Sacred New Beginnings (20/?)
Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 |
All hell breaks loose in the hallway: cameras flash, voices shout, and Rose is frozen at the door. James springs into action at once, flying to her side and swallowing the sudden nausea that threatens to buckle his knees.
How did they find him? How do they know where Rose lives? How do they know her name?
“Get back. Get inside,” he says woodenly, grabbing Rose’s arm and pulling her away from the cameras that are snapping dozens and dozens of photos. There’s a delivery person standing at the threshold, holding a travel tray of drinks and a bag of food. James takes them from him. “Thanks, mate.”
He utterly ignores the paparazzi, who are shouting his name and hers while asking all sorts of questions, and instead slams the door behind him.
Fucking hell. This is it; his worst nightmare is coming true. He’s been found, and Rose has been found, and now the entire world will know her name and her face and where she lives.
“How did they find me?” she whispers, her voice brittle.
She’s pale as a sheet, white as a ghost—or maybe he’s got that backwards?—and she’s clutching at the front of her robe, as though people are still trying to sneak a photo of her in such a state of undress. Righteous fury rises up in him, and he has half a mind to go out into the hallway and roar at the parasites who thought it proper behavior to snag a cheeky photo of himself and Rose during their private hours together. He wants to rage at them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for any pictures they got of Rose in her dressing gown.
He drops the breakfast he no longer wants onto the kitchen island and stalks back to the bedroom for his phone. The sheets and pillows are rumpled from their morning activities, a mockery of the peace that’s been shattered to oblivion.
The moment he turns off the “do not disturb” setting on his phone, it blows up in his hand. All the notifications he’d seen and ignored from an hour earlier are from Donna, who tried to warn him about the circus in the corridor. Twitter and Instagram banners are warring with each other for the top spot as the newest notification, and he’s getting dozens of texts amidst the series of missed calls from his team.
He slumps down onto the mattress and rings Donna, but he’s vibrating with so much tension and energy that he springs to his feet a moment later and begins pacing.
His cousin answers within seconds. “You’re in a steaming, heaping pile of shit!”
“What happened?” he demands, voice cracking. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know. Something must have happened in the middle of the night. We’re working on putting the pieces together. When I woke up this morning, I found all sorts of rumors and speculations that mentioned Rose by name.”
“They’re outside her fucking flat!” he snarls. “A whole fucking swarm of them!”
“I know,” Donna grits out. “New photos are emerging. Jesus Christ… in your bloody pants?!”
“I didn’t realize we were opening the door to the fucking wolves,” he seethes. “We just wanted to order breakfast. Rose opened the door. She opened the door in her dressing gown and everyone saw her like that and they took pictures and called her by name and… Fuck, Donna. What am I supposed to do?”
His legs give out, and he pulls on his hair until it hurts. It’s just like before, when he had awoken to an empty bed and a whirlwind of notifications that nude photographs of him had been leaked and gone viral across the internet. But it’s so much worse now because it’s Rose, the person who has become his best friend, the one good thing in his life, the person who deserves the absolute best from this world.
“I’m on my way to her flat right now.” Donna’s tone is painfully gentle, and it makes him want to snap at her. “So’s half your security team. How’s Rose? Is she all right? How’s she handling this?”
James is now painfully aware he left Rose all alone in the kitchen without saying anything at all to her. His chest hollows out and he’s desperate to be with her, to hold her close and apologize for everything that’s happening, to promise her he’ll fix this.
“Call me when you get here,” he says, then he ends the call and flies down the hall.
Rose is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone with her forehead in her hand. He aches for her, and he forces his anger to soften so he doesn’t make this worse for her.
She hears him approaching and glances up with an emotionless expression. Her voice is hollow when she says, “The game’s up. We’re everywhere.”
She hands her phone to him, and part of him doesn’t want to look, but he takes it anyway. It’s a Twitter page—she has a Twitter?—and it’s full of them. He grinds his teeth together when he sees her shocked face in the photos, dressed in nothing but a satiny pink dressing gown that barely disguises the fact she’s naked underneath. Then there’s him in his boxer-briefs and rumpled t-shirt, with mussed hair and swollen lips and a ring of red around his neck that makes it so painfully obvious they’d just had sex.
Fuck fuck fuck.
“Rose, I’m…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Her phone buzzes in his hand before he can start reading any of the articles that are popping up across the Twitter feed.
