by Alexis Hall
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He frowned, reverting to his more typical mode of Impatient with Arden. “Of course I am.”
“Are…are you sure?”
For a moment, he stared at me, his expression almost pleading. But all he said was, “Mr. Hart’s in his office.”
And so I had no choice but to let it go.
Press forward.
Caspian’s door loomed. I took a deep breath, pushed it open, and stepped boldly over the threshold.
Or, at least. That was the plan.
What actually happened was that I contrived to trip over, well, nothing. I tried to catch myself but to absolutely no avail. And one startled yelp later I was facedown, arse up, on the ground.
“Arden?” Oh God. That was Caspian. I hadn’t spoken to him for months and yet his voice—so familiar with its upper-class vowels and its secret promise of warmth—pulled at me like an unfulfilled geas.
Footsteps.
Then someone reaching for me. And I let myself be helped before I realised it wasn’t Caspian.
You see, I knew his hands. Knew their strength, their elegance, and their restless vulnerability. They’d touched every part of me. Claimed me, in both pleasure and pain.
But these were a stranger’s hands. And a stranger’s touch. And it was almost impossible to imagine that such cool, perfectly manicured fingers—the fourth circled by a milgrain platinum band—could ever falter or flinch or reveal too much.
I made it back to my feet. Looked up.
And died in Nathaniel’s honey-golden gaze.
“Are you all right,” he asked, with the easy solicitude of the victorious. “Did you hurt yourself?”
I opened my mouth and waited for words to happen. They didn’t.
George stepped forward, her body briefly blocking mine. “Your assistant said you were free. We’re here about the interview.”
“Darling”—Nathaniel cast a look of amused exasperation in Caspian’s direction—“I thought you cancelled that?”
He frowned. “So did I.”
“Well,” said George, “you didn’t. And I’m a very busy woman, so can we get on with it?”
Holy shit. This was basically the bit in a Mafia movie where all the characters started pointing guns at each other and yelling. I mean, apart from the guns and the yelling. We were too British for that.
But some pretty frosty looks were happening, let me tell you.
Nathaniel aimed his at George. “Do you talk to your all subjects like this?”
“Only the very special ones.”
“I must apologise.” It was odd to hear Caspian being conciliatory but, I guess, someone had to be. “The thing is, I…that is…I’m afraid I’m no longer an appropriate topic for this particular article.”
“What do you mean?” Oh. That was me. In the world’s smallest voice.
He’d been standing behind his desk, crisscrossed by silver-edged shadows. But now he stepped forward, his hand coming up self-consciously so he could adjust his tie when it didn’t need adjusting. And there it was: a dull gleam on his fourth finger. A ring to match Nathaniel’s.
“I’m…we’re…”
“Engaged,” I said.
“Bellerose should have told you. I mean, your magazine.”
My world was a platinum circle. It was manacles on my wrists. A vise around my heart. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Arden.” Nathaniel, soft-footed, came to stand beside Caspian. Took his arm. “A shame about your wasted trip.”
They already looked like a magazine cover. Caspian, exquisite in dark blue pinstripes, and Nathaniel, tastefully casual. A perfect match, equal in beauty, poise, and sophistication.
And so wrong in every other way.
Oh, Caspian. I was completely fucking furious with him. And desolate all over again. How hurt did you have to be, how terrified of who you were, and what you wanted, to do something like this? Not just to himself.
But to me. And, not that I was super full of shits to give, to Nathaniel.
“We’ll get out of your way.” George gave my shoulder something between a pat and a shake. “You must have a lot to do.”
Except I was stuck. Staring helplessly at Caspian.
Waiting for him, somehow, in a handful of seconds, with nothing but silence between us, to trust, to understand, to change. And at the same time knowing it was utterly beyond him. I’d lost Caspian before we’d even met. To Lancaster Steyne. The man whose cruelty would possess him for the rest of his days.
And Nathaniel was more fucked up than any of us if he didn’t see it too.
“How about a different interview,” I heard myself say. “The two of you together.”
Caspian gave a convulsive start. “No.”
The smile I produced felt like an alien’s impression of one. “It’d make a wonderful story.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Let’s not be so hasty, my prince.” Nathaniel pressed in closer and whispered something in Caspian’s ear. And then, “I think it could be rather romantic.”
I shrugged. “Well, have a think about it. I’ll leave my details with Bellerose if you want to set it up.”
Then I wheeled round.
And on barely functioning legs, ran like a motherfucker.
Chapter 4
We went to the Starbucks round the corner, where I sat and ugly-cried into a raspberry and white chocolate muffin. Caspian would have had a perfect, probably monogrammed silk handkerchief to give me. George pushed a stack of paper napkins across the table. But then, she’d never broken my heart a bunch of times and topped it off by engaging herself to a man I knew was the last person in the world who could make her happy. Which put her way ahead of the game in the Taking Care of Arden stakes.
In any case, I eventually ran out of tears. Also gulps and hiccoughs and wails and snot. And then George brought me a big glass of water and said, “Do you want to have sex?”
“Um.” I blinked my sticky eyes. “What?”
