by Alam, Donna
I straighten the black shantung silk over my thighs, wondering if I should’ve dug out spanx. I’m channelling Holly Golightly tonight, my dress erring just on the right side of indecent in terms of décolletage, and my messy up-do more along the lines of Holly after a rough night.
‘I see the master and madam Cyn are in top form tonight.’ The dark mistress herself sidles up beside me as I move from the table, stage whispering in my ear. She slides a glass into my hand.
‘Don’t say that. Someone might hear you,’ I hiss.
‘Glad to have himself back?’ She tilts her own glass to Kai, now chatting to an older man across the room.
‘So freakin’ glad.’ I try, and fail, to hide my smile, flashes of earlier filling my mind. Kai’s kisses and torment as I’d tried to dress; remembering the teasing bite marks he left against tender flesh.
‘I can see. You’re all glowy and stuff. Somebody’s been gettin’ some,’ she whisper-sings.
‘See, some of us don’t have to tie a man to her bedpost to get him to stay.’
‘Oh, I don’t have to tie him, Kitty.’ She smiles like the cat that got the cream. And licked that bowl clean. ‘I just have to tell him to stay, and he does . . . if he knows what’s good for him.’ Her gaze slides to Rob, and as though sensing its weight, he looks up. All one hundred plus kilos of the man starts to blush.
‘Wipe the smile off your face, you dirty whore.’
‘Takes one to know one.’ She moves her smile and attention back. ‘You gettin’ plenty cranberry?’ she asks with one curled brow.
‘Is that what we’re calling it now? Yeah, sure, plenty cranberry, thanks.’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
‘It’s these heels!’
Honestly, her and her assumptions of my odd gait. Yes, Kai happens to be packing, but it’s these shoes, I tell you!
At the mention of her cure for sex with the well-endowed, my gaze slides again to Kai. His long fingers wrap around the rim of his whiskey glass as he brings it to his mouth, smiling politely at something being discussed. I watch him longer than is strictly necessary, or polite, but I can’t seem to move my gaze away. He’s just so handsome; all lean angles and elegantly posed as he stands there. I love seeing him in suits, almost as much as I like stripping him out of them. Who knew suit porn was an actual thing.
‘Yes, I get it. Everyone in the room does—you licked it, so it’s yours.’ Niamh waves her hand in front of my face. ‘He put a ring on it, or you put your ring on it.’
The glass I’ve just raised to my lips almost clashes with my teeth.
‘Ow! Nee-ve!’ I draw out her name in reprimand, even if it is a bit of a ploy. Good job she doesn’t know how true that is. Ring, hah!
‘Whatever. Stop looking at the bloke like you wanna hump his leg, especially his middle one.’
‘Hmm?’ I don’t really hear as Kai’s gaze lifts and he sends me a sly smile, almost as though he can read my thoughts, because I totally was imagining humping his middle leg. My gaze drops to his feet, unable to hold his any longer, not without risking throwing myself at him, at least.
‘Earth to Kitty. Leave the man alone for five feckin’ minutes, would ‘ya!’
‘I wouldn’t mind five minutes. ‘Scuse me.’ I reach into the top of my dress, pulling my vibrating phone from my bra. ‘What? Can you see a pocket in this dress?’
‘I can see just about everything else.’ Niamh snorts.
‘Can’t. I’ve already done the jiggle dance. Kai said I’m good.’
‘I don’t even have words for that,’ she says, mouth now pursed like a cat’s bum.
Ignoring her expression, I swipe my phone.
Those shoes. Don’t take them off when we get home, reads my text.
I’m so getting some!
Any particular reason, oh husband of mine? I type back.
Kai response comes in a series of rapid texts:
Wear come fuck me heels.
And you will.
Come
As I fuck you.
To be more precise, I’m going to bend you over the table in the hall. Fuck you solidly.
The shoes help with our height difference.
‘Honestly, I might as well be talking to my arse as having a conversation with you.’ Niamh adds a strong harrumph for emphasis.
‘Hang on a minute.’ I return to my phone. Why wait? Wanna blow this Popsicle stand?
