by Victoria Fox
She had refused to see him. Determined to categorise Alex Dalton as she had categorised everyone else, as a means of containment, of keeping people away.
A fire blazed in the hall. Alex helped her out of the coat and showed her to the living room, which was cosy; books and papers were everywhere, a pair of muddy wellies in one corner and tartan blankets strewn over the chairs. She could smell chicken roasting in the Aga, and the warm scent of thyme. Tess thought of Alex’s mansions in America, of the supermodels he entertained on his yachts.
‘This is a bit simple for you, isn’t it?’ she said. She hadn’t meant it to sound rude and, before she had a chance to qualify that she liked it—she liked this version of him; to hell with it, she liked him, and why hadn’t she told him before that she liked him?—he just laughed and said: ‘Always one for saying what you think.’
‘I like it. It’s just not what I expected.’
‘You’re not what I expected either.’ He passed her a glass of wine.
‘I’ve changed?’
‘I mean generally. You aren’t. You weren’t. Shall we sit?’
Alex wore a delicious, heady aftershave. Tess fought the urge to lean into him, to feel his arms around her as she had at the Beverly Mounts. His kindness.
He’s so kind, Tess.
‘How’s Mia?’ she asked, fighting to get back on track. Her body was zinging, as it had been with Vitto but more; lower, richer, swelling in her chest as well as between her legs. It had been physical with Vitto, just physical.
‘Great,’ Alex nodded, ‘already busy planning.’
‘Are you having a big wedding?’
‘Not as big as yours.’
‘I know you think my wedding was shit.’
‘Is your marriage any better?’
She thumped him. Decided that instead of spending her life wanting to thump Alex Dalton she should just thump him. She was sure Mia wouldn’t mind.
‘None of your business,’ she said, but she was smiling. Suddenly she didn’t care if Alex knew that her marriage had crumbled. There was no point pretending with him; he saw straight through it, he always had.
‘You’re way out of his league.’
‘Steven gave me confidence.’ Tess was startled at the admission, the rawness of it and the fact it had spilled from her lips. ‘I mean, he made me feel I was good at something. I never thought I was. He respected me. He treated me well.’
‘You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?’
‘It’s better now.’
He took her hand, held it, and didn’t let go. Tess sensed there was no option to let go. He would just keep holding it, even if she struggled. ‘Tess—’
‘Has Mia chosen a dress?’
‘Um, not yet, I don’t think.’
‘Are you excited? You must be really in love.’
‘I am in love,’ said Alex, looking straight at her.
She broke the moment, felt as if he was stripping her. Talk about Mia; think about Mia, your best friend … But her heart was thrashing. Her palms were hot. Still, Alex held her fingers. She reached with her other hand to collect the wine glass and it slid from her grip, splashing across the table, and she retrieved it, mortified.
‘Leave it,’ he said.
Alex took the glass from her and placed it on the table, which was such a small movement but spoke volumes. Tess thought it was the most exciting thing a man had ever done. That sound of that glass meeting the table … Then silence.
He kissed her. It should have come as a shock, she thought, as his lips explored hers, but it didn’t. It was the inevitable thing to do.
Alex was an excellent kisser. His kiss was hot but his face was cool, as she touched a hand to his stubble-rough jaw. He tasted of the wine, rich with cherries. Electric currents sparked up and down, inside her blood, between her thighs, making her tingle. Her breasts longed to be touched; her nipples stiffened.
Oh, Alex. It’s you. It’s always been you.
‘Wait,’ she said, pulling away, ‘we can’t. We can’t do this.’
She was transported back to that bedroom with Calida, all those years ago. Their fight, and Calida’s words: ‘You knew how I felt … how I feel …’
She was doing it again. Hurting the person she loved. Don’t do it.
