It’s not untrue. I eat enough bakery goods out on Saint Mary’s Square that the crumbs alone should feed a hundred of them.
“Are you the girl who’s on YouCube?” she murmurs, giving me another one of those brave smiles that don't even take the edge off of the hurt that's plain in her eyes.
I raise a warm smile. “Yes, that’s me. Do you watch my channel?” She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “Well, I hope you like them. What’s your name?”
“Rose.”
Somehow, I manage to persuade her to have a cup of tea at my place so she can have a wander around my studio. She just sits there on my sofa, silently, hunched over like a hedgehog rolling into a protective ball. I can almost see the protective spikes she is trying to put out. Even so, I sit down next to her.
“So,” I begin, watching her hands tremble as she picks up her mug, “you live in Stonebrook?”
All of a sudden, she puts her teacup haphazardly down on the table. Tea spills over the rim of the cup onto the table.
“I-I should go. I’m sorry. I remember I need to get back.” She shoots up and heads for the front door. “Thank you for the tea. I’m sorry I—”
I reach for her arm, only to have her flinch and pull away. “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business,” I tell her in a rush, “but if you need a place, if you need to get away from whatever, I can help you.”
She keeps her eyes on me, searching for proof of deception. “Why would you do that? You don’t know me.” Her tone is more bewildered than offended, as I would have expected.
I place my hand over hers in a comforting manner and raise a smile. “I can help you.”
Rose leaves my home, the door shutting with a quiet click behind her. I watch her walk away with her head down. I let out a sigh.
You can’t help someone until they help themselves.
‘I’VE NOT SEEN him this happy in a long time ... In a sick twisted way, your humiliating videos are bringing him out of his misery.’
Sitting by the computer in my studio, the conversation with Cross at the café resonates in my head. Lenic is like a two-sided coin. On one side, he grins lopsidedly and delivers the occasional joke. On the other side — the one that faces up more often than not — he wears a permanent stormy look on his face. It is a more serious and darker side, where he has a boatload of baggage dragging behind him like a boat anchored to sea.
It is a connection I’ve found between us. Once upon a time, I’d been the serious silent type. The haunted pain in his eyes was once mine. But I had Grandpa Joe to help lift me up. He taught me that laughter is the key to happiness.
I want to pass on that favour.
The first time I saw Lenic’s dark eyes light up, really light up, was when he laughed in my studio after our live streaming showdown.
If I keep doing what I am doing, as Cross suggested, maybe Lenic will finally let go of whatever is anchoring him down to a perpetual state of misery.
This might backfire, but it seems to me that this is the only way to get him to find the fun side of life.
I start to feel a buzzing sensation building up inside my chest as I press down on the record button on my camera, perch myself on top of my chair, and start recording my new video for The Tempest playlist.
“It has recently been disclosed that Lenic Reevus lives and rides a boat. A big boat. Aside from the fact that this is strange for a grown man to want to purchase and live on something that so closely resembles a penis, rumours are arising around what he could possibly be ... compensating for. A local expert on male sexual behaviour has described such vehicles as the ‘little dick complex’, whereby men who obviously lack horsepower in other areas, try to make up for it with their phallic-shaped cars. But Lenic had to go one bigger. He chose to buy a phallic-shaped home … Maybe, he has a lot more to compensate for than the average man…”
9
“THINK YOU NEED A REMINDER ABOUT THE … SIZE OF MY BOAT.”
LENIC
NORMALLY, I WOULDN’T be caught dead at one of these black-tie Stonebrook events at the Globe Hotel, but it is the local chapter of the Youths At Risk organisation, and I support it, having been on the receiving end of some of their program.
Tonight, I am giving the introductions for the keynote speakers. I plan on injecting a little humour into the otherwise conservative affair, and loosen everyone’s purse strings to donate more money. Apparently, there have been some last-minute adjustments to who is actually going to be speaking tonight, so I’m yet to be told whom I will be introducing.
"Felicity.” I look up from my champagne glass to see Vanessa Marsden, all mouth and shoulder pads, pushing her way through the crowd towards me. She has had so many facelifts that she will have a beard soon.
Her lips pull thin across her blinding white teeth as she sits down on the chair next to me. “You should be aware we’ve all seen that video of yours at the book club,” she begins in that whiny, accusatory voice that makes me feel like she is sticking pins under my fingernails. She fingers her pearl necklace, giving me a patronising smile. “Honestly, dear, you really should think better of yourself. People like to talk. Could you cope with it all?” I think she almost believes it herself that she isn’t the ringleader of the Bitches of Stonebrook. “What would your grandfather think? Or the charity, no less?” she adds, grinding salt into the fresh wound.
I don’t react at her attempt to belittle my own role within the charity, and for a minute I just sit here, trying to pretend I can't hear her, biting back my pride. A quick glance at my watch, and I realise I've literally now have only fifteen minutes to come up with something both humorous and appropriate for this audience, and I still need to find out who is giving the speech.