I’d rather you blow something else, comes his immediate reply.
Pinpricks of heat strike my cheeks, making me glad of the gentle lighting of the room as another text appears.
Bathroom. In five minutes. First floor, fifth door on the right. Should be far enough away for me not to have to gag you.
‘In his mother’s house? You deviant!’
‘Hey, that’s private!’ I try to snatch my phone away from her intrusive gaze. ‘Like your mother didn’t catch your boyfriend wiping his wet knob on the tablecloth.’
‘I was seventeen and highly hormonal! I didn’t have. My. Own. Home.’ She punctuates each word with a bright red fingernail to my arm.
‘Ow, stop that!’
‘And she sent me to confession afterwards. Father O’Riley kept givin’ me the eye after that. I had to make myself scarce whenever he was about, the dirty perv. Now be serious for a minute. How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Abso. Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Feelin’ strong, Kitty?’
Must be psycho season. I take another sip from my glass and narrow my gaze. ‘Let’s move on out of crazy town, Niamh. I’m getting married at the weekend. Again. So I don’t need talking down from the ledge. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt already. Sort of.’
‘I think crazy town might be right. You might want to have a words with whoever did the invite list.’ She does that deceptively cute nose-scrunching thing. Totally makes her look adorable, even if it’s false advertising. More worryingly still, she tightly clasps my wrist with her hand. My eyes stare at my pale arm against her lightly freckled one as she adds, ‘ ‘Cos look what the catwalk just dragged in.’
Looking up triggers a sort of slo-mo effect, ensuring I take in every inch of this guest’s appearance, from dainty ankles up to her new made-to-look-unnatural fake tits. Would you go to the souk to buy a copy Prada and choose the most obvious fake? Of course not, so then why do women insist on having beach balls implanted in their chest?
Sofia. You whore.
‘You might need a bit of something.’ Niamh glances around as though a clue to ‘what’ might be written on the wall, muttering something about my having gone into shock. ‘Here, this’ll do.’ She hands me a bottle of vintage Veuve lifted from the startled waitress’ hand.
‘I don’t need a drink!’
‘I thought you might want to christen her.’ She adds a comic bottle-wielding mime. ‘Might be a bit late, though, given that everyone’s already had her out for a ride.’
Everyone including Kai. I shake my head, attempting to control my thoughts.
‘She’s had them done.’
‘Done what?’
‘Her boobs were never that big before. Shit, she’s coming this way.’ My eyes frantically scan the room for Kai—or an escape—but neither are in sight.
‘Let her come, the gobshite,’ Niamh says, flicking the length of red hair from her shoulder. ‘A bit of trouble only makes for a good night.’
‘Sounds like something Kai would say.’ Despite Sofia’s airy tone, I hear the tremor in her voice well enough. ‘He does so like a challenge.’ Her gaze flicks over me, a gesture implying she finds me lacking in that sense. ‘My heartiest congratulations, habibti.’ Somehow, she drags the endearment out into a sneer, her congratulations sounding more poisonous than hearty.
‘Condragulations.’ Niamh sniggers, pointing a thumb at Sofia’s face. ‘D’you think she shovels that shite on with a trowel?’
My laugh sounds a
brasive, hard. And ridiculous, as Sofia’s make-up is flawless. In fact, her whole outfit is, as usual, impeccable; from her tiny gold body-con dress to the bronze gladiator stilettos laced up her long bronzed legs. She’s had a bit of caramel blonde added to her chestnut coloured hair since I last saw her, as well as the zorb balls she’s had implanted in her chest.
‘Well?’ Sofia demands, one fist resting on her hip.
‘Well?’ I make a gesture of not understanding, my gaze sliding to Niamh.
‘I suppose you’re satisfied.’
I blink wildly. And laugh. At least, I think that’s the noise expelled from my chest. ‘Are you for real?’ I glance between her and Niamh again, eyebrows sitting somewhere in my hairline. She’s screwed Kai, so she must know how satisfied I am. I want to say this. But I don’t, and despite how outwardly blasé I act, my insides are twisted and churning.