‘Tess,’ Alex murmured, taking her chin in his hands, ‘it’s OK. I’ll fix this. I promise you I’ll fix this. But right now I can’t—I mean, you’re just … I can’t …’
Alex’s lips met hers and this time it was dangerous, tongues entwined, deep in each other’s throats so she was grinding against his teeth, hungry for him, and they moaned and gasped and pulled each other’s hair. Tess couldn’t think of Mia. She couldn’t put Mia into this equation because although it was wrong and terrible, Mia wasn’t a part of this. Mia was part of a later Alex, not the one Tess had met in Paris, not the one who had spoken to her at the Plage d’Aqua, not the one who had messaged her all through the holidays, who had pissed her off at her wedding, who had held her at the spa, who had come to her in hospital … Mia’s Alex wasn’t Tess’s Alex. It was the only way she could think of it, and in doing so fail to think of it at all.
Alex guided her waist so she was sitting on top of him, her knees either side of his lap. His hands came up to her breasts. Tess felt his hard-on against her thigh. Reaching down, she stroked it before carefully unbuttoning his fly.
‘You’re amazing …’ Alex’s cock appeared between them, swollen and thick. She drove her hand up and down the shaft, from the smooth warm tip to the rock-hard base, drawing it out, pressing lightly then gripping firmer, using both hands so she could cup and stroke his balls. The movement squeezed her breasts together, her cleavage spilling over the neckline of her dress. Alex buried his head there, savouring her, biting her, licking her, until he peeled down the fabric, shed her lace bra and sucked ravenously at her bare flesh. ‘Christ,’ he breathed, ‘your tits …’
Tess loved the feel of his hair beneath her chin, his rough skin against her soft. They both knew this was it. There was no going back. The world would end tonight if they did not have sex. Tess had to have him inside her. She was wet and waiting for him—she had always been waiting for him, this complicated man to whom she’d been blind, unwilling to let him in because he made her feel like she needed him. So what if she needed him? It was OK to need someone, and it was OK to be needed.
‘Hold on,’ murmured Alex, unwilling to stop kissing her, ‘don’t move …’
He dragged himself away. She knew what he had gone to get and already she could imagine sliding it on and easing him into her and how miraculous that would feel, and hastily she removed the rest of her clothes. Unable to wait, she followed—and met Alex coming downstairs. A second while they took each other in, so many barriers over the years to reach this final point of not a single one, skin on skin, eyes on breasts, sweat on sweat, and never had anything been so unavoidable.
Without a word, Alex eased her on to the steps, face front, her legs spread.
‘I’ve wanted this for so long …’ he murmured.
In a paralysing bolt, he entered her. Tess screamed, her knees hitched up and spread to accommodate his girth. ‘Fuck!’ she cried. ‘Oh, my God!’
Alex ploughed into her wetness, gripping her ass with his strong hands. The carpet stung but she wanted to bleed; she wanted to give her all to him.
He knew how to fuck. He fucked her for a long time, first on her front and then on her back and then on her front again, on her knees, his fingers in her mouth, in her ass, in her cunt; he lifted her from the stairwell, then he brought her down to the floor and fucked her on the rug in front of the fire. Just when she was ready to come, he went down on her. Tess’s body was spent with bliss. She let herself be ravaged and devoured, every part of her explored and adored, every crease and crevice tasted and touched. Alex worked her with his fingers and his cock and his lips until finally he thrust into her while teasing her clit and she climaxed in a blinding storm, h
er head thrown back, hair plastered with sweat, gasping, her toes curled.
‘Pirate …’ he whispered, as he came after, rocking into her one spasm after another, as the flames cast their bodies in fire. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.’ His statement—impossible, perfect—settled in the heat between them, requiring neither response nor elaboration; just right as it was. Alex withdrew and lay alongside her, taking her hand in his. They stayed like that for some time, not speaking.
Eventually, he turned to face her. When she met his gaze, instead of the burning guilt and anguish she knew was hours away, all she felt was joy.
There it was, her favourite face in the world. Alex Dalton’s.
On a cold Sunday morning, Maximilian Grey-Garner III called from LA. Tess thought he was ringing to update her on the new contract with Kellaway Cosmetics, and braced herself for the return to her high-octane life. But it was nothing of the sort.
‘A hate campaign has been started against you,’ he warned down the phone.
