Commitment

by Golland, K. M.

  “Do you just? And what if I don’t?”

  “Bad luck. You’re gonna hear me out.”

  The muscles in his face flexed. “You sure you wanna do this here?”

  I stood my ground. “I don’t care.”

  He grabbed my arm and led me through a door to a stairwell nearby, and soon as we were out of ear and eye shot of anyone passing by, I shrugged free. “What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have one. I just don’t think your attitude should be witnessed by the people we work with or the guests we serve.”

  “My attitude?” I gasped.

  “Yeah. Yours.”

  I narrowed my eyes and glared, fury and frustration bubbling to the surface of my clenched fists.

  Dale pursed his lips, leaned up against the wall and delivered his crinkliest eye crinkles yet.

  “Don’t you dare crinkle those eyes at me,” I warned, stepping back and creating some distance, my butt coming to rest upon the railing.

  “You’re funny when you’re pissed.”

  “And you’re an arsehole when you’re pissed.”

  “Maybe so, but you were the one who didn’t want to talk to me, remember? You told me to leave you alone and not contact you.” He shrugged. “I did what you asked.”

  “I know,” I sighed, my anger relenting. “And I’m sorry. But that’s what I needed at the time. It was all too much, and you frightened me when you stopped that elevator.”

  He cowered a little. “I never meant to frighten you, Tashy.”

  “Yeah, well I know that now, but that’s not the real issue here. The real issue was what we were doing. It was wrong. It needed to stop.”

  He crossed his arms and nodded. “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I’ve thought a lot about you, about me … about us, and I’m pretty fucking disappointed in myself. You’re married. That’s sacred. I had no right entering that equation and trying to take you out of it.”

  I shook my head, sadly. “You didn’t do that. I let you in, so it’s not entirely your fault.”

  There was a moment of silence, both of us finding spots on the ground to focus on.

  “Look, I never wanted to lead you on and hurt you. Never in a million years. But I do love my husband. He’s my yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”

  “I know. I didn’t realise at first how invested you were in your marriage, Tashy, but I do now.”

  Surprised, I raised my eyes to find his stoic ones, a pang of guilt piercing my chest. “And that’s probably my fault, because when you and I got closer, Dean and I were in a difficult place. I was confused by him, confused by you and your out-of-nowhere feelings, and confused by—”

  “They weren’t out-of-nowhere,” he interrupted.

  “Well, they felt it at the time. I was just so confused about the suddenness of it all, and about what I was feeling, what I wanted to feel, and what I was supposed to feel.”

  “And you’re not anymore?”

  I shook my head, slowly. “No. I’m not. And I’m so sorry.”

  He managed a small smile. “Don’t be.”

  “But I am. I like you, Dale. Really like you. And if circumstances were different—”

  “NO! Let’s not go there and have the ‘different circumstances’ talk, yeah?”

  I nodded. “Okay. But I just want you to know that I … I care deeply about you. And I want us to be friends. Do you think that’s possible?”

  A stupid tear fell from my eye and trailed down my cheek. He stepped forward, the delicate touch of his finger stopping its descent. “Don’t cry. Of course we can be friends.”

  His aftershave, his touch, the sound of his voice … it all came swimming back to me. My body wanted to meld into his, to seek comfort in it. And although that was all it wanted to seek, I knew I couldn’t grant the request so I took his hand in mine and said, “Thank you.”

  It was all I could say.

  * * *

  Several weeks passed, and nearly all aspects of my life had settled into a routine that I was incredibly happy and grateful for. The boys were in one piece and thriving at school; the Easter festivities at work were in full swing and, so far, had encountered no setbacks; Dale and I, although innocently and uncontrollably flirty at times, were back to our normal pre-kiss friendship; and Dean and I were still spicing things up in the bedroom and communicating more than ever.

  Things were almost perfect.

  But then nothing in life was ever perfect no matter how manicured the appearance. Paint would eventually peel. Layers would eventually shed. And walls would sooner or later crumble.

  That was the side effect of masking reality.

  And yet I still persisted to mask mine, because I’d no doubt that coming clean to Dean about what had happened with Dale would ruin everything we’d worked at building and improving, and I just couldn’t bring myself to destroy it. And because I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it, the guilt of keeping my secret was germinating within, sprouting apprehension and dread. I was terrified of how he’d react when he found out, but even more terrified of hurting him. That was my greatest fear; causing him pain.

  We hurt the ones we love because they love us wholeheartedly, and where there’s love so immense, the pain of breaking or tarnishing that love is even greater. Which was why I’d made the harrowing decision not to tell Dean about Dale. It served no good purpose other than to rid me of the guilt of keeping it a secret, and if living with that guilt spared Dean pain, I would live with it. I would let it set up residence deep within me and somehow learn to coexist.

  Lying in bed after sneaking one in before the kids woke up, Dean’s finger lightly traced the contour of my hipbone. “So, what do you want to do for your fortieth birthday?” he asked.

  I smiled lazily, lost in the chocolate warmth of his sated eyes. “I don’t know. Lexi wants to throw a big bash for me.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded and screwed up my nose.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “She wants it to be a costume party.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “There’ll be balloons.”

