I leave the apartment and head down to the bar, where I said I would meet Roman. I order a drink and sit up at the bar talking to Jess, one of the waitresses, when I notice a couple looking at me from a corner table. I try not to look as I don’t want to encourage them, but every time I take a peek, they are watching me.

I knew this moment would come. I’ve been here for over two months, now but as the peak Christmas period gets closer and more tourists come to the bar, I always knew there was a chance someone would recognise me. I turn on my stool as I feel someone beside me, a million different thoughts running through my mind as to what to say to these people, but it’s Roman who I make eye contact with. He smiles at me with both his mouth and those sparkling eyes of his.

“You look beautiful and you smell even better,” he says quietly into my ear, breathing me in as he speaks. I look over his shoulder at the couple who’ve been watching me and see the woman reaching for a camera.

“Thanks, Jess,” I call out quickly, “Let’s get out of here.” I grab Roman’s hand, tilt my head low and drag him out the door.

“You hungry, darl?” I walk around and jump into his truck without speaking; the couple haven’t followed me, but I just want to get out of here now. “George, what’s wrong; you okay?”  I look across to him and realise he hasn’t started the truck yet.

“Sorry, I think someone just recognised me, and I needed to get out of there.” He gives a slight nod, starts the engine and we drive off in silence.

After a few seconds, he asks, “What’s the problem then; why don’t you want to be recognised?” I have a bit of a headache after the surge of adrenalin I experienced at the bar, and I rub my temples as I answer.

“I don’t care about being recognised. People are generally really kind when they talk to me, but it’s what’ll happen if the press then find out I’m here. I can’t… I don’t want them here; this is my place, my place I can just be me. Just Georgia, not Maca’s wife, not that poor girl who lost it all, not Sean’s widow, just me.”

The thought of the press invading my sanctuary terrifies me. I’m not ready for that; I’m not ready to face the world yet. I wind down the car window and let the warm evening air blow against my face. I’ve had meltdowns since I’ve been here, but right now, I suddenly feel like I’m about to have a full-on anxiety attack. Roman pulls the truck over onto a layby at the side of the beach, jumps out and comes around to my door to open it. I’m trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to remember everything all the different shrinks I saw after the accident told me about dealing with an anxiety attack.

The road we’re on is so quiet; I can hear the waves lapping. Roman holds my face in both his hands and keeps his eyes on mine, rubbing his thumbs gently over my cheekbones.

“Breathe, baby, just breathe. Listen to the water, keep your eyes on me and just breathe.” I swear to God, this man is unbelievably attuned to me, or he just knows how to handle someone having an anxiety attack. I don’t know and I don’t care; all I know is he is exactly what I need right now.

He nods slowly. “You okay?”

I nod back at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Georgia. Don’t ever be sorry for the way you’re feeling. You wanna tell me about it?” My mouth is dry and my lips are sticking to my teeth.

“I need a drink.” He smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back as I look at the way the skin around his eyes crinkles on his suntanned face. “Why you smiling?” I ask him.

“You fucking amaze me, George. I don’t think I would survive what you’ve been through, and all you have to say in that cute little accent of yours is that you need a drink.” He kisses me full on the mouth and desire stirs in me. I think it’s the remaining adrenalin still looking for some release from my body, or it could just be that I’ve just been kissed by a well-fit bloke and I’m just a horny slut.

“Fuck me.”

“What?” He frowns as he asks and moves his head back so he can look at me better.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes sparkle and he shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you yet. I want you to wait until we get to where we’re going later.”

I’m totally confused. “Why, what’s gonna happen later?” He bites down on his bottom lip, and I know he’s debating whether he wants to answer my question. I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows, giving him my best, ‘well I’m waiting’ look.

“How open-minded are you, Georgia? I mean, I’m assuming being married to a rock star, you’ve seen and done more than your average person? I know you drink. I know you smoke weed, but how much further have you ever gone? Have you ever completely lost control?” I don’t really know what he means, so I stay quiet as he continues. “These friends of mine we’re going to see tonight, they live a bit of an alternative lifestyle. There’s about twenty of them. They all live together, and when I say together, I do mean together. They all live and sleep with each other.” He looks over my face for a reaction, but I don’t think I give anything away. “They’re mainly artists, musicians—you know, hippy types—but they are all good people.”

“How’d you know them?” is all I can think of saying. This sounds more like Jackson and Emily’s thing, but hey, if it’s Roman’s as well, then who am I to judge?

“I met a girl at a bar I was playing at when I first came back from England, and she was living with them; I went and stayed for a few weeks.” My belly grumbles loudly and he smiles his crinkly-eyed smile. “Let’s go and eat. We’ll talk over dinner.”

* * *

By the time we pull up at the beach house a couple of hours later, I’m nervous and excited. We park at the front of the large home and then walk down through a side access. There’s no fence along the back of the property; it opens straight out onto the beach and the ocean. Roman has brought a six-pack of beers and a bottle of wine with him, and he carries them inside a cool bag in one hand and holds onto one of mine with the other. There’s a large bonfire burning, and someone is playing a guitar and singing. There are people sitting on beach chairs, lying on blankets or just standing in groups talking. I stumble a little on the sand, too busy people watching and not looking where I’m going; Roman slows and looks at me.

“You all right there, George? Not drunk already, are ya? The night’s just started.” I roll my eyes at him.

“Fuck off. I’m not drunk; I’m fucking shitting myself. You’re taking me to a party on a beach, full of people who like nothing better than to take hallucinogenic drugs and have orgies. I wish I was fucking drunk.” He stops in his tracks, turns and looks me square in the eye.

“I haven’t brought you here to do anything you don’t want to do; I told you this at dinner.” I’d drunk wine with my dinner and was feeling brave, but now the wine’s worn off and my bravery seems to have deserted me. I chew on the inside of my lip as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. From somewhere, I find her: G, George, the fifteen-year-old version who wasn’t scared of anyone. The bright, brand new, untainted version of me. I needed to be her tonight, not the thirty-two-year-old version who had been shit on from a great height by life. I understood Roman’s thinking behind bringing me here. He knew it would make me uncomfortable, but he wanted me to face it; he wants to make me brave and fearless again. I don’t know that I ever can be, but I can put on a fucking good front. The only problem with digging deep and finding fifteen-year-old George is that I’ve also found her jealousies and temper.

“Don’t worry, babe; you couldn’t get me to do something I didn’t want to, no matter how many drugs you feed me. And just to be clear, you’re here with me; if you touch another bird, I will knock you the fuck out.” He laughs quietly as he wraps his arms around me.