If You Leave, I Leave novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Red Carpet

Tilda serves Piers divorce papers on the premiere carpet and Verity rescues him with tears. Corwin catches Aveline in the crush, and his glove is torn through from inside.

Two days later, Tilda walked a red carpet in front of three hundred cameras with divorce papers in her hand.

It was the premiere of Piers's new film, at the Grand Theatre in the city, and every royal wife was expected to arrive on her husband's arm.

Tilda arrived alone, in green velvet, and pulled me in beside her.

"You're my plus-one," she said. "Smile like you're not furious."

"I am furious."

"Smile like you're furious in a good dress."

The reporters called our names from behind the rope.

At the end of the carpet, under a banner of Piers's face thirty feet tall, the man himself was signing programs for a line of fans.

He saw Tilda and his smile slipped.

"Tilda. Thank the moon. I've been trying to call you since Monday."

"I've been busy," she said. "I went to the Moon Registry."

She held out a pen and a folded document, in front of everyone.

"I need your signature on the release. Before the credits, if you can. I don't want to be late for the cake."

The fans nearest to us stopped breathing.

Piers looked at the pen and did not take it.

"Can we talk about this somewhere private?"

"You had Thursday night for that," Tilda said. "You chose a candlelit table in the city."

He opened his mouth, and his eyes flicked to me.

It was a guilty look, and it was not aimed at Tilda.

It was aimed at something behind me, at the carpet's far end, where a car had just pulled up.

Verity stepped out of it in a white gown with her hair swept to one side.

Every camera on the carpet swung toward her.

She hurried up the carpet with her hands pressed to her chest, and when she reached us her eyes were already full.

"Tilda, please," she said. "Please, if you need to be angry at someone, be angry at me. This is all my fault."

"It really is," said Tilda.

"I should never have asked him to help me. I'll move out of the city. I'll give the Crown back the contract."

A reporter near us said, "Oh, that's so brave," and a dozen cameras flashed.

Verity put her hand over Tilda's hand and the pen.

"Please don't end your marriage because of me."

Tilda looked down at that hand.

"I've budgeted for hating you," she said. "It's in the spreadsheet. But thank you for being so reasonable about it."

For a moment, Verity's smile did not change.

I thought I saw something move behind it, quick and small.

Then she turned to me with her face full of kindness.

"Aveline. I hope you know you're always welcome at my table."

I did not say anything.

I was trying to work out why a woman who had just been publicly accused kept looking past me at the street.

The crowd behind the rope shifted.

A man with a long lens climbed onto a barrier to get a better angle, and the barrier fell.

The whole line of reporters surged forward.

Somebody's elbow caught me under the ribs and I went sideways into the velvet rope.

A hand closed on my waist before I reached the ground.

It was hot, even through my dress.

"I have you," Corwin said, close to my ear.

I had not seen him come.

He had on his dark coat and gloves, and he was looking over my head at the crowd with his whole body locked.

My second rule had lasted two days.

"You said you wouldn't touch me," I said, not quite steadily.

"I know."

His hand stayed exactly where it was.

I could feel it shaking against my back.

I turned my head to look at him, and the flashbulbs lit his face.

His eyes had gone silver.

They stayed silver for the space of one flash, full of light that did not belong to the cameras.

Then he blinked, and they were grey again.

"Walk with me," he said. "Don't run. Don't look at them."

He steered me down the carpet, past Tilda and Piers and Verity, past three hundred cameras.

Nobody stopped us.

Behind us, I heard a single voice call out, "Is that a reconciliation?"

The car door was already open.

He put me inside and shut it, then got in on the far side and pressed himself against the window as far from me as the seat allowed.

The car pulled away.

His breathing was loud in the quiet.

"Thank you," I said.

He gave a short nod and did not look at me.

I watched his right hand come up from his knee to rub his jaw.

The leather of the glove was torn.

Four narrow tears ran through it, and out of each one came the tip of a claw.

He saw me looking.

He put the hand in his pocket before I could say a word.

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