She shrugged. “Well, I’m really bad at reassuring people and really good at fucking them. But I’m open to either.”
“I…I think I’ll try the reassurance?”
“Ah.”
My entire face felt like Violet Beauregarde after she ate the prototype Wonka gum. “What’s wrong?”
“I was rather hoping you wouldn’t say that.” She reached out to pat my hand. “There, there. He’s not worth it, girlfriend.”
So apparently I hadn’t run out of tears.
She regarded me in some dismay. “Oh God. I’m sorry, poppet. I did warn you I’m terrible at this.”
“What does worth have to do with anything?” I said with great personal dignity.
Okay. That’s a lie.
“What does worth have to do with anything?” I wailed wetly. “You don’t love people because they’re deserving. You love them b-because you love them.”
She folded her fingers around mine. “I know.”
“He’s only doing this because he’s been hurt so so badly. And he won’t let me help.”
“You know people can only really help themselves.”
“Y-yes. But…he’s hurting me too.”
“And that is truly unforgivable.”
I glanced up and burst out, “I would forgive him. I would forgive him anything. And I know that’s pathetic and doormatty and weak.”
“It sounds the very opposite of those things.”
“I wouldn’t if I thought he was trying to be cruel to me. In some ways I…I kind of wish he was. Then I could hate him. Instead of…” I put a hand to my chest, which was ridiculously melodramatic, but I was half convinced my poor, ragged little heart was going to bleed right out of me. “Feeling like this.”
George was quiet for a moment or two. Then, “The bad will fade in time. And you’ll never forget the good.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, poppet”—she gave me one of her wryest looks—“I’
ve been there, done that.”
“Really? When?”
“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.”
As rebuffs went, it was pretty gentle. But unfortunately, it just reminded me of Caspian, and I started sniffling helplessly again.
“At least,” she went on, “New York in the eighties, which amounts to the same thing. She was my first in, oh, very many things. The other half of my soul.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
She shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“What happened?”
“She’s irredeemably straight. And now my best friend.”
“Wow, I…” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Is that okay?”
“As five very wise young ladies once implied, zig-a-zig-ah is transitory. But friendship never ends.”
About ten seconds ago I’d been about to die of sorrow. Now I gave a surprised, watery giggle.
George’s expression grew a little wistful. “We became, in the end, an impossible choice to each other. But I, at least, have no regrets.”
“Does she?”
“As far as I know, she’s never regretted anything her entire life.”
We fell silent. I picked over the ruins of my muffin, shocked to find myself aching but approaching human. And sufficiently recovered to be embarrassed at having cried my eyes out in Starbucks. Really loudly. In front of George. “Sorry for…being like this.”
“No need to apologise. I’ve always got time for a pretty boy in tears.”
I managed a messed-up smile. “I’m such an idiot.”
She tilted her head slightly. “How so?”
“Just, y’know, falling apart because of Caspian. Again.”
“If it’s any consolation, you were magnificent in his office.”
“I was?”
“Mmmhmm.” She gave a velvety chuckle. “Getting an interview out of him. Mara’s going to be so proud of you.”
Okay, that was fairly consoling. “Yay.”
“You’ve got good instincts. Keep this up, and you’ll go far.”
For some reason, a brief intermission of feeling less than awful made me tear up again.
“Don’t you dare,” George growled. “Or I really will insist on fucking you.”
Separating one of the napkins from the pile, I blew my nose, suddenly very conscious about how red and damp it was. “I’m not exactly at my best right now.”
“And I’m still into you. Isn’t that flattering?”
It was…kinda. Maybe. Definitely. “But I’m in love with Caspian.”
That only made her laugh. “Why do you think I’m offering? I’m too old for romantic entanglements. Especially with presumptuous little poppets.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes you did, and it’s adorable.”
I cringed in my chair, half tempted to slither out of it and hide under the table for the rest of my life. “Well, what about me? I’m all vulnerable.”
“In some ways, perhaps, but not in others. You’re in no danger of falling for me, and rebound sex has much to recommend it in terms of pure, unfettered carnality.”
“I can’t just…not go back to work.”
“After the morning you’ve had, I think it’s the least you’re owed.”
“Oh, right. I’ll just tell that to Mara, shall I?”
“All she’ll care about is the interview.” George leaned back, propping an ankle on the opposite knee, a pose that made her look even more rakish than usual. “So the only thing that matters is this: What do you want? I can take you back to the office, or home if you’d rather. Or you can come back to my place, where you can drink hot chocolate in a fluffy blanket, and cry about your ex some more. Or…”
“Or?”
“We can have the kind of sex you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”
“I find people who boast about their prowess really hot.”
But she only grinned. “That’s not a boast, poppet. It’s an amuse bouche.”
From the way an answering smile kept tugging at my lips, my bouche seemed pretty amused. I finished my muffin, trying to corral my feelings and make a sensible decision. I mean, I was only human. Of course I wanted to sleep with George. But I couldn’t figure out whether I wanted to sleep with her for the right reasons (because she was hot and it would be awesome) or the wrong ones (because I was hurt and she wanted me). Or, even, if the wrong reasons were actually all that wrong. If it was okay to bang someone for love or pleasure, it was okay to bang them for comfort, wasn’t it?