She placed the note she didn’t recognise in Maximilian’s voice: panic. Tess had been in a haze ever since the Alex encounter, some days devoured by conscience, others on cloud nine at the memory. Maximilian’s news was like a bucket of ice.
‘What?’ She fumbled for her work cell. Eleven missed calls from her PR; three from her assistant; nine from Simone … and one from Vittorio.
‘Scarlet Schuhausen released an open letter,’ said Maximilian. ‘She knows about your affair and is blaming you for her suicide attempt. According to her, you’ve been cheating on Steven all along. I’ve been up all night fielding calls and it would be an understatement to say they weren’t friendly … This is bad, Tess. It’s bad.’
Tess gripped the counter. ‘But how did she …?’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve been found out.’
‘Vittorio told me it was over between them. I didn’t know—’
‘What you did or didn’t know is irrelevant. Scarlet’s out for blood.’
Somehow, the thought of Alex finding out was the worst. He’ll think I’m a slut. Not enough to sabotage his engagement; I was sleeping with a married man, too.
‘Have you noticed anything odd recently?’ Maximilian asked. ‘Anyone following you around, dead calls, stuff like that?’
Tess gulped. ‘No,’ she lied.
Maximilian was silent. She thought she had lost him, then he said: ‘Get back here, Tess. This letter’s poison and it’s going straight through the roof. Scarlet’s bent on doing whatever it takes to see you fall. We have to sort this—before it’s too late.’
44
Los Angeles
Tess,
I am writing to you not because I want to but because I must. You have injured me in more drastic ways than you will ever understand. How do I know that? Because a woman who sleeps with another woman’s husband, aware he is married and belongs with someone else, is by definition a harlot and a whore, and incapable of grasping the meaning of love, trust, and respect. I have felt these things for my husband since our wedding day. Do you feel those things for him? I doubt it. I doubt you even feel them for yourself. Your actions make me sick. I want the world to know that I hold YOU and you alone responsible for the measure I took last year to end my life. Women across the planet should be informed that you are a slut with no esteem for others and no care for the lives you destroy. You are everything that is wrong with society, everything that is soiled, the lies, the duplicity, the rot. Did you know I was carrying his baby? Did you know that? I hope it cuts you like a knife. You stole a father as well as a husband. You are the kind of trash that women for centuries have feared. You are a bitch. An evil, toxic bitch.
Tess Geddes, you deserve your comeuppance. You deserve everything you get. You’ve had your golden time.Now it’s my turn.
Scarlet.
Calida Santiago closed the news site and sat back in her chair.
‘Everything OK?’ Ryan Xiao asked, charging into her hotel room and setting down his equipment. They were in Bel Air doing a home shoot with Olympics idol Leon Sway, and were due in an hour. ‘You look like you haven’t slept a wink.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Well, get your shit together.’
‘I can always count on you for sympathy.’
‘Ten minutes, got it?’ He left.
Calida opened her Mac and typed Tess Geddes into Google. In seconds she was scrolling through reams of results. Her twin was wicked, corrupt, worthless, a waste of oxygen; she should be killed, punished, made to answer for her crime …
Over the past few weeks, since Scarlet’s letter was published, Tess Geddes had become the most hated woman in America. Scarlet’s tirade was shared and multiplied across social media, sparking debate about marital crisis, feminism and the sorority, the crumbling of community values, of family, the exploitation of money and power. Tess became a scapegoat for everything that was immoral in the world. She was the name and face attached to every heartache, every betrayal, every wrongdoing.
Haters looked on with glee as Tess’s Hollywood castle came crashing to the ground. They relished the mighty topple, at how beauty and wealth could not buy immunity, at how Hollywood’s golden girl turned to copper overnight.
In one picture, Tess was flying back from England, shielding her face from a clash of cameras. There she was, emerging from her villa under a weight of coats, drawn and haunted; and here, at the premiere of her latest film, wearing a striking pearl gown and labelled: FAT COW. Calida found it sad, the things people wrote behind the cowardice of online obscurity. The treatment Tess was getting was barbaric. There was the impression that should she go out alone, she could be stoned to death on the street. Death threats flooded the forums: Scarlet’s army vowed that Tess had better watch out. According to the press the actress had already been the target of direct assaults: roadkill in the mail, her car tyres slashed.
