by Jessica Ashe
“You don’t have to go back to work.”
“I want to. Besides, we need the money. No more playboy lifestyle for you either.”
“I don’t want to be a playboy anymore. However—”
“However?” Sophia asked with raised eyebrows. “You’d better not be going back to sleeping around my college again.”
“I’m not sure there are many left,” I replied with a grin. “But that’s not what I meant. Remember I said our financial situation has changed?”
“Yeah. What did you mean by that?”
“I’m collecting the inheritance.”
“What? How?”
“I got that palace solicitor to look into the trust. Turns the trust has very specific language about me marrying a woman.”
“We knew that already.”
“The solicitor—being a typical smartarse—pointed out that if I were gay, the clause requiring me to marry a woman would be unconscionable.”
“Please God don’t tell me you're planning to fake a marriage to a guy this time?”
“I was a little worried that’s where the solicitor was going, but he said we could challenge the clause without me actually proving I’m gay. The trustee backed down instantly. No one wants to be the guy upholding a discriminatory clause, so he declared it invalid. The money’s mine.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah. Still want to go back to serving coffee?”
“Maybe not.”
We sat there holding hands in silence, until Sophia finally decided she wanted to get out from behind the glass and watch the game with the fans.
“They’ll spot us in the crowd,” I warned. “It might take five minutes, but I guarantee you they will spot us.”
“So what if they do? My boobs are already on the internet for all to see. A bit of banter from the crowd shouldn’t be a huge problem.”
It didn’t take five minutes. The second we stepped outside, the fans nearby turned around to look at us and that reaction spread throughout the ground like a Mexican wave.
Then came the chanting.
“What are they singing?” Sophia asked.
I looked over at Ellie and Dani, who were both trying hard not to laugh. “They are imploring you to show your chest,” I replied tactfully.
“Get your tits out for the lads,” the crowd chanted. “Get your tits out, get your tits out, get your tits out for the lads.”
“Oh,” Sophia said. “I hear them now.”
“We can go back inside if you like?” I offered.
We both knew Sophia was going to be the subject of gossip and rude gestures for a while yet, but this was definitely a baptism of fire.
“No, it’s okay,” Sophia replied. “Could be worse.”
Ellie and Dani leaned over to offer their support and the girls all started laughing and joking. Perhaps it had been a good idea to bring them along. The three of them stood up in unison, in the way women did when they all planned to go to the toilet together.
I turned my legs to the side to let them past, but they didn’t move.
“On three,” Ellie said loudly. “One. Two. Three.”
The three of them—perfectly in sync—all lifted up their jumpers and bras, flashing their breasts to the crowd. I quickly looked away before I got accused of looking at more than just Sophia’s, but I was the only one in the ground who did.
Tens of thousands of men all wolf-whistled in unison as the girls waved their tits around for five seconds that seemed to last an eternity.
Eventually, they all sat down and carried on watching the game as if nothing had happened. I stared at Sophia, my eyebrows having taken up permanent residency at the top of my head.
“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s not like they haven’t seen mine before. And fuck it, they’re only boobs.”
“They’re not only boobs. They’re the best boobs I’ve ever had my hands on. Speaking of which, I know we promised to have dinner with the girls but do you think we could—”
“Take a detour via the hotel? Yeah, I think we could swing that. I like to work up an appetite before eating.”
Epilogue
Sophia - Six months later
“What are you going to do with your last week in England?” Ellie asked.
“We don’t have any plans,” I replied.
“Gotcha,” Ellie replied with a smile. She’d correctly deciphered the code for ‘we plan to stay in bed all day and screw.’
I’d been excitedly counting down the days to my final day at work, but now that it had arrived, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. Serving coffee wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but working with Ellie had been fun, and I’d met so many cool people here, including George.
No one gossiped about me any more—at least not in here. In the first few weeks after George’s big announcement, the coffee shop had been noticeably more full than usual, and there had been plenty of gawking. That died down quickly, and now people didn’t even look up when I served them their drinks. Just how I liked it.
“Soy latte for Chris,” I yelled out, as I placed the coffee down on the counter. I’d finally gotten the hang of doing some very basic shapes in the foam, so at least I could say I’d learned something from this experience.
“I still can’t believe you’re working here,” Ellie said after serving another customer. “You don’t need the money.”
“It keeps me grounded,” I replied. “And I get to hang out with you of course.”
“That’s sweet, but if I were in your shoes, the only thing you’d see of me is Facebook pictures from the beach of whatever Caribbean island I happen to be on that week.”
“We have plenty of time for all that. I came here to get a master’s degree, and not end up in a tonne of debt. I don’t want to go back to America without that.”
“Why?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. A sense of accomplishment? A feeling that I’m not a total failure?”
“You just want to say ‘I told you so’ to your mother.”
“Yep, that’s about the gist of it.”
