Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (36 page)

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not speaking to me,” Natalie replied, and bit her lip. “He told me he’s leaving when the re-launch is over.”

“Oh, Nat, no,” Alexa exclaimed in dismay. “But things were going so well! What happened?”

Natalie saw the roadie coming back, with Mick’s arm slung around his neck as he dragged the comatose bass player towards her. “Can’t talk now,” she sighed, “but it’s my fault.”

“So you’ll grovel, and make things right.”

But Natalie was certain an apology couldn’t begin to repair the damage she’d done to their relationship.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rhys Gordon demanded.

Dominic, a bottle of Chivas Regal tipped up to his lips, took a long, deliberate swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m having a slug before the show, like always.” He eyed Rhys insolently. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

“We’ve no licence for alcohol, that’s what. This isn’t Glastonbury. No drinking.”

Dominic threw him a mock salute. “Clean and sober, that’s me, mate.”

“See that you stay that way.” Rhys regarded him with distaste. “I don’t want anything spoiling Natalie’s hard work today. And that includes you.
Mate
.” He pushed past Dominic to find the sound engineer.

“Yeah, well, if it weren’t for you,” Dominic called after him, spoiling for a fight, “I’d still be with Nat.”

Gemma, who’d just arrived with a bag of bacon sandwiches to share with Dominic, came to a halt behind him.

Rhys turned back. “Excuse me, but
you
dumped her, Dominic.” He cocked one eyebrow up. “Thanks, by the way. Your loss, my gain, isn’t that what they say? At any rate,” he added, “she planned to give you the boot after the party anyway. You just got there first.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dominic said dismissively. “No one’s ever dumped me.”

One of the sound engineers called to him from the edge of the stage. “Where’s Mick? He needs to do his sound check.”

“How should I know?” Dominic snapped. He turned back to Rhys, unaware that Gemma stood, grease-spotted bag in hand, behind him. “You’re right about one thing – I messed up with Nat. I tried to get her back. But it’s you she wants, God knows why. Just don’t fuck it up like I did.” And with another glare at Rhys, he stalked off to find Mick.

“Dominic? Dominic, wait.” Gemma strode after him, still clutching the greasy paper bag.

He stopped and turned around, and his face lit up. “Babes! I didn’t know you were here.” He leaned forward. “You were incredible yesterday, by the way. Give us a kiss.”

“I’ll give you something, all right,” Gemma retorted, and hurled the bag of bacon butties at him as hard as she could. Bacon, grease, and soggy toast exploded on his chest. “Enjoy your breakfast. Arsehole!” She turned and stormed away.

Dominic plucked a piece of streaky bacon from his chin and stared after her in outrage. “Why the fuck did you do that?” he bellowed. “This bacon’s hot!”

She whirled back around. “Ask Natalie to put some salve on you. I’m sure she’ll be happy to oblige.” Her eyes glittered with angry unshed tears. “I hope you have grease burns…third degree…all over your miserable, lying, manky little body!”

Dominic skinned his shirt off and ran after her. “Gemma, hold up!” He caught up to her and grabbed her by the elbow. “What are you on about?”

“I heard what you said to Rhys.” She shook his hand off. “What a shame you couldn’t patch it up with Natalie.” Gemma crossed her arms against her chest and glowered at him. “So what am I – the bloody consolation prize?”

“Nat and I are over, Gemma. You know that!”

“Yeah, well, guess what? So are we, Dominic. Over, that is. So don’t bother coming back to mine tonight. You’re not welcome.” And with that, she turned and left him standing alone, with nothing but bits of bacon, soggy toast, and grease to keep him company.

Backstage at Phillip Pryce’s fashion show, controlled chaos reigned. Outfits hung on rails, each pinned with a photo of the ensemble and accessories – shoes, jewellery, handbag, etc. A white board displayed photos of each outfit in order of appearance in the show. Tables for makeup and hair, covered with brushes, cosmetics, hair grips, and hair products, crowded the tiny perimeter.

“Where’s the sticky tape?” someone demanded. “I need it for these Manolos!”

Natalie, dazed by the frantic activity, looked inquiringly at Jacques as he flitted past. “Why are they putting sticky tape on the shoes?”

“To keep the straps from slipping,” Jacques said impatiently, as if it were obvious to anyone but an idiot. “What’s the order for the models?” he asked.

Natalie consulted her list. “Gemma, Bryony, Elspeth, then once again each. Then me.”

