Page 5 of Need to Know

I watched in shock as he tossed his suitcase onto the bed and then rushed around like a man possessed, throwing his belongings into the case willy-nilly. If Nate was absent from the première and I walked the red carpet alone, tabloid gossip and innuendo would explode. So many people were working hard to ensure the première ran smoothly. We didn’t need more drama. I knew it was selfish, but I wanted Nate by my side, after all, we’re in this together. Luckily, Roz stepped in and in an unusually calm, measured tone she said,

“Nate, stop. If you breach this promotions contract you can kiss goodbye to Maritime financing the screenplay you’re writing. Like it or not, how you handle this will affect your career. Take a breath, think logically, and don’t react with heated emotions. Please honey; let us see what we can hash out.”

Nate tossed the pair of brogues he was holding into the case then his shoulders slumped, the fight appearing to flow from his body. A wave of helplessness washed over me again. A voice in my head was telling me to escape from this push-pull angst. I wanted to run too. Maybe I should just take Nate’s hand and we could run away together! More wishful thinking! I worried a palm across my mouth and felt the scratch of my short stubble.

“Hey, mate, come take a seat,” I said as I slumped onto the grey velvet couch. Moments later Nate was beside me, the smell of his sandalwood aftershave filling my senses. Every cell of my being wanted to reach out and hold his hand, just for comfort, of course, but he’d sort of closed down, as if he’d been pushing uphill for too long and had nothing left in the tank.

Anja took food orders for everyone in the room. I ordered a steak for myself. Nate said he wasn’t hungry but I secretly ordered Mac ‘n’ cheese too…for him. He’d told me once that when he was a kid his dad worked away a lot and his mum had two jobs. He’d learned to make Kraft Mac & Cheese for himself and his sister and always associated it with comfort. Ensuring Nate got some comfort food was the least I could do.

Anja called room service and placed the order. The laptop was set up and Roz pulled out four chairs to face the screen. Roz, Avery, Mason, and Benji sat. Nate and I remained on the couch, mere witnesses. Benji was hunched over typing on his phone; I hoped he was messaging Lucy to let her know what a shit-show this junket had become.

The video call to the US connected. We were nine hours ahead of Los Angeles and so the people on the screen looked dog tired, having been woken at 4 a.m. From where I sat on the couch, I could see Bo Bellingham—Avery’s assistant, and six other smaller screens that I assumed showed the legal team was also on the call. Avery turned to Anja and said, “I need you to step out. Knock when the food arrives.” The girl nodded and left us.

“Okay, the first thing we have to ascertain—is the photo real? Could it be Photoshop or AI?” Avery asked.

Bo spoke up, their tone less than reassuring. “The photos…because we have more than one, were published first by TMZ and of course, social media exploded. We’ve contacted TMZ for confirmation and they appear to be real. They won’t reveal the source or the photographer, but from analysing the images we believe they were taken by a drone.”

“A drone? What the hell is this world coming to?” Roz exclaimed.

Bo then continued, “The story is all over Variety, Rotten Tomatoes, Buzzfeed, and the Daily Mail. So far, we’ve found at least sixteen men via Twitter, Facebook, and Bluesky who say they’ve had a relationship, with Erik Thorne since 2015. Some one-night, others longer.”

To my right, the gasp from Nate was awful, like he’d been stabbed in the gut. “For fucks sake, guys! Nate is sitting right here,” I growled at the assembled team. I was furious that the devastating news was relayed with such cruel disregard for Nate’s feelings.

We all react differently to bad news. Some people get angry, shout, and break things; others fall apart and wilt into themselves, or they might get drunk. I turned to see that the colour had drained from Nate’s golden tanned skin and from the tear tracks on his cheeks, he was silently crying. What the fuck? I reached for his hand and he gripped my fingers hard again, as if I was his anchor.

“I didn’t know…how did I not know?” I eased Nate closer and he came willingly. Roz turned to us to see the crumpled mess in my arms, evidence of what their insensitivity had done. I sent Nate’s agent a derisive glare, tightened my jaw and shook my head. This was Nate’s life, for fucks sake. Roz appeared a little guilty and regretful, and in what I’d describe as a patronizing tone she said,

“Nate, honey, do you want to sit this one out?” He raised his head and wiped his hands over his eyes.

“No, no. If there’s proof he was fucking around before and after our marriage I wanna know. This is my life, my career…what’s the damage? Hit me.”