“You’re going to come back to England though, right?”
“Definitely,” I replied.
George and I had discussed living in America for a bit, but I struggled to find the enthusiasm to move back home. Old friends had crawled out of the woodwork during my time in the spotlight, but their two-dimensional attempts to reconnect just made me realize how little I need them. These were the same people who’d known about Stan sleeping with my best friend, and they may have even slept with Stan as well for all I knew.
My real friends were here, and I didn’t intend to leave them behind for very long. I’d have to figure out the visa situation, but I’d find a way. We’d find a way.
“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed in California for a while,” Ellie said.
“You wouldn’t?”
“No. I’ve always wanted to visit, but I can barely afford the flights, let alone the accommodation.”
“Glad to know I can come in use,” I replied.
“I know American women like British accents on men, but do you think American men will like a woman with an English accent?”
“They won’t know what your accent is. The first time we spoke, I only understood about fifty percent of the words you used.”
“Oh. Guess I’d better start learning the Queen’s English.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine as you are. All men understand the language of big, bouncy boobs, and a beautiful smile.”
“Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks screwing all those hot surfers I see on television.”
“I’m from Northern California. We don’t have hot surfers, we have pretentious hipsters.”
“Well… you should move.”
“You’re probably right,” I said with a smile.
I knew where I wanted to live, and it wasn’t California. It was right here in Yorkshire. It might not b
e the most metropolitan part of the country, but I’d already decided that London wasn't for me.
George and I stayed in London for a month after the announcement and we were treated like royalty the entire time. We could go where we wanted, when we wanted. Sports stadiums and concert venues opened their doors to us, and we drank at so many exclusive clubs and bars that I eventually got bored of meeting celebrities. Ellie would never forgive me if she knew I’d turned down the chance to meet Lady Gaga because I’d wanted an early night. George was just as bad. I’d wanted to go to a club to meet Jennifer Lawrence, but George had insisted we go back to the hotel instead.
The special treatment quickly grew tiresome. We didn’t deserve it. We were just two people who had fallen in love. That was more than enough for me.
I’d told George that I wanted to finish my degree, so we’d come back to Yorkshire, and immediately I felt at home again. We got our fair share of curious glances, but if we wanted to get into a club we had to stand in line like everyone else. I loved it.
Even the accent had grown on me, and you couldn’t beat being referred to as “pet.” It was like being welcomed into the family. Not that I could use the word myself. I’d said it once to a customer, but he just looked at me with a bemused expression on his face.
“I hope we’re still on for drinks tonight?” Ellie asked.
“Sure. I’m not the one who has to work tomorrow. How about going back to Viva? Seems an appropriate place given how eventful our last visit was.”
Ellie laughed. “Yeah, I’m up for that. Today is all about the déjà vu it seems.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Can George make it?”
“He goes where I tell him,” I joked. “Speak of the devil.”
George walked through the doors of the café looking surprisingly overdressed for a hot spring day. Not that I was complaining. No one could pull off the suit look quite like George. He’d forsaken the tie, and had a few shirt buttons undone, which probably went some way to explaining why I liked the look so much.
“Hi, George the Ninth,” Ellie said loudly.
The nickname had stuck, and no one took more pleasure in using it in public than Ellie. She even wrote “George IX” on this cup whenever he came in for a drink. George had tried referring to Ellie as “Ellie 34D” but it didn’t have quite the same ring to it. Not to mention, he got her size completely wrong.
“Hi, Ellie,” George replied quietly.
“Everything okay?” I asked. George didn’t have his usual confidence or swagger about him today, and he’d been cryptic about what he’d been up to the last few days. I hadn’t been worried about it—until now.
“I’m not sure yet,” George replied.
“How did your meeting go?”
“I got what I needed.”
George looked behind me to Ellie, and then back to me. He had bad news. We were set for money, so it wasn’t that. Could he not come to America with me anymore?
“Sophia, would you go collect those cups from that empty table?” Ellie asked.
“You’re going to miss bossing me around when I’m gone.”
“Stop complaining and go get the cups, love.”
“She’s only this annoying when you’re here,” I said to George, as I went around the counter towards the empty table.
“That’s my fault,” George said. “She’s doing me a favor.”
I walked towards the table, but George blocked my way. Ellie mentioned déjà vu earlier, and suddenly I knew what she meant.
George dropped to one knee in front of me and took hold of my left hand. “We didn’t do it properly last time and that was my fault. This time I want it to be perfect. You’re my princess and always will be. You deserve to get married like one.”
He pulled out a small box from the inside of his jacket pocket and opened it in front of me.
“Sophia Simpkins, will you marry me?”
I didn’t look down at the ring. I didn’t need to. The size of the rock didn’t matter. All that I cared about was the love and affection I saw in his eyes. I knew I wanted to wake up to that look every day for the rest of my life.