“OK, be back here in—” he consulted his watch with a frown “—two hours for hair and makeup. Don’t be late.” He flounced away and shouted, “Has anyone seen Phillip?”

Natalie brushed past a photographer, snapping photos backstage, and wondered where Dominic was. He was scheduled to perform in less than an hour.

She’d seen Rhys only once; he glanced at her without expression and turned away. She threaded her way out of the tent, past clusters of photographers and PR people, and guilt washed over her. She’d find him once the re-launch was over and apologise for the horrible things she’d said.

Her mobile vibrated.
Alexa
. “Have you had the baby? Was it a girl?” Natalie said in a rush. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Alexa said groggily. “I have a girl, a perfect little girl.”

“Congratulations! Are your family there?”

“Yes, and they’re driving me mad. I’ll be here until tomorrow, so come and say hello to Emily Kate.”

“I will,” Natalie promised. “Have you heard from Ian?”

“No. I’m filing for a divorce next week. Nat—” Alexa hesitated “—be careful, tonight. Ian isn’t what he seems – we’ve been married for eight years and I’m just realising that. I hope everything goes according to plan.”

“So do I,” Natalie said grimly, and rang off.

Halfway through rehearsal, the bass amp emitted a ragged, humming sound. The volume dropped, and died out completely.

Mick stopped playing. “Fucking hell, a tube blew again.”

“Come on,” one of the sound crew said. “Move it out and bring in the backup.”

Dominic, who’d shed his grease-splotched clothing for an Armani jacket worn over a Kaiser Chiefs T-shirt, jeans, and red Louboutin trainers, snarled, “Hurry your arses up, you lot, we’re on in forty-five minutes.” His fight with Gemma earlier had done nothing to improve his black mood. He slung his guitar strap over his head and struck a chord.

There was a flurry of activity backstage as Keeley arrived. “Sorry I’m late,” she breathed as she joined him on the curtained-off stage, “but traffic’s completely arsed! Everyone in London must be here today.”

“Right, well, at least you made it.” Dominic made room for her at the microphone. “Let’s run through the first verse and chorus, like we rehearsed it—”

“What’s
she
doing here?” Gemma, her hands on her hips, stormed backstage and stopped in front of them. She glared at Keeley, then at Dominic, with equal outrage. “I turn my back for one bloody minute to get ready for the fashion show, and she swans in like she owns you!”

Keeley, heavily made up for the show, gave Gemma a pitying glance. “I’m here to perform,” she said condescendingly, as if Gemma were an idiot. “I’m singing tonight. Dominic and I—”

Gemma stepped forward and gave Keeley a shove. “There is no ‘Dominic and you’,” she snapped. “It’s over, you tarted-up cow, and he’s mine now. Keep your bloody mitts off.”

“Piss off!” Keeley hissed, and shoved Gemma back as she regained her footing. “I have no interest in Dominic. Besides, I’m seeing someone else now—”

“I’m sure you are,” Gemma retorted. “According to the tabloids, you’ve shagged every footballer in Britain.”

“How dare you!” Keeley screeched, and reached out to grab a hank of Gemma’s hair.

“Stop it, both of you!” Dominic shouted. He stood between them and held Keeley at arm’s length to keep her away from Gemma. “I don’t have time for this. Shut the hell up right now!”

“If anyone’s interested,” Mick called out as he took a drag on his cigarette, “my amp’s working. Could we get on with the rehearsal, please?”

“That’s it,” Keeley said, and turned away from the microphone. “I’m done. I don’t need this. Sorry, Dominic.”

“Keeley, wait!” He grabbed her arm. “You can’t go – we’re doing the encore together.”

Gemma looked at Dominic, and then at Keeley. “Encore?” she echoed.

“Yeah.” Dominic glowered. “Keeley and I wrote a song together, as a surprise…for you.”

“I tried to tell her,” Keeley said to Dominic as she eyed Gemma with disdain. “It’s true. He wrote a song for you, you silly twat. We were doing it after the Destroyers’ last song.”

Gemma’s heavily kohled eyes widened as she looked back at Dominic. “You wrote a song…for me?”

“Yeah.” His expression was murderous. “Don’t know why I bothered, though. I might as well change the name of the song from ‘Gemma’ to ‘Stroppy Cow’. Shit! First you throw bacon butties at me and ruin my clothes, and now this. Fuck it all,” he decided, “that’s it. I’ve had enough.”