“Everyone’s calling me,” she murmurs, taking her phone back from him and declining the call. “Friends. Coworkers. My boss.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he croaks, sinking to a crouch in front of her. He covers her trembling hands with his and brings them to his lips to press kiss after kiss to her knuckles.
She nods absently but doesn’t say anything. The silence between them is stifling, so different from the lighthearted laughter of her bedroom that morning.
“Donna’s coming over, as is my security team. They’ll get rid of everyone outside.”
“What’s the point? They’ll just come back.”
Yes, they will. James doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fix this, but the one thing he can do is take care of Rose right now. He knows all too well the state of shock she’s in, and when he’d been in her shoes, all he’d wanted was for someone to tell him exactly what to do and exactly what to say.
“Why don’t you get a shower?” he suggests, rising to his feet and tugging at her hands.
She doesn’t resist but also doesn’t speak, and he ignores the panic in his gut that’s telling him that everything is ruined, that everything he built with Rose is crumbling to ash.
“A nice, hot shower,” he says, guiding her through her bedroom and into the bathroom. He even goes so far as to turn the water on for her, testing the temperature until it’s just shy of scalding, exactly how she likes it.
Rose is staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He brushes his arm down her sleeve and asks, “Can I take your robe off?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he promises, unlacing the feeble knot Rose had hastily made.
Rose covers his hands, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on. “Neither do you.”
He merely shrugs, but Rose catches his hand and squeezes. “James. Look at me.” He doesn’t want to, but he does nevertheless. Her eyes are so gentle that it makes something twist deep in his chest. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? It’s not your fault.”
She then wraps her arms around him, and he melts into her. They cling to each other, not speaking, but simply being present together. He tucks his face into the side of her neck, breathing her in, and trying to quiet the fears screaming at him that it’s all over.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never wanted this to happen. Not like this.”
“I know.”
They stay in the embrace for several moments longer, listening to the pitter-patter of the water beating down on the floor of her shower.
James eventually leaves her to wash up in peace, and when she’s done, he showers too. He doesn’t have any of his own soap or shampoo here, so when he’s finished, he smells exactly like Rose. It’s comforting enough to soothe the raw nerve from the morning’s events.
He dresses in the same clothes as yesterday, wishing he had something else to change into, and when he joins Rose in the kitchen, he’s relieved to see her picking at a croissant. Well, it looks more like she’s shredding it, but he convinces himself she swallowed down a few bites.
She offers a weak smile that he tries to return.
“Has Donna called?” he asks, jutting his chin to his phone.
Rose shakes her head. “People keep knockin’ on the door. Haven’t even looked to see who it is.”
“Good. Don’t open the door yet. Not until Donna and my team get here.” He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “Have you read any of the articles yet?”
“Some,” she admits. “It’s all the same: you’ve been datin’ a nobody called Rose Tyler for the past few weeks.”
“You’re not a nobody!” he squawks.
She snorts humorlessly. “Better than bein’ called a whore.”
“Excuse me?” His tone is icy as rage sparks through him.
She shrugs. “Some people think I’m a hired escort for you while you’re in London. Seems an even split of opinions, honestly. There’s a poll goin’ viral on Twitter about it.” She scrolls through her phone. “Girlfriend is winning over escort, 55% to 45%.”
“I hate people,” he growls under his breath. But then he sobers and says, “Try not to read anything on the internet. I know it’s tempting, but please don’t. It won’t do you any favors. People can be quite nasty under the mask of anonymity. They’ll say whatever they want to sell the story that’ll make them the most money. Some of my fans can be brutal too, thinking they know what’s best for me. Please just… just try to stay off Twitter.”
“Everyone’s followin’ me now, too. Ten thousand new followers and climbing. Five hundred and more DMs. It’s made Twitter unusable. I haven’t even checked Instagram yet.”
“Fuck,” he groans, beating the heels of his hands into his brow. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she reminds him.
“Yes it is,” he snaps. “If you were dating a normal bloke, nothing like this would ever happen to you. It’s because it’s me that your life is being thrown upside down and torn apart for everyone to scrutinize. I’m a disease, infecting everyone around you, and it finally got to you now, too.”
“Well, tough. If I wanted to date a normal bloke, I’d date a normal bloke. But I decided I want you, you numpty, and you’re not responsible for anyone else’s behavior other than your own, so stop blaming yourself for everything that’s happening.”