‘You overestimate him, habibti. I told you once before, Kais is never interested in one woman for long. This won’t last,’ she hisses, malice and jealously warping her face.
‘And I believe I told you once before that you can get fucked!’
Might’ve been a bit loud, especially as the noise in the room stops. Like a snapped thread.
‘Putain,’ she spits. You tie yourself to him by trickery! You are no more worthy of him than—’
‘Trickery?’ I yell right back. ‘You were the one on her knees inhaling his cousin’s cock! Don’t fucking tell me about tricks, you whore!’ It might be the same words I used earlier with Niamh, but the intent is not the same.
Somewhat hazily, I hear my mother’s sharp intake of breath and Geoff’s apologies to those nearby. I also hear Niamh’s encouragement, telling Sofia in no uncertain terms where to get off, but it’s all sort of out-of-focus, like I’m hearing them from inside a bubble. A bubble of rage of my own. I’m seething; every pore of my being alight, right until she slaps me. Slaps me across my face. Stunned doesn’t even cover it. I don’t think I’ve ever been slapped before. Well, other than when Kai spanks me, of course . . .
‘That’s a fucking ‘nuff,’ Niamh yells. ‘The man wouldn’t ride you even for practise!’ She shoves Sofia’s shoulder hard, and Sofia raises her hand, but François appears out of nowhere, grabbing Sofia’s arm as she looks set to strike again. It’s then I notice his clothing; François isn’t dressed for a party. More like the gym.
‘Stop this right now.’ Pulling hard, he forces her to face him. ‘You promised me, habibti. You promised you would not let your feelings get in the way. Kais has made his choice, and no amount of . . .’—he waves his other hand between her hair and chest—‘will change this fact.’
Ohhh . . .
For a moment, I’d swear that François is next on her list for a slap, Sofia’s fist clenching and unclenching by her thigh, the other still in the air, fingers held wide. Angry tears spark in her eyes as the air around us pulsates with her ire.
‘C’est vraiment des conneries!’
For a moment it looks like François is on the verge of breaking down, his passive expression on the brink of crumbling. He blinks twice, a sad smile returning.
‘No, darling. Bullshit it is not. It is what’s called love. Something you will never understand.’
His eyes catch mine as he turns, the love and hurt as obvious as their blue colouring. In the time it takes for him to turn from me, an unspoken understanding passes between us. He loves her, perhaps not as a wife, but it’s a love unrequited, still. Perhaps the same as his love for Kai. Oh my god. How could I not have seen this before? François loves Kai—love loves Kai.
The implication sits on my chest as he leads Sofia out, murmuring his apologies to those in the room. I’ve one hand clasped to my face as Niamh comforts me with words I can’t hear as the pressure of this realisation weighs on my lungs, squeezing me tight. But it feels appropriate somehow, this sorrow I feel for him. Maybe because I know what it feels like to be loved by Kai. It’s for this reason alone, and maybe shock, that tears spill down my cheeks at the same moment as Kai appears at the doorway into the room.
François shakes his head, unspeaking as Kai begins to ask what’s wrong. Words still hanging in the air, he’s suddenly at my side, enveloping me in his arms.
‘Are you all right?’ His fingers are in my hair, my head clasped to his chest. ‘Darling, speak to me.’ Placing his hands on my shoulders, he angles my head to look at him.
‘She slapped her. That fucking bitch slapped her! She needs locking up.’ Niamh.
‘Babe, you need to calm down.’ Rob.
‘You poor darling! Regina! Regina! Get some ice, could you please? Who on earth let her—never mind. She would’ve found a way. The woman is unhinged!’ Mishael.
‘Who was that woman, Katie?’ Geoff.
‘Such language, Katherine. I never thought to hear you speak like that.’ Mum.
‘Enough!’ Kai’s voice rings from the walls. ‘Enough,’ he repeats quieter. ‘Kate, speak to me.’
I stare at him, blinking, fighting through a moment of telling him everything that just passed. I can feel my teeth gnawing at my lip.
‘Where have you been?’ The words come out watery and sort of bubbly as Kai bends lower, his sorrowful gaze now level with mine.
