by West, Jade
I lived with it, enjoying the quiet churn of Much Arlock life as best I could while sketching out more of my invention ideas. The ideas were brewing – so many production line technicalities that I could address with new test systems. The minutes ticked by, the chasm blatant between us, so near but yet so far, but it didn’t matter.
I’d take whatever she could give me.
Luckily, we made the most of another late evening while her friend Amy came to babysit for a few hours.
We didn’t chance a stroll down by the oaks, not again so soon. Instead we opted for a drive out into the countryside, pulling up next to some open fields and laughing and joking in the darkness.
I savoured every minute, her hand in mine all the while.
Well, her hand in mine all the while until my cock was inside her, that is. Her straddling me in the driver’s seat with a steering wheel pressed to her back.
It didn’t matter what the hell we were doing from one minute to the next, if truth be told. Every scrap of time with her was good. More than good. But the promise of the future was better.
Family life in London with a super king bed to share just couldn’t come fucking soon enough as far as I was concerned.
Luckily enough, her visit down to my world came calling just a week later.
I couldn’t have been more excited as I waited at Paddington station for my Maisie Moore to arrive on the cross country. The bustle of a Saturday morning in central London would be a whole world of difference to my sweetheart, I had no doubt.
I was absolutely bursting in readiness as she stepped down from that train carriage, up next to her in a flash.
“Hey,” she greeted, and her nervousness at the thrum of the surroundings was palpable. Her eyes were darting around the station as I stepped up close and went in for a kiss. Handing over the bunch of red roses in my arms was enough that she zoned right back in on me. “Wow, beautiful!” she said. “Thank you!”
“You’re very much the beautiful thing around here,” I told her and took hold of her case.
Her cheeks were flushed that sweet shade of pink as she joined me out of there, her fingers clasped in mine. I pointed everything out about the station as we made our way through. The stores and the platforms and the sheer volume of restaurants down every corridor.
She nodded as she took everything in, and asked me questions all the way along in the taxi, seeming interested enough that I opted to make the journey a longer one.
I showed her Big Ben, and Parliament and the Royal Albert Hall. I showed her the London Eye, and Tower Bridge and promised her a hands-on exploration of the whole damn world of it, just so long as she gave me the opportunity.
Her eyes were saucer-wide all the while, excitement clearly burning on some level, even if it was paired up with nerves.
“I really want you to love it here,” I said, and squeezed her hand. “Honestly, Maisie, I really want you to love my universe.”
How I wished her eyes showed me more exhilaration than apprehension, but still, it was early days. I had a lot more up my sleeve before we were through with the weekend.
She burst forward with a whole new round of excitement as we crossed the threshold into my regular hotel room. She bounced on the bed with a shriek, running her hand over the picture on the wall with a full on grin.
“I’ve seen so much of this place!” she said. “Wow, Ollie, it’s amazing to see it for real!”
If only she’d been so enthusiastic about the other London sights.
“What?” she said, as I watched her moving about the room. “What is it?”
I didn’t voice my concerns, instead pulling her close enough that I could breathe in the scent of her, the warmth of her curves pressed tight to my ridges.
“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” I told her, and wasn’t lying. “I’ve been waiting to share this with you for so fucking long.”
“I’m here now,” she breathed. “I’ve been wanting to be here too.”
“That’s good to hear,” I told her.
I pulled away enough to brush my thumb across her cheek, and her eyes were sparkling.
“What time do we need to be at the event?” she asked, and I checked my watch.
“Seven,” I said. “We’ve got enough time to relax in the meantime.”
And relax we did.
We grabbed coffees and room service and relaxed in the hotel room, entwined under the bedcovers with the TV flitting in the background, because we could. Because we wanted to. Because this was the kind of regular daily life so many people took for granted and we couldn’t.
Not yet, anyway.
She was a fresh bout of nerves all over again as she got herself washed up and dressed for the evening. She was fierce with the makeup efforts as I got myself suited up alongside her, layering more lipstick on that perfect mouth of hers than I’d ever seen her apply this lifetime.
“You look incredible,” I told her, and meant it, but she shrugged, tossing the lipstick in her handbag.
“I’m nervous as hell,” she admitted, and pulled a face at me, holding up one of her feet for my viewing. “Are these heels crap looking?”
I pulled a face right back at her. “No, sweetheart. Those heels suit you just fine.”
For the first time in weeks she rolled her eyes without humour. “You say that about everything I ever wear.”
I slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight to my side, my eyes on hers in the mirror. “Because every time I say it, it’s true.”
“I wish,” she said, and rested her head against my shoulder. “Sorry,” she added. “I’m just nervous. This is your space. Your amazing space, with amazing, smart, posh business people, and I want to be good enough…”
My lips pressed to her hair, breathing in her scent of coconut. “You’re good enough for anything in this world,” I told her. “You’ll be plenty good enough for this evening, I promise you.”
If only she believed me.
It was her polite, guarded checkout smile she was wearing as we headed on down to the taxi. It was at full radiance as we crossed London, over to Islington, and pulled up outside the venue.
