by Lesley Jones
“And you, mate, are a complete tosser,” she called out to Gary, who I assumed was glaring over my shoulder at her.
She headed off back to her table and her mates, while I asked Keith to go over with some champagne glasses. I ordered myself another drink and turned back around just in time to see Rob, Tony, and Gaz raise their glasses towards the girls.
I looked in the direction the boys were, and my eyes met her blue eyes, and fuck me if her stare didn’t do things to my dick.
At that moment, something—I have no clue what, but something—passed between us. I knew, in that instant, I knew I had to have that girl. I had to know her, and I had to have her. Not in my bar. Not in my bed. I had to have her in my life and by my side. For good.
Oh, if only it had been that easy.
Chapter Seven
Cameron
I walk out of our bathroom and towards our bed, where my wife is now lying naked and sleeping soundly. I watch her for a while, debating on whether to wake her, to slip inside her from behind while she sleeps, or to leave her be. Neither of us slept well Friday or Saturday night but it would seem I’ve managed to catch up by sleeping all of Sunday away.
Georgia’s lying in her usual recovery position, on her stomach, left leg bent out to the side, both her arms crossed under her pillow. Her long hair is spread everywhere, and I take a few seconds to brush it back from her flawless face.
We argued about her getting Botox the week before I went away. She thinks she needs it. I don’t. Jimmie and Ash have both had a little help over the last few years, I even paid for Ash to get a tummy tuck after she carried our twins for us, but now Georgia is feeling left out and wants to get crap pumped into her pretty face when there is absolutely no fucking need for it.
I’ve learned over the years that saying no to Georgia is a pointless exercise. So, rather than arguing with her and worrying that she would go off and do something drastic to herself while I was away, we cut a deal. She wouldn’t have any work done until she was at least fifty, and I would grow my hair back to how it was when we first met. And as easy as that, it was all sorted. Happy days.
I pull the quilt over my wife’s naked back and leave her to sleep. She’ll keep till morning and my hard-on definitely isn’t going anywhere.
I head downstairs in search of food. Since my body clock is shot to bits and my belly has no clue what time zone it’s on, my stomach is growling loudly at me.
I hunt through the fridge for food, steering well clear of anything Georgia might have made. I love my wife to distraction but she can’t cook for shit. She tries. She’s spent endless hours with her mum and Marian, watching and taking notes, but nah, none of it helped.
I think Georgia just has too many things going on in her head at once. She bakes a cake and forgets if she put sugar in. She puts something in the oven and forgets that it’s there. I’ve come home before to find the timer on the oven will be bleeping. When I ask George, “What ya cooking?” her response will be, “Nothing, why? ... Shit, I wondered what that noise was.” As if the house filling with smoke and the burning smell weren’t clue enough.
Fried egg sandwich, that’s the only thing she doesn’t mess up, but that don’t help me or the kids out because she won’t let us eat fried food at home.
We had a few months of misery when Marian hung up her apron, living on burnt offerings and takeaways before Georgia finally conceded and we got a new housekeeper. Her name’s Christine and she comes in Monday thru Thursday. She cooks the dinner, vacuums, mops, irons, and cleans all of the bathrooms except the kid’s.
The kids are in charge of their own bathrooms and have worked out their own little routine for clearing the table, loading and unloading the dishwasher, and getting in the washing if it’s been hung out on the line to dry.
Our kids have grown up privileged, but we’ve made sure they aren’t spoilt in anything other than love and attention.
I make myself a cheese and tuna toasted sandwich and open a beer. Heading into my office, I open my laptop and read through my e-mails, reply to a few, and then decide to go watch some telly.
All the time I’m doing this, I’m acutely aware that all I really want to do is go into Georgia’s office and read some more of those letters.
Those fucking letters that are causing so much tension between us.
I don’t care if she reads them and they make her cry … much.
I just wish she’d hurry up and get it over with.
I just care about how upset it’s making her. My telling her not to feel guilty is pointless. Nothing I say will change how she feels, so the sooner she gets them read, the sooner we can move on with our lives.
In the meantime, I just wanna have a little read through them, so if there is anything in them that’s too upsetting for her, at least I’m prepared. That’s what I tell myself anyway as I head out of my office and into my wife’s, grabbing another beer from the fridge on my way.
I sit at her desk with just a lamp on for light. It looks like two bits of rusty metal with a bare light bulb hanging from it, “industrial” Georgia calls it, scrap metal is more like it.
The first stack of letters I come to are in envelopes but have no stamps or address written across the front. They just say “Gia” in what I now know to be Sean McCarthy’s handwriting.
I open the first one, lean back in the leather chair, and take a swig of my beer.
Gia,
I’m watching you sleep as I write this. D’ya think that’s creepy? I don’t care if you do. I’ve been away from you for two whole weeks while I worked. I wanted you with me, but I understand your reasons for not wanting to go back to the States. Everyone there remembered us announcing the pregnancy on New Year’s Eve, and everyone was offering me their condolences and sending you their love and best wishes. It was painful, and it was hard to hear on my own. I wanted you with me, but at the same time, I was glad you stayed home and didn’t have to listen to it all.