James wants to keep arguing, even though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to fight with Rose, but this sympathy, this acceptance, this forgiveness… it’s almost too much to bear. It’s easier to lash out, to put the blame on himself, to infuriate everyone else around him until they, too, blame him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he instead mutters.
Her eyes flash with a hint of anger. Good. It’s time for the mask to fall away, time for her to stop seeing him as blameless.
But rather than condemn him as he expects, Rose says, “Don’t you dare accuse me of ignorance. I knew exactly what I was signing up for by being with you. And I won’t lie, it scares the hell out of me, but I decided ages ago that you’re worth it. So don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know better, ‘cos I do.”
He snaps his mouth shut before he can say something incredibly stupid. And as though to save him from himself, his phone chimes from the kitchen island with the name Donna Noble printed in bright white letters.
“Are you here?” he asks without greeting.
“Obviously. We’ve got half your team here and the other half is at your house. We’ve got some police with us to help disperse the crowd. It’s a zoo out here.”
He can hear it: a cacophony of voices shouts indistinctly from the other end of the line, and he can hear several people barking at them to back up and clear some space.
“Should I come down…?”
“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “Stay exactly where you are. Who’s the landlord of the building, by the way? We should probably let them know of this fiasco.”
He sighs. “It’s Rose’s father. Well. Stepfather. Tyler Peters.”
Donna pauses for a beat, then says, “At least he’ll be easy to get ‘hold of. Right. Stay on the line with me ‘til we get upstairs.”
James listens to every chaotic second of Donna’s trek, from the shouts in the background to her telling people exactly where they can shove their cameras.
“Bloody hell, we can barely get through this corridor. Oi, move it! This is a fire hazard, this is! Back up back up back up back up, oi, hands to yourself!”
If he wasn’t so miserable, he might have laughed to hear his cousin yelling at everyone who came within two feet of her. Alas, he stays quiet and steps up to the door, ready to welcome her in.
“We’re here, knock knock knock.”
As she says the words, three hard bangs rattle the front door. He peeks behind his shoulder to make sure Rose is well out of sight before he cracks open the door. The moment he’s visible, the shouting grows louder and the paparazzi snag more photographs. A combination of some of his security team and police officers have forced them several meters away from the door, yet it’s still close enough for them to get some good shots.
Donna, River, and a junior agent named Adric steps into the flat before he slams the door shut again. Within moments, he’s being pulled into his cousin’s arms. He hugs her tight and rests his chin on her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his ear, giving him a squeeze.
He drops his arms from around her, prompting her to release him, and when he pivots towards Rose, he finds River perched on the couch next to her, speaking softly.
“The plan is to get you back to your house,” Donna says, shifting from concerned cousin to professional publicist in an instant. “Unless you wanted to go somewhere else?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” he says, “but I can’t leave Rose here.”
At the sound of her name, she locks eyes with him.
“You… you’re more than welcome to come home with me, but you don’t have to, if you’d prefer to be somewhere else. I don’t think you should stay here alone, but if that’s what you truly want, I can arrange for officers to stay here with you.”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m comin’ with you. I should… I’ll pack a bag.”
Rose stands and brushes past them to head down the hall, but he catches her hand and says, “Take your time. There’s no rush.”
With that, she heads to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “This sucks.”
“Yeah, it does. Of all the ways I thought you’d be found out, this wasn’t it,” Donna admits.
“Did you figure out what happened?” he asks.
Donna hesitates for a moment, biting her lip.
“What? Tell me. I deserve to know who violated our privacy like this.”
“Please keep in mind that it was an accident,” she prefaces, but already he’s getting angry at this mystery person who leaked Rose’s identity to the whole world. “Apparently it was Rose’s mother.”
That stuns him enough that his anger is abruptly gone, replaced with confusion and a cloying emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He knew Jackie had despised his very essence, but he never would have thought she would’ve put her own daughter at risk…
“An accident?” he asks skeptically.
“A report went in to a magazine reporter in the middle of the night. Two girls who live here overheard Jackie Tyler say that her daughter was dating James Noble; she was quite upset about it, mind. I take it you didn’t make a good first impression?”
“Not the time, Donna,” he snaps.