Her dress was absolutely gorgeous as I took her hand and helped her out of the taxi, and so was she. Her eyes were radiant and her lips were glossy, pretty in pink along with the slip of glorious satin she was wrapped up tight in. She slipped her arm through mine as we made our way to the entrance, very quiet as we eased in behind a selection of other guests heading on in.
“I can’t even remember the last time I was out of Much Arlock,” she whispered, and I didn’t doubt it. “I really hope I’m up to being on your arm in this place.”
I wished more than anything I could tell her that this was nothing, just a stupid handshake event where I’d talk some regular business crap with a load of people I’d talked regular business crap with a shit ton of times before. I wished I could tell her she was the incredible one in this space. The one who transfixed me a thousand times more than anyone else in this space stood a hope in hell of doing, including my ex-wife.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t get the chance.
The handshakes started coming thick and fast the moment we were through the main entrance. The associate smiles and small talk started presenting themselves the moment we were inside and moving forward.
I introduced her to everyone I recognised, and she was cast into a bustling world of hello, pleased to meet you, and I’m sure they thought she was delightful, beaming wide and gushing right back at them, but I could read so much deeper than that.
I could read everything. Everything from the very heart of her.
Maisie Moore wasn’t my Maisie Moore in this place. Not the Maisie Moore who made my soul burst.
She was guarded and nervous and feeling not good enough. She was itching to get out of here, back to our hotel room and out of this place. But more than that she was itching to get back to the row of oaks at the bottom of Much Arlock recreation ground and
being hand in hand with me amongst them.
That’s where she wanted to be with me.
“Almost at our table,” I told her as we approached our seats, and my gut flipped to a whole fresh tune of tension as I saw Naomi already in position, sipping away on champagne.
I was certain I felt Maisie tense up at my side as her eyes landed on the woman I’d walked up the aisle with. I wondered if she’d seen many pictures of her over the years on social media. Presumably so, since there was a definite start of recognition as they both met each other with their stares.
I pulled out Maisie’s chair and she took her seat beside me, that checkout smile still at full volume, and I introduced her to the Hadley and Mason directors seated at the table with us, one by one until I was staring at Naomi in the chair right next to me on the other side.
My heart did a weird little jolt at the realisation that there was no sign of Sean along with us. No missing seat. No space for him. No anything.
“Couldn’t lover boy make it?” I hissed under my breath once the rest of the table turned their attention to the main stage area.
“I didn’t think it would be a good move for him to come,” she hissed back, her smile like a fucking viper’s. “People expect us to attend together after all, you and me.”
“People can expect whatever the fuck they like,” I said. “I won’t be attending anything with you from here on in.”
With that she leaned forward and reached a hand out across me. “Maisie Moore?” she asked, and Maisie took her hand in a shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Mrs Kent.”
If it was possible to want to strangle your ex-wife alive, I’d have been right there on the motivation front.
Maisie was the sweet soul as always, greeting her with a nod and a pleased to meet you.
I pulled my seat forward to block off their view of each other and took hold of my sweetheart’s hand under the table.
“Ignore her,” I breathed into her ear, but she shrugged as though she didn’t know what I was talking about.
“The place looks good,” she lied. “I like it.”
But she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.
Especially not when Naomi pulled our Hadley and Mason associates into a huge stream of conversation and kept the topics on business. Her hand was continually on my arm, her chatter continually on our past experiences, her performance absolutely flawless.
I hated every fucking second of it, finally grateful when dinner was served up and we could tuck into the bastard sirloin.
I kept my hand gripped tight on Maisie’s knee under the table as much as possible, bringing her into the conversation at every opportunity, but she shied away from it herself, backing away from too much involvement.
Fuck, I was grateful when the awards started up onstage, relieved at the slightest break in the fucking bullshit.
Still Maisie tried her best to keep as artificially upbeat as possible. She clapped and smiled and turned her attention to the drinking water rather than the red and white, and I cursed under my breath at the thought of how much better this weekend should have been, if only Naomi wasn’t so fucking determined to be a cunt about it.
We were partway into the ceremony when Maisie got to her feet and leaned in to tell me she was heading to the bathroom. I backed out from my seat to help her, but she held up a hand.
“I can manage,” she said, and gestured to the events on stage. “Stay here and watch the presentations.”
Staying in my seat was a fucking mistake. Maisie wasn’t even clear of the main room before Naomi got to her feet and made to go after her.
My grip on her wrist was enough that she stopped in her tracks on the way by. Her wrenching away from me was sharp enough that one of the directors shot a glance across the table.
“Don’t you fucking say a word to Maisie about any of your bullshit,” I hissed, my smile still plastered on.
“I’m allowed to take a fucking bathroom break whenever the fuck I like, aren’t I?” she breathed. “I’m sure we’ll make each other’s acquaintance just fine.”
“I fucking mean it,” I said, but she was already heading off at full pace.
I pulled my phone from my pocket with a curse, making sure to fire off the ping as soon as physically possible.