We’ll never forget Baby M. We’ll always make sure he’s a part of our lives. I know we don’t know for sure, but I’m pretty positive he’s a boy.
I can’t begin to tell you how fuckin happy I am right now, you coming to the airport to surprise me and the fact you waited for me to get home before you took the pregnancy test.
Pregnancy.
Pregnant.
We’re pregnant, G. We’re gonna have a fuckin’ baby.
My cheeks ache because I’ve smiled so much over the past few hours. Things will be good this time. I just know it.
We’ll see the doctor Monday and make sure you get the best of care.
You can moan all you want at me, woman, but I will be waiting on you hand and foot. Hand and fucking foot. No lifting, stretching, and definitely no horse riding.
A baby, G. I’m so fucking happy (did I say that already?) and so proud of you. I’m so glad this year has turned around for us. It started off so fucked. I was so scared, G. So fucking scared I was losing you. So many thoughts were going through my head, you’ve no clue, babe. No fuckin clue about the dark place I was in. I was thinking all sorts. Convinced you were leaving me.
And now, here we are, out the other side, still going strong. Sean and Georgia. Georgia and Sean. The way it’s meant to be, except now it’s gonna be Sean and Georgia and baby Beau.
I know you’re gonna shake your head when you read this, but mark my words, gorgeous wife of mine, that’s another boy I’ve put in your belly, and we will be calling him Beau. No girls for us until she has at least two or three big brothers to look after her.
I love you. Please don’t forget that. You’re not just my wife and lover, you’re my best friend as well, so just remember that and please don’t shut me out.
I know you’re gonna be nervous after what happened last time, believe me, I know. I’m fucking shitting myself, but I want you to talk to me, please? If you’re worried about anything, share it with me. He’s my baby too, remember? Which means I now have the both of you to worr
y about. That’s my job, though. It’s my role in all of this. You keep our little man tucked up safe and warm in your belly till he’s big enough to meet us, and I’ll do all the worrying for the both of us. Deal?
Right, my eyes are getting heavy. This is my fourth time zone in three days. I love ya, G. I think I’m the happiest bloke on the planet right now, but I need to sleep. Night, G. Night, Beau. Love ya both xxx
P.S. Just in case I’m wrong and you’re a Lilly not a Beau, don’t worry, I’m your daddy and it’ll be my job to protect you till we get you some brothers x
My head pounds as I finish my second beer. No wonder she loved him so much. Fuck, if I were a woman, even I’d— Nah, let’s not go there.
I could never compete with that. I love Georgia and my kids just as much as he loved her and their kids. I would just never be able to put it into words as eloquently as he does … did.
I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. A doodle of a cock and balls is a about my limit, I might add pubes and spunk squirting out the end if I’m feeling particularly arts and craftsy, but that’s where my artistic flair ends.
Georgia, on the other hand, has her own fashion line that’s sold exclusively through Posh Frocks, and she’s been hands on with every design. She refuses just to put her name and face to it and now draws and sketches her own ideas and is on board throughout the entire production, even modelling some of them for magazines herself.
She can sing and play guitar and she has designed a couple of custom-made pieces of furniture for our home when she couldn’t find what she wanted in the shops. Even this office, she knew exactly how she wanted it to look and feel and worked with the decorators to get it to how she wanted it. No wonder she left me and went back to him.
My chest feels tight when I think about one of the worst moments of my life. So much so that I know I need something stronger than beer. I go into my office and grab my Laphroaig and a whisky tumbler.
I set them down on Georgia’s desk, pour the whisky from the decanter and into the glass, and take a sip.
When Georgia left me and went back to Sean, I really never saw it coming. I honestly thought we were on the same page. We were spending a lot of our days and most of our nights together, and I really believed we were ready to move in and start to make a life together. Never in my life have I gotten something so wrong. I’d lost my wife and unborn son but nothing hurt like losing Georgia when she left me for Sean McCarthy …
Our argument that Thursday night at dinner had been over something so petty I can’t even remember what it was. I know I was in a shitty mood. I said something, she said something back, I replied, and she got up and left.
I should’ve followed her. Instead, I ordered another drink, sat, and drank it, thinking I was giving my angry Kitten time to calm down. I knew Benny was outside in the Jag, and I fully expected to find her sitting out there waiting for me when I finally paid the bill and stepped outside. Biggest. Mistake. Of. My. Fucking. Life.
“Where the fuck is she, Ben?” I asked him as I opened the car door and found the back seat empty.
“She stormed off up the alley, boss. The motor won’t fit down there so I couldn’t follow. I didn’t wanna go around the block to the road in case you came out and wondered where the fuck we were.”
I climbed into the front seat next to him. “Go to her place, she probably jumped in a cab and went home.”
I sent Benny home and let myself into Georgia’s place, using the key she had given me.
It was empty.
I was both pissed off and worried and even more angry that I cared enough to worry. I couldn’t call anyone. Bailey and Lennon had threatened me with a slow painful death if I ever upset her, so I wasn’t about to go there, and I had no contact details for her other brother, Marley. He’d probably just tell the other two anyway, or worse still, their dad. I most definitely didn’t want Frank Layton on my case on top of everything else.