  He chuckled and shuffled closer, pressing the front of our naked bodies together. “You want a quiet get together at home without balloons?”

  I nodded, rubbing the tip of my nose up and down the bridge of his.

  “Then that’s what you’ll have. I’ll even organise the cake.”

  My eyes lit up. Dean never organised foodish things other than dinner once or twice a week. “Really? You’ll arrange a cake to feed fifty or so people?”

  “Sure. I’m not hopeless.” His fingers crept to my arse then squeezed. “And I know just what to get.”

  “What?”

  “Not telling.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want it to be a surprise.”

  Rolling me onto my back, he climbed on top of my body, and although our sex life had improved a hundred times over, I just wasn’t in the mood for another round. I was tired and my vagina wanted to sleep along with me.

  “Again? I’m so sleepy, babe,” I whined.

  His hand snaked down my side, his body lifting from mine before sliding his finger inside my pussy. “But you’re so wet for me.”

  “Uh … actually no, I’m not.”

  A greedy, satisfied grin appeared on his face, and he slid in as deep as he could go, his knuckles pressing against my clit. “Oh yes you are.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head and shrugged. “Ovulating.”

  “Ovuwhat?”

  “I’m releasing eggs.”

  His finger paused and his eyes narrowed, so I nodded, rapidly, to prove my point.

  “Yep. I’m a motherfucking hen. Bok bok. Now get off.”

  Wiggled out from under him, I pulled the sheets back and grabbed my robe just as there was a thunderous bang against our bedroom door.

  “Hey!” Thomas whined. “I can’t get in.”

  “Turn the
kno—” I squealed, unable to finish what I was saying due to being hauled backward onto the bed, Dean’s arms and legs wrapping around me in some form of wrestle hold.

  The door rattled. “I am but it’s not working.”

  My back vibrated as Dean chuckled.

  “Hang on a minute,” I said, twisting within his grip to see his face. “You put a lock on the door?”

  “Yep.”

  I giggled like a naughty teenager and covered my mouth, turning completely so that I was lying on top of him, face-to-face. “You naughty man. I like your style.”

  “And I like yours. I also like my eggs over easy.” He waggled his eyebrows and hoisted me up, positioning my pussy over his mouth. “So start laying.”

  Oh. My. God!

  * * *

  One month later, I was standing at the foot of a City Tower suite bed, and reading a note from Alexis and staring at a purple bodysuit and a pair of black overalls draped across the mattress.

  This was the only way I could arrange a surprise costume party and you attend it.

  Don’t hate me.

  And don’t hate your husband. He only knew what he needed to know,

  which wasn’t a hell of a lot.

  Anyway, all of your friends and family are currently arriving at the penthouse,

  so woman up and get dressed.

  Oh, and Carl and Jane will be there at 6:30 p.m. to do your hair and makeup.

  Happy 40th, bitch.

  I’ll see you soon.

  Lexi xo

  That sneaky, little, blonde, birthday planning, butt plug!

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I said out loud, exasperated.

  Digging my phone out of my bag, I dialled Dean but he didn’t answer, so I typed him a text.

  Tash: You knew about this?

  I’m going to kill you.

  There better not be any balloons at this party.

  And I better not be the only one dressed in costume.

  Dread and excitement rolled into one big ball that settled at the pit of my stomach. I can’t believe she did this to me. Actually, yes I can.

  I scrolled to her name and typed her a text as well.

  Tash: THRONE. OF. LIES!

  She answered, instantly,

  Alexis: MOTHERFUCKING IRON THRONE!

  Hurry up and get your purple Evil Minion arse up here now!

  Tash: And what if I don’t.

  Alexis: I’ll send a big bunch of balloons to your room.

  Tash: You’re the worst friend I know.

  Alexis: You’re welcome.

  I wanted to tit-punch her. In fact, I was going to tit-punch her. The evil wench had bloody well tricked me.

  “Tash, Bryce has set up a dinner meeting for you and Film Publicist, Josie Durnam, from Premiere and Event Media Management to discuss the possibility of City Towers hosting the premiere for The Dressmaker in October. Suite 3907 will be free for you to prep beforehand. Good luck! I’m sure you’ll nail it. Self defence on Monday, yeah?” she’d said in her email to me yesterday.

  Lies.

  Lies.

  Lies.

  There was no meeting.

  Tossing my phone onto the bed and picking up the bodysuit and overalls, I shook my head and laughed. Only Alexis could pull something like this off. Only she would have the balls to not only throw me a costume party I didn’t want, but to also go behind my back in order to do it knowing deep down I’d love her even more for calling my bluff.

  Only a true friend could see past the fluff we hide behind.

  Forty-five minutes later, my face was purple, my neck was purple, my hair was teased into a crazy mess and sprayed purple, and I was trying to see through a pair of giant silver goggles as I made my way to the penthouse foyer, stopping at an obnoxious sign that read:

  This is a clown and balloon free party.

  I laughed but simultaneously sighed with relief. Thank God for Bryce Edward Clark and his fear of clowns. This is his doing. I know it!

