SUNDAY

I stand barefoot at the door to my room. The paper today doesn't have anything on Jaq's performance. I suppose it's old news. Not worthy of appearing twice. I check the Culture section a second time, just to be certain.

In this case, I think no news is very good news.

I have to resist the urge to look reviews up online. It's much healthier to restrict myself to print media for this - the comments sections on digital articles and video clips are dangerous. They're where self-esteem goes to die.

I try to reassure myself.

The stagehands were very positive after the show.

Not that they had a great view from backstage.

They were probably more impressed that I returned after the unpleasant display of panic I put on at the first show.

I feel my palms begin to sweat.

Don't think about it.

My phone buzzes. I don't want to hear it.

Today, I just want to wallow in self-loathing and regret, alone in my hotel room.

It buzzes again. Insisting that I check it.

Hateful thing.

I pick it up, admiring the latticework of cracks spread across the screen. Most are just on the screen protector. Only the worst one made it the whole way through.

It buzzes a third time.

'I swear, if you don't shut up, I'll throw you across the room again.'

That seems to silence it.

I wish threatening the messenger would erase the messages I've been sent. I can ignore them as much as I like. Ignoring them won't un-send them, though.

Grumbling, I look.

I've been summoned to the estate.

No thank you. I need to rest. After the past two weeks, I could spend a year curled up in the big hotel bed and still feel tired at the end of it.

If this were a real job, I'd complain to HR about the hostile work environment, excessively long hours, and total lack of breaks. I'd demand union representation if nothing changed.

Then I'd get fired for rabblerousing.

I never want to do this again.

Ever.

Never ever ever.

I feel like a child about to throw a tantrum.

Tantrums don't help anyone.

I glance over the wreckage I left in the room yesterday after making that stupid mask. Ragged scraps of old clothes sit in a pile on the floor by the table, the remnants of sacrifices already forgotten. My bones protest loudly as I pick my way awkwardly through the scattered hot glue sticks and frayed ribbon.

I'll tidy it up later.

----------------------------------------

The bright sunlight makes the estate's lawn hard to look at. It's too vibrant, the colour too saturated. It's a strain for the eye to take in so much green all at once.

I step out of the car and onto the cobbled driveway. The stonework is pretty, but it's not easy to walk on. I begin to climb the stairs to the front door, thankful for the shade of the porch, but Jaq launches himself out, clomping down the stairs beside me and waving for me to follow.

He must have been waiting for me in the front room.

I begin to worry.

He's not usually this eager to see me, nor has he ever suggested we walk in the garden together.

That seems almost romantic.

Is he upset with me? Does he think I was upstaging him? Was I upstaging him?

I think I was.

I feel a crushing weight materialise in my chest.

I briefly wonder if he'd going to drive me somewhere, but he passes the entrance to the garage without so much as a glance.

I follow at a distance, struggling to keep up.

What I'd give to be able to just wear sneakers all the damn time.

We finally make it into a small courtyard with floral arches, and Jaq stops.

'What's going on?' I ask, breathless.

He stands, straight-backed, facing away from me. I can only imagine his expression. He says;

'I've been doing really badly... at this whole thing.'

I guess it's good that he knows? The first step to improvement is knowing where you went wrong.

'You've done so much for me. You've protected me when you didn't have to. You came to help me without being asked. You were there even when it hurt you. I've been relying on you for so much.'

He turns around. He looks nervous.

'You even managed to make Mother praise me. That's so much more than I imagined you'd be able to do.'

He walks toward me slowly. Hesitatingly.

I don't like it.

He says;

'I've come to realise I can't do much without you. I need you.'

Jaq kneels in front of me.

No, no, don’t do that. That’s a terrible idea.

He holds his empty hand up, miming the act of offering me a ring. The ring I’m already wearing.

No, Jaq, stop. Don’t do this. Please stop.

‘Will you be my real fiancée?’

‘Uh-’

‘Marry me. Really.’

I stare at him.

‘I… I can’t.’

He looks crestfallen. I don't want him to cry;

‘No, don’t do that… I-’

I groan loudly.

‘You don’t want to marry me.’

‘I do.’