TESS GEDDES: ‘FRIGHTENED FOR MY LIFE!’ the headlines blared.
Calida studied pictures of her sister and saw in her eyes what she had been searching for since they were fifteen—since before then, if she were honest.
Recognition. Fear conjured the ghost of the girl Tess had been many years ago, a black-eyed child with a mischievous laugh who was scared of the dark and of snakes and of noises in the night. She wasn’t this invincible movie star, this goddess beauty queen; she was the same person. Teresita. Their little Teresa …
Calida watched the drama unfold and bit her tongue to silence. Each time she heard Vittorio’s name, at parties, at work, in dialogues on the street, she walked away. Anything she said or agreed on was sheer hypocrisy. Everything the press hurled at Tess could just as easily be hurled at her. Calida had committed the same offence—worse, because in Tess’s latest statement she maintained she had broken off her relationship with Vitto immediately upon hearing of Scarlet’s suicide attempt.
Had Calida? No. She had stayed. She had even accepted his proposal.
Now, she scanned the venomous articles with alarm. TESS GEDDES GETS ALL SHE DESERVES. KILL THE BITCH! BURY HER! MAKE HER PAY! The hashtags that spread like a rash over Twitter: #TessKarma #TessDeservesIt #TeamScarlet.
Every woman who had ever been scorned or let down or cheated on by a man was making Tess their voodoo doll. And that doll, at last, had a face. Calida, too, had driven in a pin. She’d lost count how many. When she’d been fifteen and wished her twin would disappear. When she’d heard from Julia that Teresita had begged for the adoption. When she’d received that note, telling her Teresita was never coming home. When she’d moved to Buenos Aires and vowed to make it. When she’d hit New York and set out to match her sister’s fortunes step for step. When she dreamed of meeting Teresita again, and … And what? What then? Where did they go from there?
Calida touched her locket, cool and smooth and timeless. She had been convinced all this time that her sister was rotten—had believed every scrap of dirt that the world now threw at her. But since her discovery
at Vittorio’s apartment, a splinter had appeared in her hate, a splinter of possibility that whispered in her ear when she lay in bed at night. What if she still thinks about you? What if she didn’t mean those things? What if she wanted to leave home but she always missed you? What if …
Calida’s phone shrilled to life. ‘Where the fuck are you?’ blasted Ryan.
She clicked it shut and left the room.
That night, she arranged to meet Vittorio.
‘Thank God,’ he said when they were together. ‘I’ve had Scarlet’s attorneys on the phone all afternoon stringing me up by my balls. My lawyer says now is the right time to announce the engagement. We’ll issue a statement at dawn. There’ll be pictures, interviews, the whole circus. OK? You’re with me on this, aren’t you?’
Calida watched him across the back seat of his Mercedes and shook her head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not.’
Vittorio drew a blank. Then he laughed. Then he stopped laughing.
‘I know I’m not the only one,’ said Calida.
Vitto slammed his fist into the leather. ‘This isn’t about Tess Geddes again, is it? Calida, I’ve told you. Scarlet’s fabricated the whole damn thing. I’ve never so much as gone near the woman. This is classic settlement blackmail—don’t you see? She even made up that crap about a pregnancy. It’s lies, all of it.’
‘Tess has admitted to the affair.’
‘Only so she can divorce that degenerate husband of hers.’
‘You’re clutching at straws.’
‘You’re accusing me of nothing!’
But she didn’t need Vittorio’s admission to be certain. Around the time Tess claimed to have ended the affair, Calida’s lover had become moody, distant, for days plummeting into black holes and snapping at her over the smallest thing. Sometimes he could only have been described as needy, which wasn’t a word Calida thought she would ever associate with him. ‘You won’t leave me, will you?’ he’d asked more than once, running his hands through Calida’s jet hair as if it reminded him of something. Someone. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she’d replied, kissing him and thinking as she did: