Ch.7: Check Your Pockets

Annie was in charge of actually collecting the pizzas and delivering them to Jude's door. Initially that seemed weird to me, until I reminded myself how famous Jude was, and how it made sense that he didn't want complete strangers coming to his door, even if it was just to drop off pizza.

I thought she might join us, but when Jude re-emerged onto the terrace, a stack of boxes in one hand, there was no sign of her.

"So you guys really don't remember anything about your own wedding?" Elle asked, as Jude laid the boxes out on the table in front of us. The smell of melted cheese made my stomach growl and I eagerly flipped open the cardboard lid to get at the deliciousness inside.

"Not a thing," I said. I took a bite of my pizza, and closed my eyes in bliss as the saltiness of the ham vied with the sweetness of the pineapple.

"No one should enjoy pineapple pizza that much," Jude said.

"Don't care, didn't ask," I mumbled around a mouthful of hot cheese.

"You don't even remember who suggested getting married in the first place?" Elle said.

Jude and I both paused, slices of pizza in hand.

"That's an interesting point," Jude said.

"I don't think I would have asked you. I've always liked the idea of a guy getting down on one knee for me," I said.

"Maybe Jude did," Elle said.

Jude pulled a face. "Doesn't seem like my style, does it?"

"You never know."

"We probably won't ever know," I said, a little mournfully.

I'd always liked the idea of getting married one day, committing to spending the rest of my life with the one person I loved most in the world, but now it had happened, I remembered nothing. While other people could reminisce fondly about their wedding days, mine would only ever be a black hole. Of course, if this trial month didn't work out, then it wouldn't matter what I did or didn't remember, because the marriage would be over.

"You've got no physical evidence of anything that happened? No receipts, no photos?" Elle pressed.

I almost dropped my pizza.

At no point since waking up married to Jude had it occurred to me to check my phone for photos. I had gone from freaking out at the hotel, to sleeping away the entire flight, coming to the loft and then sleeping again, so I hadn't had time to think about it, but now I felt like a complete idiot.

"Really?" Elle said, reading my expression. "Did neither of you see The Hangover? You always check your pockets, and check your phone or camera for photos."

"I did. There's nothing on mine," Jude said.

I fished out my phone and stared at it. Maybe there was nothing on mine either. Or maybe it held the missing pieces from that night.

My fingers trembled slightly as I opened my photos. I wanted to know what had happened, but at the same time, I didn't, in case it was a lot worse than what I'd done at the Bellagio.

"Oh." The breath rushed out of me in a short gasp.

"There are photos?" Jude said.

I nodded.

Jude leaned in to look, and for the first time since we'd met, I barely registered his closeness. I was too focused on what was unfolding on my phone.

None of the photos presented a clear picture of that night, just scattered snapshots that didn't cohesively fit together.

There was a line of empty shot-glasses on a sticky bar-top, and Jude leaning against a mock-Roman sculpture, smiling lazily as he smoked a joint. There was Jude giving me a piggyback – my head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth wide with laughter, and I held a bottle of something in one hand, but I couldn't make out the label. There were several pictures of my feet and the ground, looking like we were running away from something – in one shot, I only had one shoe. We must have found it again because I'd had them both at the hotel.

"Oh, God," I said, wincing.

In the next photo, I sat on Jude's lap in front of a small stage, while a woman in a jewelled bikini writhed in front of us. Crumpled dollar bills lay all around her.

"You look like you're enjoying it more than I am," Jude commented.

I couldn't deny it. I might not remember a single second of this, but I also couldn't recall any other recent photos where I'd looked this happy. Although that had a lot more to do with the man that I was sitting on, than the near-naked woman dancing for us.

After the strip-club, it looked like we'd gone to a jewellers, where Jude had posed like a beauty queen with an enormous tiara nestled in his curls. There were no other photos in that shop, but it was safe to assume that's where we'd got our rings.

I glanced down at mine, glittering on my finger. Had I demanded something so expensive or had Jude insisted? From what I knew of him – and of me – the latter was more likely, but there was no way to be sure.

I scrolled through blurred photos of the inside of a car, and a smear of colour that might have been Jude's tiger tattoo, and then I stopped. The next photo was clearly our wedding. We stood in front of a small altar covered in a white cloth, decorated with roses and half-burned candles. Confetti littered the floor around us, like pieces of a rainbow.

Clearly I hadn't bothered with a wedding dress – we both wore the same clothes that we'd started the night in – but a small veil was pinned to my hair, along with some slightly haphazard flowers, and Jude was wearing my straw hat from the paparazzi shot that Tasha had sent me.

Elle leaned over my shoulder to get a better look. "You both look really happy," she commented.

I swallowed against the sudden knot of emotion in my chest. Elle wasn't wrong. I was beaming, my face as bright as sunshine, my eyes sparkling like my diamond ring, while Jude gazed down at me with a small, soft smile that I'd never seen before. Our hands were tightly clasped as we gazed at each other, but I couldn't tell if this had been taken before or after the wedding, or even in the middle of it. The confetti meant nothing – it could have been left from previous weddings.