I had been having a spot of bother with a couple brothels and coffee houses we owned in Amsterdam. It was all legal and above board, but the Russians recently moved into the area and were pushing their luck. Trying to make me pay for protection. Me? I didn’t fucking think so. They obviously had no clue who they were dealing with, so I sent a dozen blokes over there to introduce themselves. I thought they’d gotten the message. Then two nights ago, one of the coffee shops burnt down and three of our girls were roughed up. A point needed to be made, and it had to be made in person. We were gonna have to fly to Amsterdam sometime soon and sort this out ourselves, which was the last thing I needed. I was in the middle of negotiating the purchase of a house for myself and Georgia. I had thought it was a done deal. I had thought my offer had been accepted. Apparently, I had been wrong. I got a lot of things wrong that week.
I eventually crawled into Georgia’s bed, and like the sad fuck I was, I fell asleep with my face buried in her pillow.
There was no sign of her at her flat the next morning. I went down to the shop and asked down there. I didn’t know the girl who was working, but she made some calls and then told me Georgia was taking a few days off.
I went back to my flat and checked my answerphone, nothing except a message from Benny telling me I needed to get in touch with him ASAP regarding our “Russian problem”. I showered and went down to my office at the back of the wine bar.
Robbie was waiting for me.
“Rob?”
“You need to fly over to Amsterdam this afternoon. The rest of the boys are on the ferry on their way over there now. I’ve set up a meet with you and Nikolay Kadnikov for tomorrow.”
Fuck, I thought I’d at least have the weekend to smooth things over with Georgia and get this house deal done.
“Why the rush?”
“The rush, little brother, is because they slapped another one of our girls last night. Sending the boys on their own didn’t work, so one of us needs to go. Josh is still in Marbella, Teresa is due to have the baby any day and needs me close, so that, sunshine, just leaves you. Flight’s booked, and you need to be at City Airport by three. You fly out at four thirty.”
“For fuck’s sake, can’t this wait till Monday?”
“No, it can’t. I promised Krystal we’d get this sorted. We’ve always looked after our girls, and right now, they’re all too terrified to take a trip to the supermarket or to pick their kids up from school in case another warning gets delivered. Krystal said Marika’s nose was broken last night. These Russian’s are taking the piss. I want it sorted, today. Whatever piece of fanny you’ve got lined up can keep till next week.”
I was so pissed off by all of this, I was pacing. I didn’t pace. Not until I’d met Georgia, anyway.
“Georgia is not a piece of fanny. Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” I warned him before sitting myself down in my office chair—the “twirling” chair.
“Georgia? Frank Layton’s daughter? You still tapping that? Playing with fire there, bruv. When big bad Frank finds out, you won’t just get burned, you’ll get fucking cremated.”
“Fuck off, Rob. He’s the least of my worries.”
“Oh really? Since when did your balls get so big, Bertie Big Bollocks? Coz I’ve never met anyone that wasn’t at least a little bit scared of Frank or his psycho brother Fin, not to mention crazy fucking Bailey. You must want your brains testing.”
My foot was tapping and my jaw was twitching. I was also giving myself a headache from grinding my teeth together. I wanted to knock my brother the fuck out.
“I’m buying a house, I’m gonna ask her to move in with me. We’ll talk to her dad before then. Of course, whether I get his blessing or not, it’s gonna happen.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re buying a house but you haven’t asked her to move in yet? What if she says no?”
“She won’t.”
“Don’t you think she might wanna say in what type of house she lives in if she does say yes then? Does she not get to choose it with you?”
Fuck
. I hadn’t thought of that.
“It’s got stables and it’s near her mum, she’ll love it.”
“I fucking hope so, mate.” He clicked the nib of the pen he was holding continuously as he spoke, something else that pissed me off. I snatched it out of his hand, snapped it in half, and threw it across the room.
My phone rang.
“Speak,” I ordered.
“Cam?”
My heart bounced about inside my chest and my stomach went into free fall at the sound of her voice.
“Kitten?” I watched as my brother’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline when I said her name, so I raised mine and gave him a look that said, “Not one word, dick head, not one fucking word.” He picked up another pen from the pot on my desk and started clicking it. I wanted to snap off his thumb.
“Fuck. Where the fuck are you? Don’t you ever do something like that to me again, you fuckin hear me? I’ve been worried sick. Where are you?”
I cracked my jaw to relieve some tension while I waited for her answer.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine. I should’ve called you last night. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Worry? Fucking worry? The three times I’d woken during the night, I’d worn holes in her bedroom carpet as I paced and tried to think where I should start to look for her.
Apparently, I did pace.
I wanted to shout at her, but I didn’t want her hanging up on me.
This skinny little girl had me so twisted up in knots, I didn’t know which way was up any more.
“Where are you? I’ll come and get you,” I said calmly. I knew she didn’t have her car. It was still parked outside her flat when I’d left there that morning.