She holds her hands up and lets that subject drop before she says, “The girls passed along the conversation as a tip. Early this morning, the magazine did some digging, trying to verify the information. That digging leaked to other tabloids, and it all snowballed ‘til everyone showed up here to find out for themselves.”
He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Great. Just fucking great. And what’s this about people thinking Rose is a hired escort?”
Donna rolls her eyes. “Elitist arseholes who don’t think she’s good enough for you since she’s not rich or famous.”
“Didn’t help they caught her in her dressing gown,” he mutters murderously.
Donna winces. “No, it didn’t. But this is fixable. The flurry of speculation will run its course over the weekend, and once it’s out of everyone’s system, you can start setting the record straight.”
“I don’t want to set the record straight, I want things to go back the way they were before!”
He’s well aware he’s whining like a child, but he can’t help it. It’s like if he just gets angry enough, things will go back to normal.
Never mind the fact that he’s tried that before, and it has never worked.
Rose emerges from her bedroom with a suitcase in her hand. She eyes them tentatively, as though catching on to the bitter mood that has settled over the kitchen, but says nothing. Instead, she sets her suitcase down and gathers up her laptop and a stack of papers and notebooks, which she shoves into a backpack.
“I’ve got to do some lesson planning,” she explains to nobody.
“Of course,” he says. “No problem.”
“Has there been any more news?” she asks, striving to keep her voice nonchalant.
“News?” he squeaks, then clears his throat to force his voice back to his normal register.
“About what happened? How it happened?” Rose peeks up at him through her lashes, gnawing on the corner of her thumb with such force he’s worried she’s about to rip her cuticle off.
He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, tugging them away from her mouth as he lies, “No. Nothing yet.”
“Right. Good. Yeah.” She finishes packing up her school bag, then smooths her hand down her fuzzy blue cardigan. “Do I look all right? Is this okay?”
It’s only now that he realizes she applied a full face of makeup. The red of her lipstick makes her lips look more kissable than usual, and the arc of eyeliner makes her beautiful eyes utterly sparkle. His heart trips over its next beat.
“You’re perfect,” he promises, bending to kiss those ruby lips for a fraction of a heartbeat.
She smiles slightly into the kiss before she pulls back. “Don’t smudge it.”
“Yessir,” he says gravely, snapping off a silly salute.
She laughs, and for a moment, they both forget about the morning, and it’s just like any other day together. But then River approaches to usher them toward the door, and the illusion breaks.
As Rose shrugs into her coat, James excuses himself down the hall to her spare room-turned-library. He immediately goes to the shelf he remembers Rose saying housed her favorite books, and he picks two of them at random, then grabs two other random books from the bookcase she’d said held all the books she hasn’t read yet. He can’t give her peace, but he can try to give her the comfort that comes with losing oneself in a book.
Everyone’s waiting by the door, staring quizzically at him. Rose is the first to notice what he’s carrying, and her entire face softens.
“I… I thought maybe you’d want to do a bit of reading,” he blurts. “And I didn’t know if you’d like what I have on my bookshelves. So I thought… books.”
“Books,” she repeats quietly. Then she meets his eye and says, “I love books.”
He smiles, then draws in a deep breath. “Ready to face the wolves?”
“Awoo,” she halfheartedly replies.
James slips his free arm around her waist then nods to River to open the door. Several officers have created a barricade with their bodies, keeping the horde of reporters out of arm’s reach, but there’s nothing to be done about the cameras, which begin to click and flash the moment he and Rose emerge.
He bends down until his lips are at Rose’s ear and says, “Keep your eyes on the ground and keep walking. Don’t react. You’re doing brilliantly.”
She follows his instructions to the letter, keeping her head bowed while they slowly amble down the corridor and to the lifts, with the police officers and security agents creating a bubble of protection around himself and Rose.
The main foyer of the building is just as bad, and outside is even worse because now regular people have gathered by the hundreds to try to catch a glimpse of him and Rose. Everyone is shouting his name, and some are shouting hers, asking how they met, how she snagged him, how long they’ve been together. Some questions are less polite.
“Ignore them,” he whispers again, fuming at the sight of her crimson cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re almost to the car. We’ll be getting into the back seat. You first, behind the driver.”
He keeps his hand planted on her spine as they walk to the car, where the back doors are open for them.
“In you go. Slide all the way over. Take your time. No rush.”
