Kate rolled out of bed, feeling like she’d been beaten. Good beaten, as in Darcy was in a whole other league from any woman she’d ever been near. Beaten as in she was aching everywhere and pretty sure she could have scars on her back. Beaten as in somehow she’d fallen asleep in the morning—and only when Darcy had let her—and beaten because Darcy hadn’t slept in the same room.
Clothes were folded up on a chair for her, including a pair of boxers, but it was past noon and the house was quiet. She sighed and dressed—felt like an intruder somehow. Could she still be done for trespassing if she showed the bruises? Then again, maybe Darcy would just claim self-defence.
She wandered out onto the landing. Staring back was a huge picture of that iconic moment with Darcy and Zoë in high contrast black and white—yeah, trespassing.
“Don’t look so glum,” Darcy whispered from the stairs. She had a tray with toast and more orange juice. “It’s there because Susannah wanted me to keep it.”
She tried to shove her hands in her pockets, then frowned down at the fitted jeans. Where were the pockets?
“On the front,” Darcy said with a soft smile on her face—must have been up a while. The energy that people had who loved mornings buzzed around her.
“Oh.” Kate shoved her hands in the pockets. Yeah, that was not as comfortable. “You sleep alright?” Awkward much?
“I didn’t sleep.” Darcy smiled and took her by the hand, leading her back to bed. “I rarely sleep more than a few hours at a time.”
“Then how do you have the energy to stand upright?” Why was Darcy in gym clothes? How had she needed more of a workout?
“Practice.” Darcy placed the tray on the bedside table and pushed her down. “Hopefully you’ll find the toast more palatable.” She shoved a piece in her mouth. Kate chewed on it as Darcy sat beside her and curled one leg up under the other. “I shouldn’t have invited you in…or let you stay over. You understand that?”
“This where you tell me to keep quiet, or you’ll make me wear puffy pink?” She chomped on the toast. Not bad. Better than the cardboard cornflakes.
“This is where I ask you to respect that I’ve let you in and…you have a massive amount on me right now.” She sighed and flicked back her blonde hair. “And I hope you don’t get offended that I’m having this conversation with you.”
“You think I’ll sell out?” Offended, that was an understatement. Ouch.
“I need to hear you won’t.” Darcy met her eyes, gentle, resolute. “I feel as vulnerable as you. I don’t know you.” She hugged herself. “Kate, if you talk to anyone, I lose my career and…Susannah. I know she thinks in idealistic ways, but…” She picked at Kate’s jeans. “Zoë lost a massive amount of professional friends. Personally, they don’t care; publicly, she doesn’t exist anymore.”
“But she’s doing alright.” Had Darcy missed the slick look, the designing career, the billboard wife?
“No, she was asked not to attend London Fashion Week.” She rubbed her palm over Kate’s knee. “Several stars turned down wearing her clothes to the premieres, and…” She leaned in and kissed her. “Blanche is only on the billboard because the designer is a personal friend of mine and he stuck his neck out.”
“Aren’t most of the designers gay?” Was it her, or wasn’t fashion pretty camp on a good day?
“The male ones.” Darcy kissed her again and sat back. “They’ll all accept her again, but when you break a mould, you get punished. Rumours fly around, and it takes years to claw back.” She stroked her fingernail over Kate’s forearm. “It probably doesn’t mean a lot to you, but it’s our livelihood.”
She chomped more toast. Were there rumours about Zoë? Who listened to the rumours? “There’s plenty of gay people on TV, in the arts.”
“Any that you see working?” Darcy peered under her eyebrows. “They as successful as they were before they opened their mouth?”
“I dunno. I don’t pay attention to it.” She finished up her toast and placed it on the table.
“Yes, because it’s just gossip about someone you don’t know.” Darcy sighed and pulled out her phone. She handed it over. “Read it.”
Kate took it then frowned. Some young model was saying that she had a steamy affair with Zoë and how kind and gentle Zoë was. “She did?”
“No. Do you know why I know, why Blanche is less bothered about this little issue?” Darcy leaned onto one hand. The light from the snowy sky bathed her in a white, high-contrast light.
“Not sure I want to ask…?” She glanced through the doorway at the picture of the catwalk.
“Zoë is very much a product of the fashion scene. This girl is too short, has hips wider than a twig, and her teeth are not perfect.” She took the phone back. “She’d rather date a man.”
Okay, Zoë was really superficial. “That’s…shallow.”
“No, that’s what she likes, what attracts her…as in to completely dismantle what career she has left, to lose that twig she enjoys the attention of…” And it sounded like Darcy was angry about it. “Plus risk her family’s irritation, along with mine and Susannah’s… The girl would need to be something Zoë couldn’t resist.”
Darcy flicked through the phone and handed it over again. “Read this one.”
Kate sighed and took it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She liked Zoë; she didn’t want to think of her looking at someone like that. She scowled. It was a story about Darcy this time. A young man, no more than twenty, saying that he was Darcy’s lover and she’d lured him in and had been very sweet.
She laughed. “Oh, I know that one isn’t true. I’ve got scars to prove it.”
Darcy winked. “Yes, but if you were John, in charge of allowing the programme to go ahead, or a school inviting me in to talk about women in fashion…?” She took the phone back. “Would you want me on an advert for your product, risking that this could be true and I did this?”
“No.” Oh. She took her orange juice and downed it, ready for the bits to make her gag. She didn’t. It was smooth. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But you could change your mind at any time. Do you think John would hesitate in removing me from the air if he thought for a second that we were lovers?” She smiled and stroked Kate’s cheek. “I have women in my house for the show. I break you down to build you up. You’re vulnerable.”
“I’m not dense most of the time.” She frowned and gripped the glass. “I don’t think you do this with every…patient.”
“Maybe you don’t, but you don’t control if I have a job.” Darcy flicked her gaze to the doorway. “Mine depends on me being a brand. A brand people trust.”
“I can’t take back that I said I love you, and I won’t.” She handed the glass back. “You took the bits out.”
“Yes. You prefer it that way.” Darcy leaned in and kissed her, fleeting, teasing. “I like that you said you love me, but I cannot respond to it on camera.”
“Is that a permanent decision?” And could she hack that?
“Yes. My job depends on it, and it secures a home for Susannah.” Darcy sighed and got up, flexing her calves. “She comes first.”
“How do I fit?” Both Zoë and Darcy protected Susannah. Susannah, like Kate, didn’t understand. How could she ever understand? To her, Darcy could just do something else. She and Zoë could open a shop or something. Did they even need to work?
“The same way Zoë did for so long, although Susannah likes you a great deal, and there’s no reason to hide it from her now…in private. In public, we will always be friendly, but never more. It’s all I can offer.” Darcy stretched out her shoulders. “But you need to figure out if you can live with it.”
“Wow, I feel so cheap.” She got up and strode out the door.
The picture of Zoë and Darcy looked back at her. Fit the label, Darcy’s label, just like she’d fit Bennie’s label and Laura’s label. She headed down the stairs, somehow knowing Darcy wasn’t going to follow. Not a show of if she cared or not—who knew what Darcy felt—but a statement of what was expected. If she didn’t fit the label, the scissors would come out; that’s what Blanche had muttered about Darcy calling her. Fit the label, be a model… No, an unthinking dummy who just did as told. She shook her head as she hurried out of the door. Cameras flashed, and she stumbled down the steps. A label.
She scowled, wiping the tears from her eyes. She’d always hated labels.