I hadn’t been with anyone since breaking up with Caspian. I’d been too sad…I mean focused on my career. Okay, sad. And right now, the possibility that I could get laid, and that it could be fun and easy and harmless, was unbelievably tempting. After all, we were both adults. Consenting. Going into it with our eyes open. Dammit, I deserved this. I needed it. I was going to do it. But if my time with Caspian had taught me anything (and honestly, he’d taught me a lot, most of it good), I was done with…denial and uncertainty and shame. I’d seen firsthand what that could do to someone.
“Okay,” I said. “Yes. I want to. But there’s something I have to tell you first.”
One of George’s eyebrows twitched curiously. “Oh?”
“The thing is. You should know.” I took a deep, only slightly shaky breath. “I’m pretty kinky.”
“Well, then you’re in trouble,” she murmured. “Because you see, poppet, I’m very kinky. Shall we go?”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Mara was in the loop, I wasn’t fired, and we were in George’s car heading east. Because it turned out she didn’t live in London.
“I’m feeling a bit kidnapped,” I grumbled.
She flicked a glance my way. “And does it turn you on?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll drive you back in the morning, safe and sound. Though most likely a little bit worse for wear.”
It took me a second or two to realise the slick, twisty feeling in my stomach was anticipation. God. All these months, I’d been telling myself I was okay. Except I blatantly wasn’t. I’d just been numb. A half person, drifting through my days. I’d thought seeing Caspian—seeing that ring on his finger, Nathaniel’s hand, possessive on his arm—had broken me. When actually the pain was a door opening, and now I could feel again.
Given George’s plans for me, I texted Ellery to let her know I wouldn’t be home that night, and got back:
so?
Which, y’know, was…very her. And fine. Because I knew it didn’t mean she didn’t care—just that she didn’t signal caring the way most people did. But it made me miss rooming with Nik at Oxford. He would have sent me some suggestive emojis and said something nice like have fun, I’ll miss you, or possibly, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. So I could have replied that I always do things he wouldn’t do.
Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I turned and gazed out of the window, letting the nondescript southern English countryside—grey and brown and tufty green—distract my eyes. Mainly, I was trying very hard not to think about the various journeys I’d taken with Caspian. The time he’d come to get me from Kinlochbervie, and how unexpectedly intimate it had been, sharing a car with him. Or riding with him in one of his endless black billionairemobiles when I’d got back from America. He’d kissed me so desperately then. Held me so tightly. Like he’d never let me go.
Except he had. He totally had.
George tapped my knee lightly. “Pretty kinky, you say?”
“Um. I guess?”
“What are you into?”
“Into?” I tried to sound casual. But ended up squeaking instead.
“Kinky is a broad category, poppet. Tell me something you like.”
Oh God. It was sort of terrifying to be asked so directly. And a little bit thrilling. With a side order of excruciating. All sprinkled with a generous serving of, What the fuck do I say?
“The amount of time it’s taking you to an
swer makes me think you’re completely depraved. But don’t worry.” George let the words hang for a moment. “I’m here for it.”
“I’m not depraved. I’m embarrassed.”
“Then think of this as foreplay.”
“Um. Um.” Shit. I’d oversold my own kinkiness in a moment of kamikaze bravado. I mean, how kinky could I be if I couldn’t even admit what I wanted? “Spanking. I like spanking. Being spanked, I mean. I like being spanked.”
George gave a low rumble of what I assumed was pleasure. “Mmm, me too. Spanking, that is. Being spanked somewhat less so. Is that impact play in general, or just spanking?”
“I…I don’t know. I’ve only ever been spanked.”
“Now that is truly a tragedy. What in the world was Caspian doing with you?”
“Stop.” The word exploded out of me. “Safe word. Red. Red. Whatever. I’m touching my ear.”
“Of course. Do you need me to pull over?”
I sucked in a few frantic breaths and pressed my hands together to stop their sudden shaking. I’d gone from okay to not-okay so fast I’d shocked myself. “N-no. I don’t think so. S-sorry.”
“Please don’t apologise. What did I do?”
“You…” My heart was still racing. And I was actually having trouble figuring out what the problem was for myself. Let alone trying to articulate it to George.
“Take your time. I can turn round. Or we can stop.”
“If,” I said slowly, the thought squeezing out of my brain like a water droplet from the end of a broken tap, “we’re going to do this…you can’t make it about Caspian. Because you don’t know him. And it’s not fair.”
“You’re right, Arden. It was a glib and thoughtless remark, and I’m sincerely sorry for it. Your relationship with Caspian is none of my business.”
It was an odd moment. Firstly, because she hardly ever used my actual name, and secondly, because I wasn’t used to her being serious. And now both those things were happening at once. I swallowed. “Okay then.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I think I am.”
We drove along in silence for a while. And gradually I could breathe again.
“You know,” murmured George, “the blanket and hot chocolate option is always on the table.”