****

CHAPTER THREE

Nate

Listening to the information relayed during the crisis management call was humiliating, and left me feeling as if I’d been gutted, filleted, and splayed open for all to see. There was a twenty-year age gap between us so I’d always known Erik was drawn to younger men. He was enough for me, so I foolishly thought I was enough for him too. Discovering that he’d cheated on me at least sixteen times before and after we’d married hollowed me to my core. Was I so wrapped up in my personal bubble that I missed the signs of infidelity? He’d made a promise to be faithful to me, to love and honour me. What a fucking joke! See, I knew that guy, the raven-haired twink my husband had gone to his knees for. Cole Svensson was Erik's latest PA. The twenty-one-year-old Norwegian was the son of, Magnus Svensson, a hotel magnate that Erik was doing business with, designing a new landmark Stjerne brand hotel in Oslo. Cole would inherit his father’s company one day and so part of the deal was that Cole would work for Erik and gain experience of international commerce. He'd been a leech on Erik’s time for the past year. Now I understood why!

I’d lain in the dark in the huge hotel bed, listening to the sounds of Paris at night while running through my interactions with Cole Svensson. It was clear now that what I’d thought was the harmless hero-worship of my husband, was something more sinister…planned. Cole insinuated himself into our relationship in a way that I only just realized was pretty fucked up. He possessed what I’d call ‘vampire energy’. After time in his company he left me feeling depleted and so I’d avoided him when I could. He’d worshipped the ground Erik walked on, and so, always a man to lap up attention, Erik kept Cole close. I'd even privately joked about booking surgery for Erik to remove his PA from his ass, because Cole was wedged right up there! Looks like the jokes on me! Erik spent half of his time in LA, but we’d lost our Palisades home in the January 2025 fires and the rebuild would take a long time. Cole had stayed at our house when Erik needed to be in LA, and so they’d spent a lot of time together. When they came to New York Cole regularly joined us for dinner at our penthouse. For the past year there were three people in our marriage…and as my workload increased and my interest in sex had vanished, Erik found it elsewhere.

No surprise, I didn’t sleep well, and when I did finally drift off, I’d had strange lucid dreams about playing ball with my dad. He was throwing a football, and little kid me was waiting, waiting with my arms in the air…for a ball that never arrived. I’d shuddered awake, strangely discombobulated and terrified. A few drinks from the mini bar followed, but they didn’t make a dent in numbing me to the feelings of unease, and anger rattling around in my brain.

TMZ is a notorious tattle-rag. They were first with the exposé and of course other news outlets jumped on the story like a pack of starving dogs on a carcass. Erik’s hook-ups then crawled out of the woodwork to claim their fifteen minutes of fame, the earliest stating that their affair began in 2015. Erik and I began dating in 2014 and married in 2015. So much for my belief that Erik had given me time to fall in love before we had sex. Erik Thorne had never truly been mine. That realization was hard to comprehend because I’d given him so much.

The close protection officers were staying in the suite next door to mine with a connecting door, and they had security camera access to the hallway outside. Roz advised me not to leave my suite and venture out into night-time Paris, or visit the hotel bar because the Paparazzi were hanging around outside waiting for a shot. I’d turned on the TV and watched the Sky News Tech Report show which included a segment crowing about Erik’s buddy, tech billionaire Oliver Roux. He already had the US government in the palm of his sweaty hand, and he was currently courting the EU, investing billions of Euros in European solar energy start-ups. I’d gotten bored and sleepy then. I turned the TV off at midnight, Paris time, which was six p.m. New York time. Erik hadn’t responded to my messages.

The result of yesterday’s damage limitation meeting was that the studio paid Dominique Le Grand twenty thousand dollars for his interview footage and made him sign a global NDA to shut him down.

Back in bed, I tried to focus on other things, nicer things, like Jack. Jack was the best person I knew, and our connection was deeper that I’d dared to admit. There was no need for me to deny it now. Working with him reminded me what desire feels like. It was as if I’d been surviving in a grey world, and then suddenly Jack Boyd came along made my world shine in glorious Technicolor. But…I hadn’t acknowledged that there were feelings until LA. I wouldn’t, couldn’t act on this new found revelation because, not only did I need to deal with my own shit, but also there was the fact that Jack was seeing a guy named Killian.

I had a job to do and just needed to get through the day, be personable, and smile for photos at the première, and then I could fly home and sift through the ashes of my marriage to see if anything that remained was worth saving.

****

A knock on the hotel suite door pulled me from a dozing, unsatisfying sleep. I rolled out of the bed and pulled on a pair of compression shorts. I felt like shit warmed over and probably looked that way too, but I made my way to the door and in a grief-ragged voice I didn’t recognize as my own said, “Who is it?”

“Nate, its Jack.” The reply in that softly spoken British accent made my heart lurch. I opened the door to see my co-star, my friend, standing there in white wide-legged linen trousers and a white loose shirt, pure, angelic, and divine, like a gift from the gods. His short russet stubble had grown in overnight and it framed his beautiful mouth. He wore brown horn-rimmed glasses that gave him a cute, scholarly look, and his coffee gaze was, as ever, thoughtful and kind.