Now I was intensely aware of Jude's shoulder leaning against mine as he looked down at my phone, but I didn't dare look at his face.

"Keep going," he said.

I scrolled on, hoping to see more wedding photos, but that was the only one I could make out. There were some fuzzy snaps of what could have been the flowers in my hair, and then me spraying Jude with a very expensive bottle of champagne – seriously, what was with me and wasting good champagne? – followed by a series of pictures of my ass as I bent over a glass counter.

"Is that a tattoo parlour?" Elle asked. "Don't tell me you got matching tattoos or something stupid like that?"

I shot Jude a panicked look. "I don't have any. Do you?"

"Nothing new," he said. "It looks like I was too busy admiring your ass to think about tattoos."

"It is a nice ass," I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.

Jude gave me a heated look. "Believe me, I had noticed."

I tightened my grip on the phone to keep from fanning myself.

The next photo didn't help. It was out of focus and taken at an awkward angle, but it was still obviously me, sitting on the hood of someone's car, my knees locked around Jude's hips as he pressed himself between my thighs. My hands were tangled in his hair, and there was a smear of lipstick on his throat. We were both fully clothed, so I could take some measure of comfort in knowing that we hadn't actually had sex on someone's car, but as I stared down at the photo, a faint memory stirred in the back of my mind.

I remembered the erotic scrape of Jude's unshaven jaw, and the taste of whisky on his lips, and the feel of his thighs between my legs, the hardness of him pressing insistently against the most sensitive part of me.

But how could I be sure that that was a real memory and not just a fantasy?

Kissing him again could tell you, a sly little voice in my head said.

I stuffed more pizza in my mouth to stifle the voice.

"Maybe we're better off not remembering anything. It looks like I made a complete tit of myself," I said.

"Yeah, but did you have fun?" Jude said.

"I don't know, because I don't remember."

Jude took my phone and went back through the photos until he found the one of me on his back. "Sure as hell looks like you're having fun there," he said.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" I said. "You told me it was your mission to give me a night in Vegas worth remembering, and neither of us can actually remember anything."

"Maybe this will give you some inspiration for the album," Elle said.

Jude's expression dimmed. "Yeah, maybe."

Elle pursed her glossy lips.

The atmosphere suddenly felt heavier than it had a moment ago. This wasn't the first time Jude had shied away from album talk.

"Am I missing something?" I asked.

Elle looked at Jude.

Jude looked at his pizza.

"If you want to stay married, you have to be honest with each other," Elle said, pulling a cube of pineapple off her pizza and dropping it into her mouth.

Jude sighed and ran his hand through his hair, drawing my attention to the silver rings halfway down the curve of his ear.

"I'm having trouble with the album," he confessed. "It's just . . . it's not working the way I want it to."

"Why not?" I said.

Jude gave me a wry look. "If I knew that, I could fix it."

"Right. Stupid question." I waited a beat before asking, "How long have you been having trouble?"

Jude didn't answer. I didn't take that as a good sign.

"It'll come to you," Elle reassured him, and Jude smiled, but it was tighter than normal, and left his eyes hollow.

"I might get the guys together today, go to the studio, see what we can do," Jude said.

Elle's eyes slid to me.

Jude caught on quickly. "As long as you're okay being here on your own," he said to me.

I wasn't surprised that he hadn't invited me to the studio. Whether it was because we were keeping the marriage secret from everyone else, or because he didn't want any distractions – girl-shaped or otherwise – it was fair enough. If the rumours were true, none of his girlfriends had ever been invited to the studio with him.

"I might tell work I came home early, see if they've got any spare shifts," I said.

"Where do you work?" Elle asked, nibbling another cube of pineapple.

Both she and Jude had amazing teeth, I noticed. My own teeth had always been good, but I didn't have the glossy, bright-white Hollywood smile that they did.

"The Tipsy Swallow."

"Never heard of it."

"It's a bar in Brixton, a cocktail-slash-lunch place. Come for the cocktails, stay for the food. Or vice versa."

"Do you like it?" Jude asked.

"It helps pay the bills."

Although it wouldn't if I hadn't moved in with Jude. The bar had only been able to offer me three days a week, which hadn't been a problem while I lived with Jake, but absolutely wasn't enough to live on solo.

"You don't have to worry about that now. Hell, you don't even have to work there if you don't want to," Jude said.

"I can't sit around the loft all day," I said.

Actually, I probably could. I'd only lived here a few hours and already I loved it, but I wouldn't feel comfortable depending solely on Jude, especially when we didn't know if this would work out. Quitting my job to live off Jude's money, only to find that that support was cut off at the end of the month, would be really fucking stupid. I wouldn't put myself in that position.

"Why not look for a job you'll like more, then? I'll handle the financial shit as long as you're here," Jude said.