‘No, you don’t. You want to possess some amalgam of me as your employee and the character I play to fool your parents.’

He doesn’t understand.

‘This’

I indicate my dress, the garden we're standing in.

‘This isn’t me. This isn’t me at all. You don’t know me. I… even I’m losing touch with me.’

‘I don’t think you in different clothes is a different you.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’

I shake my head.

‘You want… a manager. A mother. A protector. Not a partner. I'm not looking for a ward. I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t know what I want.’

His expression is adamant – his eyes intense.

‘Let me prove that I want you.’

The bigger problem is, I don’t want him.

I couldn’t respect him as a partner. He’s incompetent, careless, selfish, prudish… the only positive qualities he has are his wealth and his musical skill. Those don't outweigh the negatives. My poor opinion of him, my distaste for his immaturity... none of it is a good foundation for a relationship.

I'd have to at least like him as a person... that'd be a start. But, he's barely a person in my mind. More like a... violin-playing mannequin.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

That might even be too generous. He seems so flat. He's more like a silhouette of a person. A paper doll with split pins for joints.

How do I say that without hurting him?

This is why workplaces frown on bosses and employees dating. If I hurt him, he could decide to throw me out onto the street. And then? I live in a hotel room I can’t afford.

I don't even know how they got all my stuff up into my room. Getting it back out would be a nightmare.

‘I don’t-‘

‘I’m sorry, I sprung the question on you too soon.’

There was never going to be a right time.

‘No-‘

He stands, and for the first time, voluntarily hugs me.

‘I can do better.’

I wonder what this exchange looks like from the house. A heartfelt thanks? ...Not if they saw him go down to his knees. Him begging for forgiveness? That presents a much worse question; what would the staff speculate he might need forgiveness for?

I want to push him away, but I can't. Not here.

I don't want to be having this conversation. I'd rather talk about almost anything else... even the topics I've been deliberately delaying seem enjoyable in comparison.

At the risk of sounding jealous, I say;

'You still haven't spoken to Pitch.'

His arms tense a little. I imagine he thought that topic was resolved when he stormed out on me.

He releases me.

'Yeah.'

'When will you?'

He turns away, suddenly unwilling to look at me.

'If you won't speak to him, then you need to tell me what's going on so I can do something about it.'

He says nothing.

'Jaq.'

I try to prompt him, impatient now.

'I need to know why he's targeting me - I know it's not because he 'fell in love' with me. That's ridiculous. I'm not some kind of fairytale princess whose beauty is so great that people go head-over-heels for me at first sight.'

He starts to walk away from me, back to the house.

'Fine. If you won't tell me, I'm going to have to do something stupid to find out for myself.'

He turns back, a look of panic in his eyes.

Too late, buddy.

I march slowly toward the main gate.

He could catch up if he wanted to. The combination of impractical shoes and uneven ground have me hobbled.

If he were wise, he would stop me and tell me everything.

He doesn't.

I wonder how this will look.

Let the staff say what they want.

It's about time he was the one in hot water.

----------------------------------------

Lionel's car pulls up beside me - finally. I only walked two blocks from the house, but in this neighbourhood a block is gigantic.

'Welcome to the Lionel Glarean taxi service, where may I take you today, ma'am?'

I flop down into the passenger seat.

'I hate your stupid brother.'

'Me too. He's kind of a dick sometimes, huh?'

I said I was going to do something stupid. Now, I have to follow through.

'We need to go see Pitch.'

Lionel scowls at me.

'Are you sure?'

I'm really not sure, but I can't tell him that. Instead, I ask;

'Was Jaq dating Pitch?'

'Excuse me?'

Lionel's flabbergasted expression tells me more than an answer would have. If he was dating Charles, he kept it from Lionel. He hid it well. It seems like something he'd do. He's so reticent with his emotions.

'He denied it when I asked him, but he denied it by shouting 'He's not my boyfriend,' and storming out. That's basically saying 'There was something there and I'm embarrassed you're asking about it,' right?'

Lionel looks thoughtful.

'Well, shit.'

'He forgot to tell me he had a brother - he didn't tell you he was going to hire me to be his fake fiancée. What are the odds he didn't even think to tell his maybe-a-boyfriend he was being forced to get married?'

