Beneath Beautiful (17 page)

“We're ready for you now.” The assistant approached her once more and gestured toward the installation. “This way, please.”

“Oh, thank you.” Cassie was startled out of her train of thought.

The assistant led her inside the installation, and within just seconds she found herself standing alone in the small, enclosed room. It was lighter inside than she had expected, the spotlight outside shining down from above, and illuminating the ceiling and walls of the box with cascading shards of deep red light.

Cassie turned in a slow circle, her head tilted upwards. All around—floor, ceiling, walls—she was surrounded by blood. She could almost smell it, and although she knew full well she couldn't touch the liquid, she reached out with one hand and tried to anyway, as she was sure everyone else before her had also done. Rich and thick and red, her eye searched for patterns and shapes and meaning in the captured life force that weren't there. And, as she looked on, Plum's creation pressed her to think about everything that had been . . . before. Of the animal captured, the bolt shot through its brain, bled out. Suddenly, she hated Plum even more for this—for making her stand here and face the fact that her actions had done this. Seen this live being killed, for she wasn't all that different to the animal encased in the walls around her. Oh, but Plum pounded all sorts of thoughts into her mind. First and foremost that she was also living and breathing, made of the same material, and that her time would come as well, albeit in a different way.

Although her time was not yet up, Cassie, hand over her mouth, swiveled and attempted to leave. It was halfway through this movement, however, that she hit a solid wall and stumbled. It took her a moment to realise that it wasn't actually a wall of blood, but something truly alive.

It was Cameron.

“Are you all right?” He grabbed both her arms, steadying her. “I saw you headed this way and didn't want you going in alone. I told you that before.”

Cassie took a long, shuddery breath. “Excuse me, but I'm supposed to be having a personal experience.”

“Yes, I realise that.” Cassie could hear his smirk, even if it wasn't written all over his face. “I was told that most vociferously outside. And are you?” His brow creased with what looked like concern.

What Cassie wanted to do was blurt something along the lines of “What do you care?” and run off. But something stopped her. Perhaps the realisation that she wasn't fifteen years old anymore, which seemed to be a fact that was being demonstrated to her on a daily basis lately. She was suddenly aware of the truth—she needed to grow up and face the world. To grow into her skin. Instead of running, Cassie made herself pause for a moment to think about why Cameron might care. To see things from his point of view. And when she did this, the answer became immediately obvious. He had come here to her because he needed her. Desperately. She was the muse. Not
just
the muse, as she had thought before, but the muse, which was, she saw now, everything.

His everything.

Without her, there was no sculpture.

Cassie saw now quite clearly that she was not the inferior to what would be the eventual piece, but a living, breathing superior version of it. It was nothing without her. Just as Cameron was nothing without her, or Monica, or Freya. It was she who had the power. Not him. Not him at all.
She
was the muse. The intermediary of the gods. The feminine part of him—the yin to his yang. It was only through her that he could give this sculpture life. And if he wanted to do so she was, thus, his everything. To be fair, she realised now, he had told her this from the very start. That it was all down to her. Her choices decided what would be.

All of this came flooding into her consciousness in one long, lucid thought. And as it did, Cassie found she stood taller. That she was able, maybe for the first time, to look Cameron in the eye as an equal. She was as powerful as he was. Even more powerful, more important, in this compressed, heady period of time that they would share together.

Now, she stepped closer toward him. “I
am
having a personal experience,” she said, finally answering his question, her eyes not straying from his for a moment.

He didn't look away initially, though it was he who broke eye contact first, his gaze straying down her neck to her shoulders. “May I?” he asked, and Cassie knew then that he had sensed the shift between them.

Cassie inclined her head slightly, wondering if he would be able to feel her thumping heartbeat.

Slowly, lazily, he lifted one hand to run a finger down her throat and along one collarbone. “I have been wanting to do that all evening.”

Strange, but it was only now that Cassie realised he had asked her express permission every time he had touched her in his studio. So, it was true. It was her choice. All her choice. All of it.

To be so very in control of something. Of
him
. The thought of it thrilled her as it coursed through her body.

She moved toward him again until they were nose to nose, their bodies tight. As one. They stood like this for some time, breath to breath.

“And what happens now?” Cameron eventually asked, their faces close.

“I haven't decided yet,” Cassie told him, entirely serious. She knew it could be whatever she wanted. Whatever she dared ask for. “As I understand it,” Cassie continued, “there are two schools of thought on the matter. Either we must come together for the piece, or we must not.”

Again, Cameron didn't move a muscle, so fixated was he on her in the shower of red light.

It was her decision to make. All her decision. The power was almost overwhelming.

“But I don't know yet which is the right choice. For me. For the sculpture. I know what I want. What you want . . .”

“What we've both wanted since you first looked up at me in the cemetery,” Cameron answered.

“Yes.” She bravely held his gaze.

“But you've held back.”

“Yes,” she said again. “But is it the right thing? I don't know.” He was so close now, her lips were almost brushing his. It would be so easy to give in . . .

The loud cough saw them both jump. “I am sorry, Mr. Callahan, but I must insist,” the voice of the assistant broke the spell.

And just like Cinderella from the party, Cassie turned and was gone from her Prince. Outside, quite the crowd was milling about. Waiting, she supposed, for their own “experience” inside the installation. As she passed through amongst them was Plum, who caught her arm. Cassie, bolder now, immediately shook free of her grasp. “It was . . . an experience,” she said. “But I have to go.”