Don’t listen to my bitch of an ex-wife. She’s a fucking idiot. I pressed send with a slam of my thumb. I love you, Maisie Moore. I should never have brought you here.
And then I fucking waited.
Just like I fucking had to.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Maisie
There were no words for the sheer amount of idiot I felt as I piled into that venue bathroom and threw myself into one of the toilet cubicles.
This wasn’t my place. Not in this world. Not even close.
This was his place – Oliver Kent’s place in this incredible business world with these incredible technical business people. And me? I was Maisie Moore – mum and checkout girl from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, trying my best to convince myself I might belong in his crazy big universe along with him.
I shook my head as I took a pee, waggling my toes in my teetering heels and cursing myself for trying to be someone I so blatantly wasn’t, in every sense of the word. The shoes on my feet were some stupidly high idiocies I’d grabbed from the local Much Arlock charity shop. I could barely walk in them, let alone try to navigate this venue with the blisters I was getting.
I was trying my best to smile and remember everyone’s names, but hundreds of people in suits just looked like an ocean of blank posh faces. This wasn’t Much Arlock, where I knew everyone’s names and faces and immediate relatives, including the names of their cats and hamsters.
This was a whole new world. A world I’d never stand a chance of belonging in.
And that’s when it hit me, the real truth of the nagging nerves beneath this potential London relocation.
They’d been there right from the beginning. Right from the heart of round one, all those years ago. Oliver Kent was Oliver Kent, even all the way back then. His drive for business was insatiable, gaining ground by the day. His determination to bail on Much Arlock and chase after a bold new future was beyond anything I’d ever felt I could truly cope with as the point drew close.
Cue the arguments. The disagreements. The emotional distance.
I wiped myself dry and hit the flush, trying my best to smooth my charity ballgown down over my overly curvy thighs and get it back in some kind of decent shape. Yet again, another stupid case of over the top I’d opted to run along with hoping I’d look good here.
The handbag I’d borrowed from Amy to match my colours was dangling from my wrist as I made my way out to wash my hands, and I was digging around inside, checking after my phone when I caught sight of a figure that made me jolt.
Naomi Kent. Mrs Kent.
The supermodel beautiful stunner I’d been convinced would outdo me in any line-up tenfold.
I definitely hadn’t been misplaced on that score. The woman really was stunning. Utterly, utterly stunning.
Her eyebrows were sharp and perfectly shaped, her lips the perfect bow of red. Her hair was sleek and straight, her dress practically sprayed onto her perfect curves.
“I guess I get to finally meet you,” she said as I stepped on up to wash my hands. “Believe me, I heard a lot about you over the years.”
I knew I shouldn’t probe her with any questions – I’d learned that kind of crap back in high school. I made sure my smile was polite enough as I met her eyes in the mirror, unsure quite what so say whatsoever if I was totally honest.
My silence certainly didn’t hold her back any. She turned and propped herself against the basin, her stare digging in hard. I felt like I really was back at high school in that moment, and she was one of the bitchy girls giving me a grilling in the changing rooms after I’d attempted a crappy hockey game.
“Are you well and truly hooked up with Ollie now, then?” s
he asked. “I always wondered when he’d go back sniffing around Much Arlock. He always did seem to have a tick in the box outstanding.”
“We’re enjoying each other’s company,” I managed. “We were apart a long time.”
I could feel her bristling, and knew full well in that heartbeat that things weren’t over for Naomi Kent. Not really. Not with the prospect of a new woman on the scene, even if she was already well and truly paired up with someone else.
The way she looked at me was savage enough to make my cheeks burn, even if she was still fake smiling and feigning politeness.
“You don’t look anything like I expected,” she said. “I expected you to be…” She paused. “I don’t know… different.”
I really wished she’d bashed egos with me on my own turf back at home. In my usual little black dress and sparkle eyeshadow and comfortable surroundings. Not here. In a dress that didn’t really fit me, balancing around on heels I could hardly stand up in.
“I should be getting back to him,” I said, and shook my hands off in the sink.
I was fully intending to dash out of there when she stepped up closer and took hold of my wrist.
“Don’t think for a second he’s going to stay interested in you,” she hissed. “You may be his pinup interest right now, the girl he never quite got over from back in high school, but he’ll grow bored, believe me. He got bored enough with me.”
“I’m not sure what to say…” I began, but she kept on going.
“Seriously,” she said. “Whatever hold you used to have on him definitely addled his senses. He still thinks you’re some kind of crazy stunner, but let’s be honest, that’s not exactly the case, is it?” She raised a brow. “I mean, even I couldn’t keep him interested long-term with a whole blessing of genetics in my favour, so it’s not like you’re going to. He’s all for work and business and spending a million hours in the office, not for giving a shit about spending time with a woman who wants him right by her.”
“That’s not true…” I began, but she laughed out loud.
“Oh, don’t tell me. You know him better than I do, do you? From the back of beyond when he was just a kid and you two couldn’t handle the crap from each other as teenagers? I assure you I know him a damn sight better than you do. I’ve been living with him for years.”