Poles Apart

His lips parted as his eyebrows rose in shock. “I don’t think that.”

I sighed sadly. “It doesn’t matter if you really think that or not. You’re making me move in with you and marry you, or you’ll take my daughter away from me. It doesn’t matter what you think of me. All I need is for Sasha to be happy, and I need to be with her. So if that means living with someone who makes me feel cheap and used, then so be it.” I pulled the door open and stomped down the concrete, graffiti-covered stairs without waiting for him. He was silent as he trudged along behind me, closing the door to my flat before following me down into the damp foyer.

As I reached for the handle of the main door leading outside, his hand closed over mine, stopping me. “Wait,” he huffed. I didn’t bother looking at him as he spoke. I didn’t really care what he had to say because in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything. “The reporters are probably still outside. They’re going to crowd us as soon as we walk out of the building. My car is over on the right-hand side, about four spaces in. Just get in the car and ignore anything they ask you,” he instructed.

I nodded once in acknowledgement, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the door, refusing to even glance in his direction. “Fine.” I pulled my hand from his and caught the door handle, yanking it open and stepping out. As soon as I was out of the building, reporters swarmed around me, taking photographs and shouting questions. I raised my chin, put on a fake smile and stalked toward Carson’s shiny silver car parked exactly where he said it would be. A second later, the door slammed closed behind me, and then the reporters were shouting questions at him, too. He answered ‘no comment’ to everything as he jogged to catch me up.

When his arm slipped around my waist, I didn’t push him off in front of the cameras. If I had to act like the dutiful little wife so I could be in my daughter’s life, then I would.

When we were level with his car, he opened the door for me, waiting until I was in before putting my two bin liners’ worth of possessions in the boot and heading to the driver’s side. As we peeled out of the car park, I slumped down in my seat and looked out the window, watching as he sped me away from the only place I had truly called home. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but it was home to me. The first and only place I had been happy.

Awkward silence filled the car as I ground my teeth, wallowing in my self-pity and self-hatred. I pulled out my mobile, turning it on and sending a text to Lucie to tell her I was with Carson and I’d call her later. Less than a minute later, she replied telling me Rory and Sasha could stay with her as long as I needed them to.

I relaxed marginally as I read her message, but then my thoughts drifted to Rory and what he would know now. He’d know I’d lied to him about who Sasha’s dad was for the last couple of years. I’d have a lot of explaining to do. A lump formed in my throat as I wondered if my little brother would think I was some kind of dirty whore now, too. If he looked at me like Carson had, I wasn’t sure how I was going to cope.

I didn’t bother paying any attention to where we were going, just watched the streets whizz past without actually seeing them. When we slowed down, I looked out the windscreen to see a big white house, three stories, big windows and heavy-looking wrought iron gates outside. Those big, iron gates were currently swinging slowly open to allow the car inside. The place was incredible, beautiful even. It looked very, very expensive. This kind of property in London would easily set someone back a couple of million pounds. It was every little girl’s dream house – but it looked more like a prison to me.

A RED LIGHT AT THE SIDE OF THE GARAGE flashed at the car and a couple of seconds later, the double garage doors automatically rolled open.

“Number plate recognition camera,” Carson answered my unanswered question as I frowned at the light, wondering what it was. He pulled the car into the garage, cutting the engine before turning in his seat to look at me. I had nothing to say to him, though. It was like we were strangers now, because the Carson I had met three years ago was long gone, replaced by this mean, nasty person before me. I shoved my door open, climbing out, wanting to be as far away from him as possible.

As I stepped from the car, I couldn’t help but gasp as I looked around. The garage I thought was just a double from the front was actually a large, expansive area, which must have stretched under the house itself. It housed five shiny, sleek cars and three motorbikes. It was perfectly clean and looked more like a showroom. I raised one eyebrow in understanding. I’d found what Carson liked to spend his money on.

Behind me, I could hear him getting my bags from the boot, but I didn’t bother to offer help. He was the one who insisted on this ridiculous charade, so I figured he could struggle and suffer the consequences.

“This way,” he muttered, stalking toward the door at the back of the garage.

I followed him quietly, watching as he punched a code into a little black box next to the door. When the door lock clicked, he pushed it open, stepped to the side and motioned for me to step through in a ‘ladies first’ gesture. I resisted the urge to laugh. I’d gone from prostitute to lady in the space of half an hour; that was impressive.

After walking up a flight of stairs, I opened the door at the top and stepped into the hallway of his house. I stopped immediately; the damn hallway was bigger than my lounge, and it was exquisite. I gulped as I stared at the expensive-looking ornaments on the side. Glass doors led to, what I assumed was, the lounge because it had sofas and one whole wall was completely covered in a pull-down TV. The place screamed three words: money, show and bachelor.