Dominic yanked his guitar over his head and thrust it unceremoniously at a passing roadie, then stormed off the stage and disappeared.

Chapter 47

The crowd was restive. Natalie frowned and said into her headset, “What time does the show start?”

“Ten minutes ago,” came the reply. “Dominic and Gemma had a row during rehearsal and he’s walked out.”

“What do you mean, he’s walked out? As in, he
left
?”

“Yeah. Don’t know where he went.”

“Well, find him!” she snapped. Panic overtook her as she began to search frantically inside the crowded marquees. Blimey, if Dominic was gone, there’d be no show. And if there was no show, there’d be a lot of very angry, disappointed people.

And Rhys Gordon would be the absolute angriest.

Dominic couldn’t do this to her. He bloody well couldn’t!

Someone started to chant, “We want Dominic,” and soon the chant grew louder. Rhys made his way through the crowd and stopped in front of Natalie.

“Where’s Dominic?” he hissed. “It’s past time he went on stage. People are getting restless.”

“He and Gemma had a row and he’s refused to go on.” Natalie met his furious blue gaze. “We’re looking for him now.”

“He can’t pull this crap, not today,” Rhys snapped. “If you don’t find him—” He stopped and glared at her, and the threat hung unspoken between them. “The whole re-launch is fucked,” he finished ominously. “And so is Dashwood and James.”

“I’ll find him.” Natalie’s words were grim as she pushed past him and marched off after Dominic. “He’ll be on that stage in five minutes, I promise.”

“See that he is. We can’t afford a cock-up now.”

Up ahead, she saw a red Vespa. She knew Dominic liked to ride his motor scooter when he was angry – which, let’s face it, was most of the time – and hurried towards it. She just hoped she could reach him before he roared away.

Natalie wove her way through the stagehands and roadies, past the roped-off VIP section where Keeley and Phillip and an assortment of models mingled, until she spotted the recalcitrant rock singer just swinging his leg over his Vespa.

“Dom!” she shouted as he kick-started the engine. “Wait!”

He regarded her sullenly through his sunglasses as he waited for her to approach him. “I’m not doing it, Nat.”

“You signed a contract, Dominic.”

“I’ll pay for breach, I don’t fucking care. I’ve got enough dosh to afford it. Now piss off.”

She blocked his way. “No. You’re doing this concert, Dominic,” she told him calmly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll get on the PA system right now, and I’ll tell everyone—” her arm swept out to encompass the swelling, restless crowds “—that you need Viagra to perform. And I’ll make it clear I don’t mean performing as in singing, either.”

For once, Dominic was speechless. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I would. You’re not spoling this day for me, or Alastair, or grandfather. I’ve worked too bloody hard! Get your arse up on that stage right now, or I’ll make you a laughingstock in front of everyone here, including the press. Because every reporter in Britain’s here today, just waiting for a nice, juicy story…and I’ll make sure your willy’s the headline on every single one.”

He saw from the hard glint in Natalie’s eyes that she meant business. He panicked. Where had the sweet, malleable girl he’d known such a short time ago gone?

“OK,” he grumbled, and got off the Vespa. “I’m going. Fellow Destroyers, here I come. Fucking hell.”

Dominic and the band exploded onstage ten minutes later, and despite a handful of hecklers at the onset, the crowd went wild. They put on a memorable set of not just five, but eight songs, plus the encore with Keeley.

“This last one’s for my girlfriend, Gemma,” Dominic announced, sweat glistening on his skin. He paused and looked out over the crowd. “Wherever you are, babes, this is for you.”

He launched into an edgy ballad, and Keeley joined him onstage for the chorus. The crowd loved it.

“You did it.” Rhys appeared next to Natalie as the concert ended. “You pulled it off, despite everything.” He looked at the throngs of people, and turned to her. “I’m amazed. Well done.” He turned to go.

“Rhys, wait.” Natalie caught at his sleeve and searched his eyes. His expression was unreadable. “I’m sorry for the things I said this morning. I wish I could un-say them. I didn’t mean it. Any of it…”

“It’s all right. Forget it.”

“No, it’s not all right. When I overheard you talking to grandfather, I thought you only wanted to marry me to get the partnership.”

“You should know me better than that.” His jaw tightened. “I never meant to stay; I’m already committed to another project. But Sir Richard was very persuasive. He’s thrilled we’re getting married.” His eyes met hers. “We
are
still getting married, aren’t we?”