I close my eyes briefly and sigh inwardly. If anyone knows what is going on, it will be Vanessa Marsden. I face her with a perfunctory smile. “Do you know who’s giving the speech on the importance of the organisation's activities, Vanessa?”
“Don’t you know?” She pauses. Her face doesn’t move from all the Botox, but I am pretty sure she is trying to lift her brow in surprise. “I thought you two were dating? Seeing each other.” She air quotes the last part. “Or whatever you young ones are saying or doing these days.”
My jaw widens as I twist my head to the podium, the answer to the question already forming on my lips. "You don’t mean…?" And there he is, our local celebrity, standing off to the side, watching me intently from across the large room. For a second, his dark eyes look as though he is aware of my stare, and he gives me a slight smirk.
Lenic has only been away for two weeks, but I’ve missed our breakfast dates. They have become something I don’t want to be without. It doesn’t hurt that his face is too pretty not to admire. His face is the only way to start the day.
I still want to sit on it.
Seeing him now, I realise I’ve felt every single one of the fifteen days Lenic has been absent far more acutely than any other person. I am smitten. No, more than that. I feel possessed, as if some spirit has got inside me and is skipping around my body, bumping into my heart, spinning in my stomach, filling me up with butterflies.
Whenever I breathe in, I can smell him, his scent, like he is a perfume I wear on my skin. I can taste him on my tongue, feel him imprint on my body, all the time. I can’t concentrate on my work; I drove Delphine mad by repeatedly breaking off in mid-sentence and smiling secretively, some memory of Lenic rising up and making rational thought or conversation impossible.
I look directly at him and smile confidently, not about to appear in any way intimidated by his presence. He is handsome enough in street wear, but in a well-fitted suit, he is the embodiment of sex. Most of the women in this room keep giving him triple takes.
I expect that you're-not-funny unhappy look on his face in response to my newest video upload. He appears unhappy, yes, but not in that pissed-off sort of way I am used to.
"Please excuse me. I need to go prepare an introduction," I tell Vanessa,
getting to my feet.
Crossing the room over to the bar on the right-hand side, I quickly replace my champagne with a shot of vodka, and roll the tension from my shoulders. I have no idea what kind of reception I am about to receive. I am also wondering if Lenic is aware that I’m the one introducing him tonight. I will bet his sexy tux he doesn’t. My smile widens.
This evening has just got interesting.
When he spots my approach, his eyes track me the entire way. "Lenic," I address him. I try not to let my eyes slide over the way his tailored tux strains across his obvious well-built physique. No one should be allowed to look that good with their clothes on. It should be illegal for Lenic to walk along public streets; he is a safety hazard to women drivers.
"Felicity." His deep brandy-toned voice immediately makes every cell in my body stand at attention. His interested eyes rake over the tight black dress I’m wearing — with a plunging neckline that goes all the way down to my middle — or rather, seems to be wearing me.
I smile, my gaze making it obvious that I also like what I am looking at. “You here with a date?” he asks, almost like he is unable to edit his jealous thoughts and the words spill forth, unbidden.
I wait a long moment to respond, enjoying the view of his jaw stiffening. “No I’m not. You can relax.”
“Good.” He laces his fingers through mine. “You look sexy in black.”
Astonished, I look down.
He is holding my hand.
His fingers feel so good on my skin; so firm and strong, pressing warmly into the palm of my hand, sending his touch all over me. It is more than anything I’ve ever felt before.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I try not to smile as he glances down at me, but it is too late. The same immediate attraction I am feeling shows in his gaze as he holds me at arms length. With any other man, this might feel awkward. It doesn’t. Holding hands with Lenic is as natural as breathing.
“Heard you and Cross are sleeping together.”
“Wh-What?” I sputter.
“Overheard a group of women talking in the White Lily bar.” I roll my eyes. This is typical of the town. “I don’t believe a word.”
“Good. Because it’s simply not true.”
“Also heard you, me, Delphine and Cross had a big orgy on my boat.”
“Oh my god. How could they possibly know?”
“What? You know we didn’t, right?” He shoots me a look. “How drunk were you that night?”
“Seems, not enough.”
He leans in closer, narrowing his eyes, and pitches his voice low. "So, is this it? Are you done humiliating me on YouCube?"
My face is cast in an unholy grin. "Are you not aware?” I fake confusion, my palm rested on my chest. “Has no one informed you?” The crease in his brow deepens and I watch as a certain amount of suspicion plays behind his eyes. He grinds his teeth as he glances at the crowd on the edges of his periphery. “Then, please, let me do the honour. I’m the one introducing the keynote speakers tonight."
My words eventually penetrate, and I watch amused as his lips part slightly. Then he stares at me with distrust in his eyes as I shoot him a wicked smile. "No…" Lenic breathes, his eyes already roving the crowd, likely seeking out someone from the charity to request a change. “Why would they ask you to front the charity? Of all people.”
