Taking Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy Book 1)

by Wild, Nikki

  The cab pulled up into the alleyway, just enough to keep his back end from staying out in the street. Smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe, giving the alley a more polluted atmosphere. Gwen held up her hands in defeat as she took a step away from me until she reached the cab door and opened it.

  “There’s no room in this cab for you, Tristan,” she said. “You’ll have to call another.”

  “Gwen, wait!” I called, but she just shook her head.

  “I can’t keep doing this with you, Tristan,” she said. “I just can’t do it.”

  I watched her step into the cab, her gaze cast off into the street as the taxi pulled out into the back street, then sped off into the night. I stood there in that ally trying to process everything that had happened. It felt like no matter what, my life would always lead me back to Gwendolyn. It wasn’t like me to believe in the vague idea of the supernatural, I would have sworn that the two of us were fated to be together—whether we liked it or not… if only I could make her understand.

  Chapter 77

  The next day, I barricaded myself in my office and refused to speak with any of my clients. I was an utter wreck after that fiasco of a dinner the night before. That kiss had brought my heart right into my throat and my cheeks to a deep burning red hue. All the thoughts I had tried to repress of the night we’d spent together all came flooding back to me in that moment. It was too much for me to handle at once. I had to get out of there. I had to escape.

  My world felt like it was all crumbling in on itself, the very foundation on which I’d built my life felt like it was crumbling and all because of that stupid boy I’d wanted all those years ago. I wanted to curse his name and kiss him all at the same time. Damn him.

  I was more than thankful I had a woman like Tina in my corner—I could never trust anyone else with the running of the business when I just couldn’t handle the stress of the world around me. It was because of her I could make it through the mess of sorting out the love lives of countless of people, she knew everything there was to know about this business, and if I ever thought of handing the reins over to anyone it would be her. She was an absolute wonder.

  Except when it came to my mother.

  “Marm,” she said, poking her head into my office around the noon hour, “your mother’s on the first line for you. She told me not to put her on hold forever like I tried to do last time. I think she’s getting wise to us.”

  “So she is, Tina,” I sighed, trying to muster up a smile to reassure her that all was well. “I’ll take the call in just a second.”

  Once the door was closed and I was bathed once again in the relative dark of my office I pressed the blinking button on my desk phone and put my mother on speaker phone.

  “Good afternoon, Mother. What can I do for you?”

  “Gwendolyn! Dearest, how are you?” my mother asked, her voice too chipper to be anything but suspicious. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

  She wanted something. I could tell just from the break in her voice as she tried to give some indication that she gave a damn about anything, especially how I was doing.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked again, my tone much more forceful this time.

  “What in the world makes you think I want anything, dear?” she asked, doing her best to sound offended. “I just wanted to know how you were doing, and perhaps why you happened to be emblazoned across the gossip section of this tabloid across my table?”

  I frowned, a pit forming in the bottom of my stomach. What had they seen? Were there pictures of Tristan and I in bed together? My heart started to race at the possibilities of how all of this could go wrong. By the time this whole ordeal with my stepbrother was over, I’d need to be on at least two different anxiety medications.

  “I’m sure I haven’t a clue what you mean, Mother,” I said, trying to sound as innocent as I could.

  “Well, right here it says ‘Matchmaker Stepsister Making a Match for Playboy Stepbrother,’ ” she read aloud, still trying to feign confusion. “Is that true, dear? Are you trying to set up our Tristan with a woman?”

  “He came to me to find himself a more stable relationship, yes,” I admitted, though I didn’t like the way my mother was prying. She never took an interest in who I did business with, let alone what Tristan got up to in his spare time. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I was just wondering how wise that would be,” she said. “Tristan isn’t really a man for stability, now, is he? I wouldn’t have thought you would have taken on such a hopeless cause.”

  “Tristan seems very set on settling down, Mother. He wants to stop being seen as the brash party boy that he was for all these years. I’m rather proud of him,” I said, a defensive tone to my voice as I sat forward in my chair. Who was she to tell me whether or not one of my clients was worth my time or not, regardless of whether they were Tristan or the Queen herself.

  “But where will that get him?” she asked, doing her best to sound as unassuming as possible and failing miserably. The more she talked the more I was convinced that her motives were far from pure. Tristan had mentioned the argument he’d had with his father a few days before, about how he’d known that Tristan and Patricia had been out having dinner with one another. Was this another one of his attempts to gather intelligence? “He’s not the kind of man who’s suited for married life—certainly not for a life of duty and service to his country.”

  I felt myself tense in anger as I listened to my mother go on. This wasn’t just some time to gossip about my goings on, she was trying to convince me to give up on my case with Tristan. She wanted to be the mother of a duke, the child of noble birth that she’d always craved since before I was ever born. I never got her what she’d wanted, and now she had her chance and wasn’t about to give it up.

  “And who would be a better heir, mother? Your fetus?”