Once Rose is settled into her seat, he climbs in beside her, mindful of the books he’s carrying. The din of fans and paparazzi lessens when the door shuts behind him, but the buzzing in his head is loud enough anyways.
It’s slow going for his driver to get some distance between the crowd, but after a few minutes, they speed for his house amidst the sparse morning traffic. James is disheartened to see another crowd of fans and reporters on his street, crowding around his driveway. More police officers and his security agents have formed a barricade, but it doesn’t help the screams and shouts of his name.
I need to get a new house. Somewhere secret. Somewhere easier to protect.
His heart sinks to see that his security team has set up an entire perimeter around his property to control the swarm of people wanting to stick their nose in his business. He led Rose out of one hell and into another.
A soft, warm hand slips across his, rubbing soothing lines along his knuckles. He clutches Rose’s hand as though it can anchor him to the present, keeping the swarm of darkness at bay.
Inch by inch, the driver pulls the car into his garage and closes the door behind them, giving him some privacy. They each get out of the car and step into the house, which feels cold and empty. He heads to the thermostat and cranks it up, wanting Rose to be as cozy as possible in his home, and sets her books onto his huge dining table.
“Right,” Donna says, breaking the brittle silence around them. “Not much else to do, is there? Let the story run its course. If you’re feeling cheeky, post a statement on social media, or a cute photo of the two of you. Or let the paparazzi shoot themselves in the foot; already your fans are getting hashtags trending, outraged on your behalf at the photos they took.”
Usually James is uplifted to hear about his fans being good people, but apathy is all he can manage. He’s been hollowed out, exhausted beyond mere physical fatigue.
“Thanks,” he says, pulling Donna in for another hug. “I think we want to lay low for a bit.”
He receives a nod of agreement from Rose.
“Fair enough. Oh, your mum’s on her way here. She heard about the news a few minutes ago and couldn’t get ‘hold of you, so she let me know.”
James frowns and stares at his phone, which he now realizes has been oddly silent for the duration of the car ride home. The screen stays black, no matter how many times he presses the power button. All the notifications blowing up the device must’ve drained the battery.
“Can I get you anything?” Donna asks. “Either of you? Rose? You doing okay?”
“I think so,” she answers. Rose glances at him, but he has nothing to offer her, so she returns her attention to Donna. “I think we’re okay here. We’ll just… I dunno… stay in.”
Donna casts her a sympathetic look, then she says to him, “Your security team is out in force, so are several local police officers. We think the crowd will die down a bit once they realize you’re being hermits for the weekend. But security will be vigilant. I trust you know better than to sneak off on your own anywhere?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”
“One last piece of business,” Donna says. “As your publicist, I feel obligated to confirm the news that you and Rose are, in fact, dating. Is that all right? It’ll be as simple as that. No details, no photos, just an announcement.”
“Sure, fine, whatever,” he says, waving his hand at her. “You know best.”
“Damn right I do,” she says, but he can see the gentleness in her face that threatens to break the delicate grip he has on himself.
With one last comforting squeeze of his arm, Donna departs, leaving him and Rose alone. But are they really alone, when dozens upon dozens of his fans and paparazzi reporters are making a muffled commotion outside? Would it help if he goes outside and requests they leave him alone?
(He knows it won’t… he’s tried that before.)
So where does that leave him? He feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. He’s radiating with so much tension that he’s not sure how he hasn’t detonated. Despite being the largest house he’s ever lived in, the space feels too small, too cramped, like there’s not enough air for him to breathe.
James begins to pace a frenetic circuit around his living room where he mindlessly picks things up and puts them down in a new location. Yes, redecorating, that’s exactly what he needs. He needs to move things, to do something, to put all his energy into not thinking about the sordid photos going viral and the gross accusations people are making about Rose and…
“Hey, slow down.”
Rose steps in front of him and takes the bookends—that admittedly shouldn’t be relocated off his bookcase—out of his hands and sets them on the coffee table. (Bookends don’t go on coffee tables, Rose, what are you thinking?)
“Talk to me,” she pleads.
“And say what, exactly? This whole morning has been a scene straight out of my fucking nightmares?”
“Yes, actually,” she says, and it surprises him enough that he pauses his agitated movements. “Stop trying to pretend everything’s okay, or that you’ll make it okay. ‘Cos it’s not okay. I’m not okay, and I don’t think you are either. But I want you to tell me that, rather than running from me.”
