It was something Neil was tired of hearing, I knew, but he needed to. He'd spent so much of his life hiding his pain—over his assault, over his failed marriage, then over Emma—under heaps of substances. His first instinct was to stay strong and medicated. It had almost killed him. He had nearly killed himself.
"Which is why I'm taking this momentous step and putting my needs before yours," he said ruefully. "Sorry about that."
"I think the apology negates the mental health aspect." I paused. "You'll be fine here alone tonight, right?"
"Absolutely. Rashida and I have plans to watch Supernatural together. It is apparently criminal that I have never seen it."
"Oh, you have a lot of catching up to do," I warned him. Stepping back, I put my arms out. "So, what do you think?"
I'd paired a very short, long-sleeved, black-and-mirror-sequined Balmain dress with purple suede Marant ankle boots. Jackson, my hair and makeup artist, had done a fantastic job dramatically contouring my face, and he'd given me a wicked smokey amethyst cat-eye look. With my hair up in a super high ponytail with long, crimped extensions, I looked like I'd just walked off the cover of a Duran Duran album.
"I think I brought you home from a nightclub in 1986 and had coked-out sex with you," Neil quipped.
"Exactly what I was going for." Usually, I did my own hair and makeup for going out, but this was an actual event. I had to show up looking awesome for my friends.
"I'm sorry I won't be there to be photographed with you on my arm." He shook his head sadly. "You're the only trophy spouse I get to show off."
I smirked at that. "Well, I won't be showing him off, either. We'll just happen to be at a party together. Speaking of which—and not to make you feel guiltier—Ian is going to be there."
"Oh no, I forgot about Ian." Neil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Send my regards?"
"Obviously. And you'll have to have a guy's night soon or something. You haven't seen Rudy in a while, either." My phone's alarm went off, and I swore. "Okay. I have to leave, or we won't get there at all. Are you going to be okay?"
"Yes, I told you, Rashida is babysitting me tonight," he half-joked. "I'll be fine. Have a good time."
He gave me a long, lingering kiss before we walked out.
Though the three of us all slept in the same bed all the time now, El-Mudad had retained his former keeping-up-appearances-for-the-staff room because he loved the closet. He met me in the foyer, dressed in an obnoxiously blue Tom Ford jacquard jacket over a half-open white button-down and black tuxedo pants.
"Oh no," I said, pressing a hand to my heart. "We clash, babe."
"We're not walking in together," he pointed out. "We'll be standing vaguely near each other, giving no one anything further to gossip about."
We left via the front door, and El-Mudad drove us down to the helipad. On the flight, I rested my head against his shoulder and watched as the lights below us intensified with every passing mile. "Maybe it's better this way. You would have been stuck at the party while Neil and I circulated together without you."
"And at least now Rashida has someone to watch that awful show with her." El-Mudad shuddered. "I sat through seven seasons, and the angel and the hot one never fucked. I gave up."
"I'm glad Neil is spending time with her. You know he loves both of your girls—"
"But Rashida is the favorite," El-Mudad finished for me. "It's understandable. Amal is of an age where she doesn't want yet another person to remind her that she's not an adult. And she's more guarded. Rashida has a very open heart."
"He misses being a dad, I think." That stung the way it always did when I thought of how much Neil loved Emma. It was brutally unfair that she'd been taken from him.
"No one will ever replace Emma," El-Mudad mused.
"You don't have to tell me that, believe me." I didn't want to bring the evening down before it began, but I had to ask. "You don't think Neil has anything in the house, do you?"
"What do you mean? Alcohol?" He sounded a bit surprised.
"Or drugs. He's hidden that kind of stuff before." It had taken a full-scale ransacking of the house to get rid of all of it.
"No," El-Mudad stated firmly. "The fact that he didn't want to go out tonight, that he's admitting weakness? That's a good sign. If he were already relapsing, he would do anything he could to hide it."
El-Mudad had been through two experiences with suicidal, addicted people. The first hadn't ended in recovery. He wasn't about to lose Neil, too.
"We'll just be extra vigilant," El-Mudad finished, leaning his head to kiss the top of mine. "Now, sit up. You're going to get makeup on my jacket, and it’s not off-the-rack.”