My mouth couldn’t even form the one-syllable word response, so I just nodded my head frantically until George stood and lifted me up in his arms. I was vaguely aware of some clapping and cheering in the background, but all I could see through tear-filled eyes was Ellie wiping her own tears from her cheeks.
My last maid of honor had betrayed me. This time, I knew I’d be in safe hands. I had the perfect man and the perfect friends.
Life couldn’t get any better.
“We’re going to do it right this time,” George whispered in my ear.
“I don’t care how we do it,” I replied. “I just want to be with you.”
“I’ve already booked the honeymoon.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’d love to spend two weeks looking at you in a bikini,” George replied. “But I made a promise to you and I’m a man of my word. We’re going skiing.”
THE END
Revenge: A Bad Boy Romance
Prologue
Denton
The distinctive noise of a bone breaking echoed off the walls of the empty factory floor as my fist collided with Warren’s face. I checked my hand to make sure the bone wasn’t one of mine, but other than some bruising and bloody knuckles I was in good shape.
The same couldn’t be said for Warren.
The force of my punch sent him staggering back against the wall which stopped him from falling flat on his ass, but left him open for another punch.
My right hand still stung from the first punch, so I swung my left fist into his face with all the effort I could muster. Even with my uncoordinated left hand, I still did enough damage to send him down to the floor in a sniveling heap.
Warren spat blood onto the floor as he moaned in pain. He reached a hand up to his face to examine the damage, but the second his fingers touched his jawbone he screamed and snapped them away.
Yeah, there was definitely a broken bone in there somewhere. I probably should have thought this through a little more. I needed him to talk. He couldn’t do that if I broke too many bones.
“Tell me where he is,” I yelled.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know.”
I pulled back my leg and smashed my foot into his stomach. Warren half moaned, half yelled in anger as he lay helpless on the floor. God dammit, now I was almost feeling sorry for this creep. Then I remembered Kara.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Where do you meet? How do you get your instructions?”
“I’ve never met the boss. I’m just an enforcer. There are hundreds of people above me. Christ, I don’t get paid enough for this.”
I suspected he was telling the truth, but there was only one way to be sure about that. I picked up his leg, and pulled a knife out of my pocket. The knife was for show; I rarely needed a knife to scare anyone, and it was much more satisfying doing the job with my fists.
“Tell me, Warren, ever wonder what life would be like without a knee-cap?”
“Oh God no, no, please don’t!”
I stuck my knife through the cheap denim of his jeans and tore a large gash in his pants, exposing his knee.
“I’ll give you a clue,” I said slowly, gently pressing the knife against the skin just under his knee. “It hurts. A lot. But that’s not the worst bit. Pain goes away eventually, but then you’re left without a knee and I’m guessing Roddy Barton doesn’t provide comprehensive medical insurance for his lackeys.”
“I don’t know where he is. Please believe me.”
“Life without knees is tough. There’s a reason millions of years of evolution gave us them in the first place.”
“I get my instructions from Ray,” Warren blurted out. “Usually. Sometimes it’s Ed, but usually Ray.”
“And where can I find them?”
“I only ever meet them here at the fa
ctory, but they show up randomly. I never know when they’re going to arrive.”
Warren tried to pull his leg out of my grasp, but I tightened my grip and pressed the knife deeper into his flesh. Deep enough to draw blood. Warren screamed again, probably more from the fear of losing a knee than from the actual pain of the cut on his leg.
Fear was more powerful than pain when trying to torture someone.
“Keep still, Warren,” I said calmly. “If you struggle, I’ll assume you’re lying to me.”
Warren relaxed slightly and I rewarded him by reducing the pressure of the knife on his skin.
“I’m not lying, I swear. Roddy doesn’t tell people like me what he’s doing. I don’t think even Ray and Ed know. They get their orders from someone else.”
“So no one knows anything. Is that about the gist of it?”
“It’s how he stays hidden.”
I should never have gotten my hopes up. One of my dad’s friends, James, had given me a great lead that led me here, to one of Roddy’s factories that he used as a cover for his less legitimate operations.
I knew how to spot a fake business. Dad and I ran enough of them ourselves, after all. They were obvious when you knew what you were looking for.
I’d been so sure that this would lead me to Roddy--Kara’s killer--that I never stopped to think things through. Now Roddy would just go deeper into hiding. I should have staked the place out, found the important people, and followed them.
This was what I got for acting on impulse.
“Let’s pretend I believe you for a second,” I said as Warren examined his teeth with his tongue, trying to spot if any of them were broken. They were all covered in blood at this point so it was hard to tell, but it looked like he had a full set. “What do you know about Kara?”
“I don’t know anyone called Kara,” Warren replied. “I swear I don’t. We have a few women in the organization, but I don’t know their names.”
“She doesn’t work for your organization,” I replied fiercely. “She doesn’t work for anyone. Not any more. Roddy killed her.”