  For a moment the line was silent as my mother realized that she’d been found out. She never reacted well to her manipulations being called out into the light, and any moment I was expecting the kinds of verbal attacks I’d always gotten when I was a girl.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” she sneered. “Even an unborn child could hold your stepfather’s position with more grace and dignity than Tristan ever could.”

  I felt the heat rising in my face as I sat there in silence, my muscles twitching. I only wished my mother had had the courage to come here herself so I might have the chance to slap her across her smug face. I hated her with every fiber of my being, and if she intended to stand in my way then I was going to make sure that she regretted it.

  “I’m afraid I don’t agree, Mother,” I said, my tone icy. “Over these last few days Tristan has shown me that his time in the Army has changed him for the better. He’s become a dedicated man who has learned to put his duty over his own desires and I’m proud to say that I will continue to help him in the foreseeable future. Your fetus be damned.”

  “You’re going to regret this, Gwendolyn,” she said in a low hiss. “If you throw your hat in with that bastard then you’ll share his fate. We’ll cut you off from this family just like your bastard stepbrother and forget all about you like the garbage you are.”

  “At least we know where we stand,” I said adamantly. “Perhaps I’ll see you at Tristan’s wedding, mother. It should be quite the affair.”

  “I should have had you torn out of me when I had the chance, you horrible little bitch—”

  I ended the call, my breath coming out in hard bursts. I almost expected to see steam rising from my nostrils. I made a promise to myself right then and there that I would do everything in my power to have Tristan married and make sure that child never saw their privileged ass in that seat.

  I opened up my computer and found Denise’s number. My stepbrother had better be on his damned best behavior this time.

  Chapter 78

  I sat idly in the dining room of Desrosiers, waiting for my date to arrive.

  I’d seen
the pictures, read over the notes that Gwen had taken on the things that I should bring up over the course of dinner, but the more I thought about it the more nervous I became. It wasn’t so much whether or not I would like the woman—I couldn’t have cared one way or another at this point—but I honestly worried whether the more I dated the more of a wedge would be driven between my stepsister and I.

  I had slowly been coming to terms with the fact that whatever the two of us had together would never actually work out—despite how much I knew we wanted one another, the fallout of our relationship would cause too much of a uproar for either of us to live quietly ever after. It had to be this way, whether I liked it or not.

  I noticed her out of the corner of my eye at first, a gorgeously graceful woman gliding toward me in a glimmering silk dress. She almost floated across the floor as she walked, and if I hadn’t seen her feet, I’d have sworn they were at least an inch off the ground. She was a stunning woman by any standard, and I couldn't deny that I was enraptured as she took her seat, the waiter pulling out from behind her before she arrived and pushing it before departing.

  “Tristan, I presume?” she said, a coy grin spreading across her face as she set her small clutch in her lap. “I’ve been told a great deal about you—not all of which from your sister.”

  “All good, I hope,” I said, smirking as I took a sip from my wine glass.

  “Hardly,” she said, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You have a reputation for being a bit of a…”

  “Playboy?” I prompted, hoping to draw some kind of reaction out of her other than that disgusted look on her face. This wasn’t off to a good start, and I didn’t like the odds of it getting any better.

  “An idiot,” she corrected, her tone severe. “And if you intend on continuing any manner of liaisons with me, I will insist than such embarrassing behavior ceases at once.”

  “You hardly know me,” I said, “Perhaps it would be best to leave your assumptions elsewhere while we have our first dinner together.”

  “That will be for me to decide,” Denise sneered, and already I knew what had thrown me off about that expression—the look in her eyes that I’d seen in all those other photos Gwen had shown me—that was the same look that my father had on his face constantly. That overconfident, pompous sneer, looking down their noses at those they see as less fortunate than they.

  She was everything that my father might have looked for in a wife, and for that reason alone I already despised her. But I knew that I would need to be civil for Gwen’s sake; I didn’t need to anger another of her clients, one who was more than willing to spend her money for what she wanted, especially if what she wanted was a man.

  “Your sister says that you have a love of literature,” Denise said. “What manner of literature would that be?”

  “I enjoy the classics, mostly,” I said, not at all wanting to discuss my favorite books in with such a snobbish woman. I was hoping something awful might happen to save me, like a monsoon or an earthquake.

  “I see,” she said, her words clipped. “As broad and elusive as you are, apparently. You at least gets points for keeping yourself mysterious.”

  “Well I’m glad that you approve,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face.

  “Hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to harm another human being, but this woman would certainly have been on such a list were I that manner of person. She was infuriating on almost every level.

  “And what literature do you read?” I asked, more out of politeness than any actual curiosity. To be honest I hardly cared one lick whatever book this woman shoved in front of her face.

  “I greatly enjoy the works of —”

  “May I take your order?” came the soft voice of a waiter who’d suddenly appeared at my side, thankfully cutting her off before she could expound on he interests. Her attitude alone had turned me off to the thought of pursuing anything that might even resemble a relationship with her. I couldn’t have asked for a better excuse not to listen to that woman for another moment, my thoughts distracted by the idea of something I could stuff in my mouth to save me from having an actual conversation with this utter brat.