Lionel is silent.

'What if Pitch thought he and Jaq were pretty much an item, and everything was going peachy, and then with no warning and no explanation, Jaq just had a fiancée? If that happened to me... I'd probably go on a rampage.'

'I'd be pretty pissed too.'

'Jaq was fine with having me lie to you. He'd probably be fine with me lying to his almost-lover too. He was probably pretty happy to lie to Pitch himself... He doesn't like to talk about anything personal. Asking him important stuff about his life was like pulling teeth - and he was paying me to set up this stupid farce so he knew he needed to tell me those things. If Pitch tried to question him, do you think he'd have responded in a healthy way? I'd bet money he just said stuff that made it even more painful - Am I delusional?'

Lionel looks out the windscreen.

'I don't know.'

'It would explain why he was so fucking creepy to me the first time I met him.'

Finally, Lionel starts the car. We pull out into the street.

'But why isn't he trying to get back at Jaq? Aren't you kind of just an innocent bystander in this story? My brother is the one that hurt him.'

I nod. I'd have thought that too, but;

'Jaq told him that I didn't want them hanging out anymore.'

'I mean, that was kind of justified... he was being aggressively creepy.'

'But it wasn't what I said. I told Jaq I didn't want to hang out with Pitch, but he should still spend time with his friend. Whether he meant to or not, he specifically made the end of the relationship between them my fault. Now Pitch thinks I forced Jaq to ghost him after Pitch tried to warn me that Jaq was just using me.'

'When did he try to warn you?'

'The first or second time I met him, I think. He told me Jaq didn't care about me. I think he was trying to hurt Jaq then, by scaring me away, but once it looked like I'd staked my claim on Jaq, he went after me.'

'Jeez.'

'That's why I need to talk to Pitch.'

We lapse into silence for the rest of the journey. I can't stop running the scenario through my mind on repeat. I could imagine Jaq being completely oblivious to how serious his relationship with Charles had become. Not quite seeing the romantic advances for what they were, perhaps even returning them unintentionally. I could totally believe that he'd break off such a relationship, not realising that his actions would have such a serious effect; he didn't quite understand what was happening in the first place.

Conversely, I can imagine Jaq being in a completely unambiguous relationship with Charles, but then being too much of a coward to end it properly when the situation changed.

I could envision a version of him that deliberately lead Charles on because he liked the attention, but kept rebuffing direct advances because he knew his parents wouldn't allow him to be in a relationship like that.

If I were in Charles' situation, I would have been so angry with Jaq.

Depending on how sincere she seemed, I might have tried to warn Jaq's new partner, just like Charles did.

I'd probably have tried to be more tactful about it, though.

If she told me to get lost... I'd have left her alone. I can't imagine a version of me that would have had the new beau stalked and robbed. I don't think I could muster up the level of indignant rage I'd need to drive me to kidnap the poor sap.

Even if it were clear that this hypothetical girl actively sought Jaq out to seduce him because she wanted to hurt me, I don't think I'd be upset enough to attack her. Seduction takes two. He could have said no. By leaving me for someone else, Jaq would simply be proving that he wasn't worth my time.

Perhaps this is a class difference.

I grew up with limited resources. I'm used to things being taken away, or giving up on them when they become too expensive. I never had the luxury of putting my foot down and saying; 'No, this is mine,' irrespective of what it might cost me to keep it.

I never had the energy to play at getting revenge when people hurt me. Most of the time, even justice was too much effort to obtain. Instead, I'd pick up the pieces and move on to something more productive. I'd build new defence systems to keep me safe for next time.

Perhaps it's a failure of my imagination, but I just can't picture myself as someone who would take it all so personally.

I dial Charles' number. He answers the phone promptly;

'Jojo, my precious little mouse, to what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Are you home?'

'Oh, interested in a little rendezvous are we-'

'I'm outside. Come to the entrance.'

I hang up.

Charles arrives at the front gate, dressed casually in overpriced designer loungewear. He looks irritated.

'You didn't say there would be two of you.'

Lionel steps back a single step, as though he wants to offer us some privacy, but is unwilling to leave me unprotected. Normally I'd find a move like that condescending, but I know Charles wouldn't think twice about hurting me.

