Billy’s right. Darnley’s starting to look stressed. Little things, like the way the light slants off his face at sharper angles than before. Like the way he spends long hours on business – but alone, not striding about in front of me while he shaves in the mornings or pacing our room half-dressed at night so I can admire the goods. He shuts himself away like a sulky teen and emerges looking immaculate but gaunt. So that incident in the balcony scene did shake him up, and badly. He’s just hiding it. And now I notice those phone calls. Maybe he had them before, but now I know what they’re about I seem to hear them all the time. From the odd remark I catch, they’re mostly from Aaron, but they all end the same way: Darnley slamming a door or clamming up in rigid silence. How many years has this been going on? I ache for him. But how can I help him if he won’t talk? When I ask him he just sighs and makes another call or throws down his phone and pulls me close and stops my mouth with his.
