My mother-in-law, Samantha, pipes in, “Why wouldn’t you tell me if you knew this entire time? I’m your mother.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Rose retorts. “Have you told me everyone your husband used to bang before he slept with you?”
Greg yells, “It’s not the same, Rose!” He rises to his feet.
“It should be!” Rose stands with the same ire. It should be. Maybe one day it will be, but right now, today, me having sex with a woman and me having sex with a man does not hold the same connotation to them the way it does to me, the way it does to Rose.
Yelling isn’t the solution, even if I’d love to rise by her side and scream as loudly and as passionately. I clutch her hand, pulling her until she sits down again. I rub the small of her back and whisper, “Give them time to process.”
She whips her head to me, eyes on fire. “I just want them to understand.” Her low voice is only audible to me.
“Patience, darling.”
She lets out a vexed breath.
Greg remains standing, hands on his waist, pacing to the window and back to his chair a couple times. He motions to Corbin to continue, unable to produce the words, unable to look me in the eye and ask me himself.
So I must speak to someone who works for him. I imagine myself laughing in frustration, glaring at the ceiling, shaking my head, every reaction that I can only internalize. I don’t wear my antipathy or my outrage or my aggravation—but it fucking exists inside of me, scraping at my brain.
Corbin asks, “Did you marry Rose to hide your sexuality? And is this arrangement consensual between both parties?”
I can feel my jaw muscles try to contract. Consensual. As though I forced her into our marriage. “I married Rose because we love each other,” I state plainly. They wait for an emotional downpour from me. It’s not in me to kick and scream and drop to my knees. Rose thinks she may have a hard time convincing the world that she loves me, but I’m going to have a much harder time convincing her parents that I love their daughter. “We had no ulterior motives,” I conclude.
“What if he manipulated her?” Greg suddenly asks his publicist. I frown, wondering if Jonathan has been muttering in his ear.
Naomi cuts off Corbin, “That’s something for the legal team, and we shouldn’t inspect a bullet when no one has pulled a trigger.”
I rise with my daughter in my arm, and the room falls to silence. I manage to capture Greg’s gaze, even if he aches to look away. “I’m not going to beg you to trust me,” I say calmly. “What I can ask is that you acknowledge the intelligence of your own daughter. She hasn’t been duped by me; in fact she’d leave me at the hint of infidelity. I’ve shared more with her than I ever have with you, so know that she’s not blind by any means.”
I pause, more cautious as Samantha fixates on Jane in my grasp. I adjust my daughter, her eyes almost fluttering open from her nap.
Greg pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think we should focus on how to bury this, and not what we think of it right now.”
Samantha’s strict bun pulls the follicles of her hairline. “It might be best for Jane to stay with us in the meantime—”
“No, she’s safe with us,” I cut her off, my defenses and guards beginning to lift higher than before. I feel Rose boiling beside me, looking murderously at her mother for even suggesting to take our child away from us.
I sit again, and I pass Jane to Rose, who pulls our daughter protectively to her chest. Jane only stirs to hold onto Rose’s arm like she’s clutching a teddy bear.
Greg watches Jane. “Is she in a loving environment?” His doubt leeches each fucking word. I rub my lips, pissed, so pissed I could scream. I could drum my chest and stomp my feet, but no matter how much I’d want to do it, I see no logical point in the actions.
Rose’s face twists, bouncing between rage and hurt. “How could you even ask that?”
“I’m a concerned grandfather. I love that little girl.”
He’s suggesting that his love outweighs ours. I remember how I delivered Jane with my own hands. How Rose held her every night she cried. How we’ve spent sleepless months without complaint. How we’ve tried to minimize Jane’s exposure in the media, redirecting the heat on us. How we’ve treasured every milestone she’s made.
How do you measure love?
Is it by the things we’re willing to do? By the sacrifices we’re willing to make? If it is—then I love my daughter madly because I would cripple my world to give her something to stand on. I would implode Cobalt Inc. if I had to, the foolish choice. But a wise woman once said that love is worth every foolish choice we make.
Would Greg Calloway bulldoze Fizzle for his granddaughter? Not a chance.
Rose straightens even more. “Be a concerned parent first and trust me, your daughter.”
“Please, Rose,” Greg says, not one to raise his voice, even if he’s already accomplished that once today.
I hug Rose closer to my side, and she exhales a couple times, trying to move past her father’s doubt. There is no solution here.
I rotate to Naomi, ready to speed this beyond accusations and blame. “Our marriage is real and consensual. The sex tapes aren’t fabricated”—she jots notes as quickly as I speak—“and we had a child to start a family together. The only truth is in the past.”
Rose scoots to the edge of the couch, keeping her hand in mine. “What’s our best defense?” she asks Naomi.
“A public statement from both of you,” she says. “There’s a lot of evidence that says your marriage is a ploy.” She thumbs through her folder. “Mr. Cobalt, your Instagram is littered with photos specifically of your wife with you, but she’s glaring at you in almost every one.”
How I like it.
“They love each other,” Lily interjects. She flushes when every eye pins to her. “That’s what their love looks like.”
Rose nearly smiles, tears beginning to collect. She mouths to Lily, thank you.
“Well,” Corbin butts in, “it looks like hate.”
“Fuck you,” Ryke slings a curse from the window nook, Daisy sprawled on his lap.
My lips lift.
“I’m here to state what everyone in the public is thinking,” Corbin reminds him.
“And I’m here to flip this around in a positive light,” Naomi states. “Don’t delete any of these photos, Mr. Cobalt. It admits guilt. Try to add a variety of images, maybe date nights, photos of your wedding rings, and yes, continue to post ones that you normally would. There’s a fine line between justifying yourself and trying too hard to appear like something you’re not.”
The increase in PDA bit us in the ass for that last reason. I respect Naomi’s counsel, so I ask, “Should we acknowledge the striptease or anything the media has spun around on us?” Normally I’d be more specific and say that I went down on Rose, but her father is in the room. He needs time to cool down, and I’d rather not make it harder for him to like me again.
“GBA News had a body language analyst dissect those photographs,” she explains. “And they found reasonable doubt in Rose’s stiff posture. In almost every frame where you’re in public—where you kiss her, et cetera—she seems uncomfortable.”
She hasn’t been the best actress, but she tried and we couldn’t have known this is what it’d come to.