Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“I’m so proud of you, Ella. You were a superstar.”
“A superstar with a superstar.”
“Heath’s down to earth for a superstar, so don’t worry about that,” he says, but I shake my head.
“I was talking about you, Josh.” I look at my boyfriend with pure adoration. “You’re the superstar, not Heath.”
Josh leans in for a kiss, and we’d be in the cloud of Romeo and Juliet for three days straight – if my phone didn’t start vibrating in my handbag.
“Damn it. It better not be Connor,” I say. “It’s nearly 4 a.m., for fuck sake.”
My heart stops when I see the name on the screen. Because it’s not Connor, or unknown, or private number. It’s Dad. And I get a glimpse of the notifications window in the background.
Eighteen missed calls.
What the hell?
“Dad?!” I say when I answer. “Are you ok?! What’s happening?”
“That’s the question I’m calling to ask YOU!” he shouts. “What the fuck is happening with YOU?!”
I wait for it. Oh fucking hell no.
The jackass has done it. I know he has.
“Connor called and told us you’re a prostitute, Ella. He said Josh is your pimp, and you’ve been selling yourself for cash since he left you. Tell us he’s a liar, please. Conniving piece of shit! We’ve been worried sick by this crap.”
But I can’t do that.
I can’t lie to them.
Not like this.
“Josh isn’t my pimp,” I say, and Dad lets out a sigh.
“Good. Thank fuck for that. And you’re not a whore either, right?”
I can’t speak. I stay silent. The seconds tick by like hours.
“Ella!” Dad yells. “You’re not a whore, are you? You’re in PR!”
I close my eyes, hating my sonofabitch ex with every scrap of my being.
“I am in PR,” I tell my dad. “I’m an entertainer.” And then I pause. It has to be done. I can’t lie to him.
“An entertainer? And what’s that?”
Fuck you, Connor. Fuck you.
“I entertain clients. However they want to be entertained.”
Deadly silence. Deadly.
“That means a whore, doesn’t it? Are you a fucking prostitute, Ella?”
Here goes nothing.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess you could phrase it that way, if you wanted to.”
I have to pull my phone from my ear as Dad erupts at me. He shouts and screams, and Mum wails in the background.
“HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING TELL US? WHY THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU A FUCKING PROSTITUTE?? WE’D HAVE SAVED YOU! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THIS!”
I try to answer, but they are too emotional to listen, so I stop my attempts and just take it. I soak up their hurt, and concern and outrage – my heart pounding and my guts twisting in pain.
How can things go from so high to so fucking low, just like that?
“We’re getting on a plane right fucking now,” Dad says when he’s finally coherent, and then the line goes dead.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Twenty-five hours of pure misery as I wait for my parents to arrive from Sydney. There is no solace from the ultimate confrontation. I pace, and fidget, staring at myself like a hollow zombie whenever I pass a mirror.
I know Dad’s tone. I heard the anger and frustration in his words, not to mention the shame. I heard Mum’s frantic tears and it broke my heart.
I know just what a lying cunt Connor must have been when he threw me to the wolves.
I attempt call after call to both Mum and Dad, but there is no response. I don’t know which airport they’ll be arriving at, or when, only that they are on their way.
All I get is a screenshot of the hotel they’ll be checking into.
Suite One at the Mavilla Grand Hotel. Mayfair. What a fucking surprise.
I hate Connor so much I want to tear his spleen out with my fucking teeth.
Josh doesn’t sleep or leave my side – not for a single second. He is ghostly pale along with me, offering his best assurances that things will be ok, and trying to keep me fed, but we both know it’s surface level optimism. This kind of revelation could tear my family apart. For ever.
I clench my fists so hard that my nails dig like talons into my palm every time I picture my parents racing across the world to rescue me, condemning my choices every step of the way.
I wonder if they hate me. It’s Dad’s shame that stabs me the most, how disgusted he sounded.
I’m out of my mind when a message finally arrives.
We’re at the hotel. Get here as soon as you can.
As if I’d do anything else.
I rely on makeup to hide the terror, taking deep breaths between brush strokes with shaking fingers. Josh helps me pin my hair up in classy burlesque style, and I dress smartly, like I did for Kingsgate Lettings – black blouse, tailored jacket, black pencil skirt. I’m going to show my parents my best, regardless of how chewed up my insides are.