Ignoring this, Plum blocked her path. “Before you go,” she said, “we must have a drink and that catch-up. Soon. I insist.” Undeterred, Cassie lifted the hem of her dress with one hand and darted around her. But as she left, she could feel Plum's gaze burn against her back in a way that suggested there were other people besides her in this situation with power.

H
aving caught a cab back to Alys's apartment, Cassie made her way up in the elevator, clutching the bottom of her dress. She prayed Alys would still be out at dinner with the friends she'd said she was catching up with this evening.

Cassie fumbled with the two keys Alys had given her, until, “Oh.” She was startled as the door opened before her and Alys appeared.

“Oh my God, Cassie . . .” Alys took her in from head to toe. “You look amazing!”

Frozen, Cassie stood on the doorstep, caught out. “I . . .”

“Come on, what are you standing there for? Come inside.” Alys waved her in.

Cassie took a few steps forward into the apartment, and Alys closed the door behind them.

“Well,” Alys said, taking another, long look. “You weren't out with James, that's for sure.”

Overwhelmed and overdressed, Cassie immediately burst into tears.

“Cassie!” Alys exclaimed, running over to her friend, who she knew wasn't one for emotional outbursts like this. “What's the matter? What's happened? Here, come and sit down.”

She led her by the elbow toward the sofa, and somehow, Cassie managed to sit down in her dress.

Alys reached forward to the coffee table and pulled out a tissue from the box kept there, handing it to Cassie. “What on earth happened? Where have you been?” she tried again.

Cassie longed to tell Alys everything—about sitting for Cameron, about Plum, about James, about everything—but something told her she couldn't, or shouldn't, until after the sculpture was finished. For some reason, she knew it was something that needed to be kept private until it was done—that sharing her experience could well jeopardize whether the sculpture came into existence at all. Now, she took as deep a breath as she could and looked over at Alys. “I just . . . I can't say. I want to tell you, but I can't. Not right now.”

Alys's expression was a mixture of confusion and hurt. “What do you mean? You're obviously upset. Has something happened? Has someone hurt you?”

“No.” Cassie shook her head. “No, it's nothing like that.” She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands for a moment. “Oh, God, I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what to do.”

Alys said nothing for a moment or two, then, “You're not here for any meetings, are you?”

Cassie took another deep breath. “No.” She exhaled. “No. And I will be able to reveal all. In a week, or two weeks, or so. I just can't explain right now.”

“You're worrying me,” Alys replied. “This isn't like you. At all.”

“I know,” Cassie said. “Oh, I know.” She sniffed, walking over to pluck a tissue from the box on the table.

Alys gave her a long look as she blew her nose. “You're not in any danger, are you?”

Cassie shook her head vehemently. “No, nothing like that. And I feel awful keeping this from you. Really. Even for a week. But I have to. If it's all to pull off. And the thing is, I want it to. Very much.”

“Okay,” Alys said after a while. “I have to say that I don't understand. And that I'm worried. And also that I don't like to see you in this kind of state, because it's not you at all. But if you say that's what's got to happen, then . . . well, that's what's got to happen.” Frowning, she reached out and touched Cassie on the arm.

Cassie took a shuddery breath. “I'm so sorry, Alys. I thought I could handle this . . . Ugh, I can't breathe.” She sat up straighter. “I've got to get out of this thing.” Cassie pushed herself up off the couch, which wasn't an easy task.

Alys stood beside her, taking her outfit in once more. “Well, I don't know where you've been, or what you're up to, or what's going on. But you look amazing doing it. That really is some dress.”

Cassie managed a smile as she wiped her face of tears. “I know. It is, isn't it?”

“So go and take it off, have a nice warm bath or a shower or something. I'll make us some hot chocolate and marshmallows, and we can watch something bad on TV. I know
COPS
or
Hoarders
always makes me feel better.”

Cassie gave her a look. “
COPS
and
Hoarders
make you feel better?”

“Of course! Because then you can tell yourself things could always be worse. You could be having troubles with your pimp on the streets of Las Vegas, or wading through five million juice bottles to get to your kitchen, right?”

“I'll take your word for it.” Cassie tried to laugh, though the noise came out more like a bark. With a sigh, she started for the bathroom. “I think you're right about that shower. I'm heading in.”

A
fter a shower, donning her pajamas, two episodes of
Hoarders
, and that hot chocolate with marshmallows, Cassie did feel much better. She slipped into bed in the early hours of the morning and attempted to sleep.

When this didn't happen, the evening's events running over and over in her mind, she sat herself up and fished out her laptop from her bag beside the bed. It had been so long since she'd done any work, she barely knew where to start.

Emails were the safest, so she replied to a few of the more pressing ones before clicking on the file she'd had open, but not added to, for so long—the novel she'd started, but now realised she would never finish. Casting her eyes over it once more she saw just how bad it truly was. No wonder her agent had rejected it. The setting felt forced, the characters fake, and worst of all, the story was boring. Her agent had been right—who wanted to read about bickering students stuck in a city where it never stopped raining? Nobody, that was who. But it was all she knew.

Snapping her laptop closed again, Cassie lay back in bed and groaned. What was she going to do? She really had no idea. Maybe she'd simply have to force herself to keep writing about Badger and Hare. But could she really spend the rest of her days in an uneasy threesome, living with two other beings she was beginning to detest? She didn't think so. Still, maybe that was her lot. After all, there were thousands, probably millions of writers out there who would kill for the kind of success she'd had. Not to mention she needed to make an income somehow. She couldn't sponge off her grandmother, sister and friends for accommodation anymore. She needed an apartment. And soon. And while that might mean sharing if money was tight, she had been hoping for a place of her own in London, having had enough of sharing during her university days.