Unbroken (8 page)

An impenetrable glass case separated her figure from the rest. A deep crack ran down the case from top to bottom.
Just one.

Terrible.
Worse than she’d imagined.
He’d shown her for what she was, an unreachable, ice-cased icon, disdainful of the real world around her. She thought he’d understood. She took a breath, then another one, deeper.
And turned.

“Is this what you think of me?”

He opened his mouth, but she wouldn’t let him speak, didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

“After what you did, after you seduced me,
owned
me? I couldn’t have given you
more,
and this—this is what you wanted? Fuck you,
Zoltan
. Fuck you to hell.”

Without another word she strode out, head held high.

Behind her, people applauded.

* * * *

Vashti
went to her apartment but took her phone off the hook and only answered her cell phone when she recognised her agent’s ID on the screen.

“Are you okay,
Vashti
? I heard about the fracas.”

“Fine, Stella.
Just fine.”
She kept her voice steady. Stella was her agent, not her friend and if Stella thought
Vashti
was slipping, she’d find herself with the
B
jobs, not the
A
ones.

Stella laughed. “It was staged, wasn’t it? He asked you to do that.
Brilliant.
If we don’t make the front pages with this one, they’re blind.”

She didn’t want to talk about it any more. “So what’ve you got lined up for me?”

“A
Vogue
cover and a cosmetics shoot. The photographers will get rid of any scars with computer graphics until you’ve had the plastic surgery. Have the doctors told you when your leg will be ready?”

Not ‘healed,’ but ‘ready.’ “The glass went deep, so the scarring will take more time to clear up, but I should be okay next season.”

Stella’s voice lowered. “Get this, sweetheart.
Gaultier
says he’ll have you anyway. You might even make scars sexy.”

She sighed. That was more than
Zoltan
did. He’d rendered her perfect, no scars, no individuality. “You never know.” She’d bet out there somewhere there was a
sicko
who got off on scars.

Someone hammered on her door and she was so worked up, she jumped and her heart went into double time. “Jesus, fuck!”

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Her heart pounded and she gasped for breath, covering the phone for a moment to regain her composure. She pulled her hand away and forced a semblance of normality. “Probably the salad I ordered.”

She said goodbye and hung up. It was true she’d called for food, but not salad.
Pizza.
Her stay in the hospital had left her with an unreasonable urge for junk food. If Stella knew that, she’d hit the roof.

Fuck Stella. With barely a wince
Vashti
got to her feet and walked to the door, checking through the spy hole. Shit,
Zoltan
, holding a package. Since when had he become a pizza delivery boy?

Because the confrontation was unavoidable, she opened the door. The scent of toasted cheese wafted around her, but she’d lost her appetite.

Zoltan
pushed his way in and dropped the pizza box on her coffee table. “Come back with me.”

She backed up. “Why?”

He stepped closer.
“Because I want you to.”

“Not good enough,” she snapped.

He spread his hands wide in a placatory gesture. “There’s a car waiting for us downstairs. Please,
Vashti
.”

She turned away. “My food will get cold.”

“I’ll get you another one. I’ll buy you caviar. Anything you want. You need to see this,
Vashti
. I need you to see it. Afterwards, if you want, I won’t bother you anymore. Fuck, I’ll put a public apology in all the papers if you want me to.”

“Better not. They think we staged our little scene. I just got off the phone with my agent.”

“I know. Mine told me something similar.”

 
At the agony in his voice, she paused, stopped the insult that rose to her lips. He couldn’t have manufactured that, surely. She was the actress, not him.

He spread his palms in a gesture of submission, his pale eyes begging her. “Please. You didn’t see it all. There are two rooms, not one.”

She had to be an idiot, but she couldn’t walk away. It would hurt, but she had to do it. She had to see that second room.

“The public have gone. Will you come?”

“Okay.”

The only shoes she had handy were the ones she’d kicked off as soon as she’d walked through the door, the stilettos that hurt so badly. Oh well, she could stand another hour or so in them. Then she’d throw them away. She never wanted to see them again. Or the outfit she wore. No reminders of this night.

“If I go with you, you’ll never bother me again?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“All right, I’ll come.”

She slid her feet into her shoes and followed him out, grabbing her jacket on the way. Glancing in the mirror, she saw her hair wasn’t exactly where it was supposed to be so she took a few seconds to take out the pins and the clasp, and pull the mass back into a simple ponytail instead. These days, when everyone carried a camera phone, she was never safe outside her apartment. Something else she was sick of.

A car waited outside. She’d hoped he’d driven, so they wouldn’t have to face each other, but he had a big, chauffeur-driven limo. However, it was a substantial car and they could sit on either side of the wide back seat and not touch. He watched her all the way, but she stared out the window and refused to communicate with him.

The crowds had gone from the Guggenheim, but the museum gleamed in the display lights, like a spaceship waiting for takeoff. When they alighted, a security man opened a side door, and they went in.

Vashti
saw the spiral, previously thronged with people, now empty, eerie in its loneliness. She could see the pieces better. But all her thoughts were with one piece. She started up the graceful curve, not looking around and he walked by her side this time. A security man followed them at a discreet distance, so they weren’t really alone, although it felt like it.

By the time they reached the top, her feet were throbbing, but more alarmingly, so was her leg. She cursed herself for not taking the time to find flatter shoes. She’d have to stay in bed for days after this.