“I’m not running, I’m walking.” Rose pins him with a glare so fierce it steals the rest of his sarcasm straight from his tongue. He sighs and admits, “I’m not fun to be around when I get like this, so I’m trying really hard to be a half-way decent person at the moment.”
“I don’t want you to be a half-way decent person, I want you to be James.” She cradles his cheeks, forcing him to look down at her. “I want you to be my James.”
All the fight goes out of him and all the voices in his head shout on top of one another. He slumps, dipping his head until his forehead rests on hers, and it all spills out of him: how much he hates that this has happened, how much he loathes the paparazzi and some of his nosy fans, how much he wishes he’d been the one to answer her door, how scared he is that this will drive her away, how worried he is about her reputation, how angry he is at everyone who had a hand in outing them. Everything. Every nasty, gnarled thought, and when he finishes his tirade, he’s calmer. Whether that has to do with everything he’d said or the fact that Rose is rubbing his back and nuzzling her nose into his, he doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care.
“There’s my James,” she says, pinching his waist playfully.
“Your James just… just… verbally shat all over you.”
Rose breaks into a giggle and muffles it by burying her face into his chest. He holds her tight and smiles secretly into her hair.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “And I know it’s not my fault, but I’m so sorry this happened.”
“I know. This certainly tops my ‘weirdest day of all times’ list.”
“Oh yeah? What used to hold the number one spot?”
She pulls back and gives him a cheeky grin. “The night a famous singer bought me a drink and asked me to dance.”
“Huh, kinda weird that happened to you twice now,” he teases.
She laughs aloud, and the sound is enough to loosen the knot of tension that continues to wrap around his chest. He ducks down to catch her lips in a sweet kiss.
They pull away after a few moments, and Rose rests her head on his chest, seemingly content to stand there with him. The silence is solemn, but not uncomfortable, and for a moment, James hopes that maybe this means they can come out of this mess unscathed and, more importantly, together.
“It was my mum,” Rose murmurs, the words so sudden that for a moment, James has no idea what she’s talking about.
But then he remembers his conversation with Donna, and swallows hard. “What?”
“My mum,” she repeats, not lifting her head from his chest. “She was so angry when she left last night, and she must’ve complained about it to Dad. And people overheard her. That’s how everyone found out.”
Rose sounds so miserable and dejected that he’s desperate to do anything to take that tone out of her voice.
“It was just a bit of bad luck,” he says, pulling back slightly to try to force her to look at him. She doesn’t; she keeps her eyes level with his chest. He places his fingers beneath her chin and nudges upward, and she finally meets his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t your mum’s fault. Those girls didn’t have to send a tip into the papers, but they did. So it wasn’t your fault.”
“But if I hadn’t introduced you to my mum like that…”
“Not. Your. Fault.” He interrupts her by resting his fingertips overtop her lips.
“Still feels like it,” she mumbles around the digits before moving his hand away from her mouth. “I haven’t been brave enough to talk to my mum yet, other than to tell her I’m safe. I dunno what to tell people. My boss is demanding a meeting with me first thing on Monday. And my friends want to know all the details. It’s exhausting. I dunno how you’ve done this for all these years. It’s been two hours, and I want to just… just…”
“Disappear?” he supplies, knowing exactly what she means.
She nods, and sighs.
“Want to know the secret? Distraction.” He darts his eyes around his living room, searching for anything that can get him and Rose out of their heads for a moment, and he lands on his television and gaming consoles. “Right. You and me. Mario Kart tournament.”
Rose pulls back, confusion written across her face. “…Mario Kart?”
“Mario Kart.” He flashes her a wink and clicks his tongue in a way that usually makes her laugh, but only pulls a half-smile from her.
“Sit,” he orders, half-guiding, half-pushing her to the sofa before he turns on his Wii console.
“Hey, you made fun of me for having a Wii,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling, so the words carry no bite.
“Excuse you, this is the next gen Wii,” he boasts, then he comes to sit down beside her with the controllers, which he pops into a steering-wheel-shaped attachment. “No changing the subject. Are you ready to get your arse handed to you in Mario Kart?”
He’s so relieved to see a broad, genuine smile steal across her face that he kisses her soundly. When she kisses him back with equal vigor, warmth blooms in his chest and his toes curl into the plush carpet.
She pulls back after many long seconds and grins devilishly at him. “Oh, you’re so on.”