  Reaching forward to press the buzzer, the door was wrenched open before I could do so, and standing there before me was Alexis … dressed as a Minion.

  “SURPRISE!” she shouted, her yellow hand grabbing mine and yanking me inside.

  I stumbled forward but then stopped in my tracks when a sea of yellow minions — also known as my family and friends — looked up from their gathered position three steps below in the living area.

  “PAPOY!” they all shouted.

  Dead.

  I’d died all the deads.

  And then I laughed my arse off and tit-punched Alexis.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tash

  “I can’t believe you did this! I can’t believe everyone is a freakin’ Minion. Even my mum!”

  Alexis happy-clapped, grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed me one. “Oh, your mum was easy. Bryce was the challenge.”

  I took a sip but then nearly spat it. “Bryce is dressed up as a Minion too! Oh my God, where is he?”

  Stretching on my tippy-toes, I searched the room for what could quite possibly be the hottest damn Minion to ever exist — either that or the most hilarious.

  “Over there by the bi-Fold doors, holding the baby Minion.”

  My line of sight scooted past the staircase to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that were opened to the outdoor pool area, and settled on a six foot five Kevin inspired Minion, sporting a teeny tiny Stuart Minion on his hip. “Oh, that is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” I laughed.

  “Isn’t it just?”

  “Honestly, I … I can’t believe you did this. And not one balloon in sight. Thank you.” Squeezing her tightly, I continued to scan the room in search of Dean. “Is my husband here?”

  She pulled back and grimaced. “No, not yet. He was supposed to be.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. Work, I guess. Maybe traffic. I tried calling him but he didn’t answer.”

  I pulled my phone out of my bra. “He hasn’t even answered my text.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, hon,” she said, gently resting her hand on my shoulder. “It’s still early.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Mum!” Thomas yelled, the small yellow and blue menace latching onto my leg. “You look crazy.”

  “Well, I am an evil purple minion.”

  “I don’t like the purple ones.”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t.”

  My hands found my hips. “Where’s your brother?”

  “I don’t know. Bye.” He ran off. Just like that.

  “That was nice,” I said, drinking the rest of my champagne. “No ‘Hi, Mum. Happy birthday. How was your day? I missed you’.”

  Alexis laughed. “It’s a costume party. Not a magic show.”

  “Yeah, don’t I know it?”

  She took the empty glass from my hands and handed me another. “Here, drink up. Enjoy and relax.”

  “I have to drive.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Noooo … I drove to work today.”

  “Uh, that suite you got ready in is yours and Dean’s for the weekend you stupid, purple Froot Loop.”

  “What about the kids? Is Mum taking them?”

  “No. Your mother is staying in a suite as well and the kids are staying here with Nate and Charli.”

  “Oh … REALLY?” I wanted to cry, and despite the past couple of months, I didn’t bloody well cry. But real tears began to form in my eyes, so I blinked them away and wrapped my arms around my best friend. “Thank you so much, you sneaky bitch. You have no idea how much I love and appreciate you.”

  “I do, because you should.”

  “I’m not gonna argue with that. Not tonight. You win all the things tonight.”

  “Is this a Minion ménage à trois?” Carly asked, stepping up beside us. “Because I’m not opposed to some kinky Minion shiz.”

  I let go of Alexis and hugged Carls
. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

  “Sometimes I worry about me, too. Happy birthday, old fart.”

  “I’m not much older than you.”

  “You’re forty. That’s only ten years shy of fifty.”

  The room froze and time stood still, or at least that was what it felt like. “You’re only ten years shy of fifty.” Holy shit! I am.

  Age had always been just a number to me, a number that didn’t define you or what you should or shouldn’t do, but as I stood there in a room full of Minions with the realisation that I was closer to half a century than not, how old I was had never been more eminent.

  “I’m going to get very pissed tonight,” I stated categorically.

  Carly and Lexi both laughed, Lexi flagging down the waiter. “Thatta girl.”

  The waiter made his way across the room and practically bowed. “Yes, Ms Summers. Can I get you anything?”

  “Sebastian, for the umpteenth time, STOP CALLING ME MS SUMMERS!” she voiced a little too loudly. “Oooh, sorry. I didn’t mean to yell that. But seriously, Seb, stop it.”

  He moved in closer and lowered his voice. “I know. I’m sorry. But Mr Clark made it very clear I was to address you like that at ALL times. He’s the boss.”

  “He is,” I chimed in, raising my glass. “He’s Mr boss-man.”

  Carly chinked my glass with hers.

  Alexis playfully glared at us then draped her arm over Sebastian’s shoulder. “Mr Clark is being a major pain in my arse. Mr Clark likes being a pain in my arse. Pun intended.”

  Sebastian’s stance waivered, the tray he was balancing tipping before he quickly corrected it.

  “I don’t want you to be a pain in my arse, Seb. Got it?”

  “Yes! Of course. Got it, Ms Summ— I mean, Alexis.”

  “Good. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, can you bring us a tray of Schnappies?”

  “Schnappies?”