Better to get it over with now, see the horror again,
then
go. Her heart pounded wildly, her palms grew clammy, sticky when she clenched her fists. She deliberately relaxed them. He mustn’t know how nervous this made her, though she couldn’t be sure if it was the prospect of seeing that terrible installation again, or being alone with the man she wanted above all others, but couldn’t have.

His voice calmed her, though it shouldn’t have. “Wait here.”

He murmured to the guard, and she caught the word, “alone.” Then she heard his footsteps on the polished wooden floor.

“Do you want me to tell you about it? Talk you through it?”

Agony streaked through her when she saw the perfect figure behind the glass with a single, deep crack. “Why did you do it?”

“This is what I saw that first day. People want
you,
people covet you and your lifestyle. They act busy around you but you remain serene and perfect. They don’t know you, do they?”

She shook her head. “I hate it. It looks like people worshipping a god.
A false god.”

“You’re right.
Vashti
—”He broke off and she looked at him instead of the sculpture that hurt her so much.

“But I showed you more.”

He hadn’t seen her under the gloss, hadn’t known how deeply she’d let him into her heart.

“Come with me.” He took her through an open doorway into the second room. Blinded by tears of fury and hurt, she hadn’t seen it the first time.

She heard his voice.

“This is you. It’s the inner sanctum. It’s what you really are.”

Numbly, she accepted what she saw. There she lay, but this time in the more upright pose of
Manet’s
Olympe
. She regarded the world directly, open eyed, no languorous looks of seduction, just a confrontational stare.
Let them look.

Around the figure lay—sketches. Carefully framed in plain wood lay the sketches he’d made of her. Nobody had ever seen
Zoltan’s
preliminary work before, only drawings deliberately created for show. But this was—real. White walls and floorboards emphasised the simplicity of his statement. No glass case, nothing. And her scars were there. He’d carefully delineated each one. This figure wasn’t as highly finished as the one in the other room. And it was life-sized, not larger than life.

“It’s so beautiful.” She hadn’t even realised she’d spoken until she heard her voice.

“It’s you.”

He’d created this figure with love. It poured from every smooth line, every tousled strand of hair. “This is what I saw.
You.
The woman I fell in love with. You are there in every line. If I lose you, then I have this, but it’s a poor substitute for reality.”

She read the single word decorating the plinth.
Unbroken.
She choked and turned into his arms. “Then why did you push me away
?“

His hands closed around her back, held her tightly.
“Because I panicked.
Because I behaved in an incredibly stupid way.
I was scared. Thought I was getting in too deep and it would change the way I worked. A few hours after you left, I called you, but you’d already gone. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was—am. How stupid.
Vashti
, if you believe nothing else, believe me now. I love you.
Always and forever.
Whatever you do.
You can denounce me to the press, trash me to everyone you meet, and I’ll still love you.”

She sagged, no longer able to support herself, but it wasn’t just the surge of relief and love that overwhelmed her.

He caught her and swung her off her feet. Alarm coloured his voice. “Fuck,
Vashti
, you’re bleeding. What have you done?”

She looked down at her pants. Blood stained one leg, a mere dark mark on the dark fabric, hardly noticeable. But he’d noticed.

“I had an operation. I couldn’t walk properly because the scar tissue was pulling at the muscle, so they fixed it for me. I had to go back two weeks ago for a few fine adjustments, and they said I should walk okay once it’s healed. After that, I can have the cosmetic surgery. I have a series of operations coming up in the next twelve months.”
Dammit
, she hadn’t meant to cry.

“Don’t cry, love, please don’t cry.” He touched his lips to her forehead and it felt perfect, triggering a release of such dimensions it made her cry harder, but for different reasons this time. “I’m taking you to the hospital?”

“No, please no. Not the hospital, please, no.”

“I’ll be there with you all the time. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

But she couldn’t bear it, wouldn’t go back until she had to. “I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to go. Please, don’t make me.”

He cradled her closer, his body transmitting warmth and comfort. “I won’t.
At least, not unless it’s serious.”
He glanced at the stain, and following his gaze, she was relieved to see it wasn’t much bigger. “I can’t promise, not until I’ve seen it.”

She couldn’t ask any more of him. It wouldn’t be fair. “Okay.
If it’s serious.
But don’t leave me there.”

He strode out of the room and walked past the guard.
Zoltan
carried her right down the slope, out of the building and into the car, letting the driver close the door on them before he got in behind the wheel.
Zoltan
cradled her against him all the way home, soothing her, kissing away her tears.

“Who went with you for your operation?”

“No one.”
She answered in a dull, careless voice, but he saw right through it.

“On your own.
I know how scared hospitals make you. Oh, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have had to bear it alone. I’m so sorry.”

He knew her weakness and didn’t condemn her for it. Everyone else had, or had brushed her concerns aside. She could love him for that alone.

“They said the wound might break open if I did too much. I shouldn’t have worn those stupid heels, but I didn’t want you to know.”

“Was it hot in the hospital?”

She laughed, the sound shaky, but he’d remembered her throwaway line earlier about going to hell. “Yes, it was.”

The car drew up outside her apartment block and after the driver opened the door,
Zoltan
took her inside and carried her to the elevators. He didn’t put her down all the way to her apartment and she let him, wondering at his strength. He took her key, opened the door and carried her through to the bedroom. Despite her protests, he placed her on the ivory throw covering the bed. She rolled so she wouldn’t stain the cover, but he came back from the bathroom with a couple of towels, and laid her leg on it.
Typical man
, she thought, and was glad it was
this
man.