I had to admit, it was tempting. The Tipsy Swallow wasn't a bad place to work, but it wasn't exactly exciting – though that was probably true of most jobs on the planet. Maybe this was the opportunity I needed to finally start looking for something else.

"I'll think about it," I said.

"If they don't have any shifts for you today, I'll postpone going to the studio," Jude said.

"You don't have to do that."

"Call them," he urged.

I slipped off my chair and wandered to the other end of the terrace to make the call. No way could I risk anyone at the bar overhearing Jude or Elle in the background.

Samantha, my boss, answered on the third ring. "Camden?"

"Hey," I said.

"Are you calling from Vegas? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, but no, I'm not in Vegas anymore. I came home early."

"Why?"

"Because Jake and I broke up before I left, and it wasn't as much fun on my own," I said, which wasn't even a lie.

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Samantha said.

"I was just wondering if you had any shifts available today."

"Really? You don't want to enjoy the rest of your time off?"

"Working would help take my mind off everything." As I said it, I realised how true it was.

I was still coming to terms with the fact that I really had married and moved in with Jude, and going back to work would remind me that I hadn't completely been cut adrift from my old life. I needed that anchor.

"If you're sure, then actually yes, I could use you today. Amy called in sick, so we're short-staffed. How soon can you get here?"

I didn't know how far St Edmund's Terrace was from Brixton – I'd never been to this area – but The Tipsy Swallow was roughly three miles from the London Eye, and I could see the Eye from the loft.

"I'll be there in an hour, tops," I said.

That should give me more than enough time.

"I'll have to borrow a uniform though," I added. All my work clothes were still at Jake's, and I still wasn't ready to go back there. Although maybe I should do it sooner than later – Kelly liked a lot of the same music that I did, and the thought of her stealing my vintage band tees made my blood boil.

"Not a problem, and thanks. See you then." Samantha ended the call.

"Well?" Jude said, as I rejoined him and Elle at the table.

"I'm going in. I need to be there in an hour."

Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment on Jude's face.

"Where's the nearest Tube station?" I asked.

"You're not catching the Tube," Jude said.

"But that's how I get to work."

"Nope, not anymore. I'll have a car drop you off and pick you up."

"That's really not necessary," I said, though I had no idea why I was arguing. A private car was much better than the Tube.

"Camden." Jude gave me a pained look. "Don't pretend you like the Tube. No one likes the Tube. It's hot and crowded, it stinks, and there are way too many weirdos."

"You could say that about a lot of London," I said.

"Why do you think I live up here, away from it all?" Jude waved a hand at the view.

Sunlight flashed off his rings, and my gaze zeroed in on his wedding ring. Would he take that off when he went to the studio? I'd definitely have to remove mine. It was possible that no one would notice one more ring among the several Jude wore on a daily basis, but there was no way I could go to work wearing my enormous rock. Even moving it to another finger would invite questions that I couldn't answer.

But suddenly I didn't like the thought of taking it off.

In our wedding photo, Jude and I had looked at each other like we'd both found someone truly special, and even though we'd been drunk and high out of our minds, even though neither of us remembered it, I knew that Jake had never looked at me like that. I'd never looked at him like that either.

"Seriously, Camden, we're not arguing about this. You're taking a car," Jude said.

"Don't you think my colleagues will notice if I'm suddenly being chauffeured to work?" I pointed out.

"I'll have Don drop you off at the end of the street. You can still pretend you caught the Tube," Jude said.

"Fine." I picked up another slice of pizza and Jude stole a piece of ham from the top. He winked at me as he tossed it onto his mouth.

"What time do you finish?" Elle asked.

"Depending on traffic, I'd hope to be home by sixish. Why?" I said.

"What's Jude's forgotten to tell you is that sometimes he's still in the studio at midnight. Or later. He might not emerge for a full day."

"Or three," I said.

Jude caught my eye and grinned.

Angels & Demons' second album, Flying High, was famous both because it had been put together in just three days, and because Jude had been on a crazy bender throughout most of it.

Even more famous was the album release party, which had included Jude hiring forty strippers for his LA mansion – two of them had ended up hospitalised after too many tequila shots. The drummer from another band had broken his arm jumping from the roof into the pool, and Jude had accidentally set fire to his own car.

"If you need some company, give me a call," Elle said. She put her number into my phone, her jewelled nails flicking as she tapped the screen. "I only live a couple of miles away, so I can come whenever you want, okay?"

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I was feeling overwhelmed again, but in a very different way. My complete disinterest in pop music meant I knew almost nothing about Elle, but I hadn't expected her to be so . . . normal. Her polished, expensive appearance had made me think she was probably quite high maintenance, maybe even a diva, but she didn't seem to be either.

She was someone I could actually become friends with, and maybe that should have been reassuring, but instead it made me feel even more overwhelmed. I could go back to work and pretend that everything was normal, but it wasn't.

And it never would be again.