry about.

I slipped the diamond ring off my finger and slid it in my pocket.

As I walked into The Tipsy Swallow, I half-expected everyone to notice that something was different, as if Jude's charisma and Elle's gloss had managed to rub off on me, but apparently I was the same old Camden, because no one said anything other than how sorry they were that Jake had cheated on me, there were plenty more fish in the sea, I was better than him anyway, I'd find someone else, and all the other well-meaning but unhelpful things that people say when they don't know what to say.

Samantha thanked me for coming in at such short notice, gave me a spare uniform, then put me to work polishing the bar.

It was almost as if the last couple of days hadn't happened.

In a way, I'd wanted that. I'd thought that returning somewhere familiar, like work, would keep me grounded in the whirlwind of abrupt change that had swept through my life, but instead it made me feel more out of place, more torn between two halves of my life. I wanted to fit those halves together, but the edges didn't match up.