‘I was upstairs. Fifth door on the right.’ Words laced with meaning, a tiny smile lurking in the corner of his mouth.
I burst into giggles, the most inappropriate kind. ‘Sorry,’ I say between hiccupping cries. ‘I sort of got carried away down here.’
Pulling me back into his arms, he kisses my head. ‘Let’s take you home.’
Chapter Ninety
The closing of the door echoes across the vast hallway of our home as I begin to fight with the zip at the side of my dress.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Making sure you make good on your promise.’ The words are mumbled into my armpit, the zip having snagged on the lining, though my shaking fingers don’t help the situation much. ‘Just ‘cos I didn’t meet my end of the deal.’
‘Stop.’ His hands are on my shoulders before he pulls me back against his chest, his arms like a vice. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Great. Watery words to match my lashes.
‘Yes. You are.’ His arms tighten. ‘Why do I feel like this is my fault?’
‘Did you write the guest list?’
‘No—’
‘I don’t want her at the wedding,’ I add quickly, cutting him off.
‘I doubt she’ll be in the country this time tomorrow. François looked pretty pissed.’
‘But you’ll make sure?’ My fingers tighten against his forearm. ‘ ‘Cos if she’s going to be there, I’m fucking not.’
‘Really?’ Kai’s tone is disparaging, at best. ‘Are you planning on running away again?’
His words hit me sharply, pulling me from my focus. My anger. I really don’t want to get into this. I don’t want to make the evening into a bigger drama than it already has been, but the fact of the matter is, when I look at Sofia, I feel lots of things. Lots of things that make me feel inadequate. She’s so stunning, and I’m sort of ordinary. She’s got legs ‘til next Tuesday and I’m just a little short arse. She’s all glamour and Gucci, while I’m more your Target end of the mall. Even spending a bit more cash on my clothes these days doesn’t lift me into her league at all.
And then I look at Kai; the male mirror of her. Physically at least.
‘One of these days you’ll realise.’
‘I could say the same to you,’ I mumble.
‘And what might I realise, habibti?’
I shrug, not willing to elaborate. ‘Lots of stuff.’
‘That you can trust me,’ he says softly.
I try to turn to face him, prevented by the band of his arms. ‘I do trust you. This isn’t about you.’ Not really.
‘You can also trust me with your thoughts.’
My chest tightens. Screwing my eyes tight, I swallow. ‘Don
’t be a sook and help me with my zip.’ Diversionary tactics. It bears saying again: I’m well versed in these.
‘A sook?’
Sounds funny in his accent; long vowels and hard consonants. And totally silly. It strikes me this is probably the first word I’ve heard him utter that doesn’t make me want to inhale him on the spot.
‘What’s sookful about me?’
‘Sookful?’ I scoff. ‘Just sooky. You’re being a sooky lala.’
‘That sounds even worse. You’re sure you didn’t bang your head?’
‘You’re being overly emotional.’ Aimed for a taunt, and yep, nailed it.
‘Emotional? My wife gets assaulted, starts tearing off her clothes before the doors are even closed, and I’m not supposed to be concerned?’
‘You can be concerned. You could’ve also just given in.’
‘Fuck your concerns into the background? Distract you? Distract me?’
‘Sometimes sex is just sex, Kai.’
‘And sometimes it’s not about sex at all.’
I press my arse into his crotch—these shoes have me nearer his crotch, anyway. ‘Then maybe you can just kiss this booboo better?’ I slide my hand between us, my palm brushing his hard length. ‘The body’s willing, at any rate.’
‘And the control is weak,’ he says all gravelly, pushing back against my hand.
And now we’re getting somewhere.
‘Control is overrated,’ I answer in soft encouragement.
‘Now there’s where you’re wrong, kitten.’
And just like that, he turns me, and I tilt my head for his kiss . . . a kiss that’s devious and cunning and hidden in the corners of my mouth, my hair, the place where my neck and shoulder meet.
I groan as his fingers simultaneously make short work of my zip. I don’t give the sound of fabric tearing a second thought. In fact, as I close my eyes, I don’t think about anything but having him inside me as he pushes the dress from my shoulders, dragging it further past my waist.