Tudor was once again running his fingers through my hair and nodding gently, taking in the advice from his level-headed older brother. Henry stood and cracked his back, Samantha followed suit and they headed in our direction. He bent down, eye-level with Tudor and laid a hand on his head. “Get some sleep, and we'll figure everything out tomorrow, okay? Today has been trying for us all, and I think we need to let the dust settle for a while, sleep on it."
Tudor pulled him in for a long, manly hug, and Henry winked at me as he walked out of the room, holding his wife’s hand incredibly tightly – maybe he wasn’t as calm as he seemed.
I looked over to Tink, who cocked his head with a tight smile and pointed to the hallway; he was going to bed too, and he took his silent boy with him. We were all staying under one roof tonight – group support to face the trials of tomorrow as a united front.
When everyone was out of the room, I snuggled into Tudor’s chest in front of the fire and peppered kisses along his neck to soothe him. He nuzzled the top of my head and sighed. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't honestly know. I suppose lots of things really: us going public, what Kate will say tomorrow, and of course I'm worried about you."
He guided my head to face him. "Worried about me? Sunshine, your birthday has been ruined by my problems. Just when one nightmare ends, another begins. Why are you putting up with all of this?"
"Oh don't start!" I said a bit too aggressively, and lifted myself from his embrace.
"Start what?" he asked, slightly taken aback at my attitude.
"Blaming yourself. I chose to be with you, babes, knowing everything, and still you apologise? Your father is the one to blame, not you. I love you and you don’t abandon the people you love when things get tough. In fact, it’s love that gets people through unsteady waters unharmed. I’m not going anywhere and you need to get that through your dense noggin, butch boy!”
His lip curled in amusement at my ‘dense noggin/butch boy’ dig, but he still didn’t look convinced.
I settled back into his lap, tracing each one of his protruding abdominal muscles through his T-shirt, trying to measure his mood. “You are not responsible for everything, every problem. I love you, I support you, and I am staying put – I’m freakin’ cement!“I've dealt with a traumatic childhood too, granted it wasn't exactly like yours, but I have some idea what it's like to lose your innocence to something out of your control, and yet still, I'm determined to make us work. I can't fight for us on my own though, Tude; you need to be in this with me. Our road to happiness was never going to be easy, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to strap myself in and enjoy the ride – bumps, dips and all!"
He stroked my face with his finger. "I am, gorgeous, I'm totally in, but I can't help but think that all my shit is having a negative effect on you - your job, your life, everything. Are you sure I'm worth it?" he looked apprehensive.
I flicked my hair like a L’Oreal advert, stared into his eyes like I was smouldering down the lens of a camera. "You're worth it."
That at least got a wee chuckle.
He took a final swig of his bourbon tea and asked, “What do you think I should say tomorrow?”
I thought about it for a second. “I think what Henry said made sense. If you expose your father for the bastard that he is it may liberate you in some way, make it easy for you to move on. Will it bring attention to you? Yes, of course, but you became an actor, and fame and press go with celebrity hand in hand. It’s how you handle the topic that needs to be considered.”
He played with the fingers on my hand. “And what how would you handle it? If it was you and your family?”
I sighed in sympathy at how lost and vulnerable he seemed. I straddled his waist and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Who were your idols growing up?”
He looked at me, surprised. “Erm… James Dean, Paul Newman, Clint Eastwood – I suppose people who could handle themselves, didn’t take any shit.”
“And why do you think that was? Why was it those types of actors that inspired you?”
He sighed. “I guess it was because I had no control at home, I couldn’t fight back against my dad, and I wanted to be like them. It’s why I got so big, you know, why I body-build, and why I got the tattoos and shaved my hair. I wanted people to look at me and see someone strong, someone who could handle himself, not someone who got beat up every day for most of his early life. I suppose how I look – big and menacing – is like my armour, impenetrable. At least to most people,” he said, poking me in my side, making me jump and giggle.