Especially considering what I'm about to say.

Standing here, in the presence of someone who's ready to do violence on my behalf, is cold comfort.

I nervously ball my hands into tight fists inside my coat pickets, and ask;

'Were you in a romantic relationship with Jaq?'

Charles glances at the car behind me, as if he were looking for the dash-cam. I don't blame him. That was his downfall last time.

'And why would I dignify that question with a response?'

I scrutinise his tone and expression. I can't be certain. I want to demand a clearer answer, but I'm in no position to. He already doesn't trust me. I wouldn't trust me.

I have to follow my gut and act as though I know my suspicion is right.

I take a deep breath.

'Jaq didn't dump you for me.'

He looks surprised.

'I'm not his fiancée.'

Behind me, I hear Lionel shift;

'Jo, don't...'

I ignore him and announce;

'I'm a fake.'

Charles' expression is sceptical.

'And why should I believe you?'

I try to reassure myself - this is a calculated risk.

He hasn't said or done anything that would tell me I'm definitely wrong. He hasn't laughed at me derisively. He hasn't screwed up his face in disgust at the idea or pointed out any of the reasons why Jaq is undateable. He hasn't shouted any homophobic slurs.

Right now, I can either double down or give up.

I may already have said enough to make him consider talking through his problems with Jaq, but I'm almost certain Jaq will just try to stonewall him again. He needs to believe me enough that Jaq's bullshit won't dissuade him.

Telling him I'm a fraud doesn't give him real leverage unless he has it on camera.

'You want to destroy me, don't you? I'll tell you how.'

'Jo!'

Lionel grabs my sleeve, a futile attempt to stop me from speaking.

'You stole my documents, but you didn't get anything incriminating. That folder was full of the things I'd need to reference for rental applications or tax returns. The incriminating stuff wasn't in there.'

I take a breath. If I could, I'd stop time here and never say it, but I don't have superpowers.

'I was expelled from university. In my final year. Academic misconduct. I was innocent, but it didn't matter. The disciplinary board didn't find in my favour. If you want me gone it wouldn't be hard to get all the evidence you need; you can just call the uni. Say you're a prospective employer or something. They'll tell you. Probably not in detail, but they'll give you at least the bare bones, and that's enough. Pass the information on to Frances. She'll force Jaq to leave me. She was the one who forced him to get a fake fiancée in the first place.'

I pause. Charles' face is unreadable.

'That won't solve your problem though. He'll get another fake fiancée. You'll have to drive her off too. Heck, maybe he'll grow up and agree to actually marry someone. And then what?'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'If I didn't, would you leave me alone? You'd just dig and pry until you found out. I'm not interested in fighting you. I didn't sign up for that.'

I step back, continuing;

'It's up to you to decide if you want to talk to Jaq. What he did to you was cruel, but I don't think he meant to hurt you. He probably just wanted to protect himself by avoiding the whole discussion, and didn't think any of it through.'

What you did to me was criminal, and you meant to do worse.

I shake the thought out of my head.

'I don't know if the relationship can be salvaged, or if you'd even want to. If I'd known about your feelings, I'd have found a way to make Jaq talk to you sooner. I'm sorry if it's too late... or maybe I'm sorry it didn't happen sooner, so you wouldn't have been as attached, and wouldn't have gotten hurt so badly when he inevitably did something this heartless. I don't know.'

Charles considers me, unspeaking. I don't have more to say. The silence stretches out awkwardly.

Rather than stand around like a lost lemon, I return to the car.

'Let's go.'

Lionel sits in the driver's seat, watching Charles stalk back up to his house.

'That was reckless, Jo. You know he'll do it.'

'Yeah.'

I feel strangely free. Whether it's a lingering adrenaline high or an actual sense of freedom, I don't know.

'Mother's going to want to kill you.'

'She sure is.'

I rest my head against the glass.

'Are you going to be okay?'

I laugh.

'I think your mother is probably too classy to hire goons to hunt me down.'

She'll probably try to sue me though. I hope my accountant has been diligent with her scheme to make my money safe.

I still can't believe I have an accountant.