  “You’ll be quiet while your betters are speaking,” she demanded, her voice rising to levels that one would expect of a person whose entire family had just been cursed, “or have you been taught nothing of your place?”

  The young man and I stared at her, stunned, as she continued to speak, her voice once again more civilized. How in the world could any one person be so rude? Even my father’s horrific attitude was at least curbed in public, something that apparently developed with age.

  “Tristan,” she said in an obnoxiously insistent manner, ignoring the waiter and pretending as though her little outburst never happened. “I have no desire to be seen in the company of a serial fornicator who has not renounced his ways—and should this courtship continue, those ways of yours will be curbed. Am I clear?”

  I blinked at her, staring for what felt like a full minute.

  This woman was everything that my father prized in a member of the aristocracy—arrogant, entitled, belligerent, and worst of all, high on her own social standing. I don’t think I’d ever decided I hated anyone as quickly as I did in that moment. She was possibly the most impudent, spoiled, and self-important bitch I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

  “Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised so high I thought they might make a run for her widow’s peak. “I expect an answer.”

  I turned to the waiter, slipping a hundred-pound note from my pocket and putting it in his hand. “I would greatly appreciate the check, if you don’t mind.”

  The young man was shocked, more by the bill than the request as he hurried off to settle out my account—the sole item being the bottle of wine that I again filled my glass from. I could take no more of this woman’s grandstanding and flouting of her impossibly high standards that I’d never reach.

  “I believe this dinner if over, Denise,” I said with a sigh.

  “Excuse me?” Denise hissed, her face a mask of utter incredulity. “You will not walk out on me! Not here, not in front of… of…” She gestured. “People!”

  “I think that I will,” I said, looking her right in the eye as I took a long drink of my wine glass, draining the entire thing in one go. “In fact, I’d like to add something before I go.”

  I stood up, holding up my empty glass, as if in a toast. “You are possibly the most horrific woman I have ever had the displeasure of sitting across a table from for so little a time—and I say this knowing my own stepmother. You are by far the most pretentious, self-important bint to have crossed my path. And I will be happy to see the back of you.”

  “How dare you!” she screeched, and before I could even react I felt the cool splash of wine splattering across my face and down over my shirt. “Why, I never!”

  Before I even had time to wipe my eyes free of the wine, I heard the sound of her chair being pushed back and the clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor. I couldn’t help but start to laugh. I was cursed to be this way forever, to constantly botch whatever date my sister set me up on.

  Gwen is going to murder me, I thought as I wiped my face with a napkin, the waiter who’d only just been there moments before at my side, helping me get myself in order. Everything kept falling apart on every single one of these dates that my stepsister sent me on—none of them seemed right. The only person I ever felt at ease with ever since this whole fiasco started was Gwendolyn herself.

  It’s ironic, I thought. I go to my sister, the matchmaker, to find a romantic connection, when all along it’s the matchmaker herself that I fall for.

  I couldn’t stop laughing at the cosmic hilarity of it all, that fate would make the one person I’d always wanted the one person who I’d trust to help me find love for myself.

  I stood up, brushing myself off and slipping the waiter another fifty pound note before I headed out to hail
a taxi. I knew now what I needed—what I wanted more than anything… Nothing would suffice until I had it. I needed Gwendolyn.

  Chapter 79

  I had fallen asleep on my couch, waiting for word on how my stepbrother’s date had gone when I heard the knock on my front door. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding as the noise rocketed me from my sleep and back into the waking world. My heart was pounding and between my legs I could still feel the glimmer of lust from the intensity of the dream itself. I’d been thinking of Tristan again, and in ways that I had tried not to since that night at the restaurant. But try as I might the lust I felt for him could not be denied, especially not by my subconscious mind.

  Again the knocking came at my door, and I glanced curiously over at the digital clock underneath my television. Nine forty-six? Who in their right mind would come calling at this hour? I rose up from my couch and shuffled over to the door, wiping the sleep from my eyes before peering through the peephole.

  “Tristan?” I asked through the door as I spied my brother standing on the other side. By the look on his face I could assume that the date had not gone well. I was prepared to be utterly furious as I undid the lock and pulled the door open. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You set me up with a complete snob,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me as though he expected some kind of apology.

  “And how am I responsible for the way she behaves?” I asked, my voice rising, though I couldn’t help but yawn. I was still too tired to be completely angry just yet, but I’d settle for mildly annoyed. “I’m not her mother.”

  “No, you’re supposed to be my matchmaker! And so far, the only match I’ve had is the one I can’t have,” he said, stepping past me into my apartment.

  “Tristan, we can’t, and you know it!” I said, trying to force him back out, though I only succeeded in prompting him to close the door behind him. “We can’t!”