“They know they can rely on me to protect the reputation of the charity.”
“And who’s protecting me?”
“You don't think I'm going to land you in it, do you?”
“Yeah, the thought is crossing my mind.”
“Unlike some people, I don't allow my personal life to cloud my professional judgment. The charity’s reputation is all I care about.”
“Except, it’s my reputation at stake here too, and you’ve already dragged me through the mud.”
"Are you scared?"
"What?"
"This is supposed to be a charity event. Is your ego so enormous that you're afraid to take a little poking for a good cause?" The smirk on my face tells him I am not going to make this easy.
“The insolence. Have you always had it or is it something you've decided to bless me with?”
“We do things differently, Lenic. I'm a bad habits kind of girl. You salute like a good Marine, whereas I like to give the finger.” I smile up at him. “You don’t need to stress. I’m sweet. The audience loves me.”
“Sweet like poison,” he adds more quietly. And then he gives me this look that is not entirely comforting — a look that has a certain wildness. It is this damn curve of his lips that hint danger.
He takes one confident step closer, the small distance between us evaporating from the thick space of his body. His face gets too close to the side of my own, and I feel stubble and hot breath against my skin, his lips making the barest of contact on my ear. I brace myself … because I know what’s coming. This is the instant where he turns the table of power.
When he puts me under his control.
"I saw the new video, Felicity.” I shrug, unrepentant, but then squeeze my thighs together when he trails a finger lightly across my exposed collarbone. The touch is slow, and painfully arousing. “Think you need a reminder about the ... size of my boat." His husky threat in my ear makes me suck in a shuddering breath and I feel a hot shiver run down the back of my legs.
His lips move to hover dangerously close to mine, pulling away just enough to meet my gaze, the memory of our kiss seared in my mind.
He straightens up, leaving me to stew in the silence. I blow out the breath I had no idea I was holding in. He senses my unease, and something about the predatory glint in his eyes makes my palms sweat a little bit.
I try to hide the effect he has on me, but when he grins, I think how much that lopsided grin of his is an unfair weapon. Every time he flashes it my way, I find I end up grinning back at him like I have no control over myself, or any of the muscles in my face.
He is in control of me, I repeat to myself, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.
Worryingly, I don’t want to.
Pull yourself together, Felicity.
If one conversation with him sets my underwear on fire, I am going to lose my mind long before tonight’s charity event is over.
Still holding my hand, he leads the way to the podium. We sit next to each other in the two straight-backed chairs to the left of the stage as the head of the charity, Mary Whitethorn, stands behind the podium, thanking everyone for coming and reminding them about the organisation's mission and the need for their generosity this evening.
Something changes in Lenic’s expression when Mary introduces me as someone whom the charity had once helped. His gaze is filled with interest, but it is underpinned with sorrow.
Standing up, I quietly salute The Tempest, revelling in the way the ex-Royal Marine seems to bristle under the implied threat of public humiliation. When I reach the podium, I flash him one last look over my shoulder, the corner of my lips curling devilishly upwards.
I am going to love every second of this.
When I turn back and face the audience, I realise I can’t go through with it. This is a charity that means the world to me, and one my grandpa used to be very fond of too. I know when to back down and when to fight. I can be counted on when things get rough and I’m smart enough to keep my mouth quiet when the occasion calls.
"Good evening. It's good to see some familiar faces here tonight," I begin, "as well as a few new ones. I know many of you were expecting to see the Mayor Philips here tonight. Well ... there he is." I gesture to Lenic. "If you want the name of his plastic surgeon, we will be raffling off the contact information starting at one million pounds later this evening." There is a ripple of interest from the women around us, and a murmur of chuckles filters through the crowd.
Sitting at the front of the audience, Delphine calls out, "That isn’t the Mayor. That’s Lenic Reevus."
I am smiling so hard it almost hurts as I stand here.
"That's right. And for two million pounds we will be auctioning off his personal mobile phone number as well as his daily schedule for stalking purposes for the next two weeks."
That elicits more chuckles and more than a few wistful glances cast in Lenic's direction from the mature ladies in the audience. I catch Vanessa Marsden biting her lower lip between her teeth, crossing her legs. Behind closed doors, she is as human as the rest of us.
Lenic simply sits, his face impassive. There is no sign of either amusement or annoyance colouring his features.
"No, but seriously, I'm sure most of you know Lenic Reevus is not only our local celebrity boxer, but he was also a Royal Marine who served and protected our country, risking his own life. And a quick glance around the room, I am happy to see several other Royal Marines have joined us tonight. So consider yourselves lucky to have gotten in this year, because next year, the price per plate is likely to triple as every woman descends on our little event to try and catch our Royal Marines’ attention by any means possible.
“I propose auctioning off tickets to see a wet T-shirt contest between them all, but that will have to be decided by the event organisers. I would like to say we should auction a date with Lenic Reevus, but I have it on good authority that he is not much of a conversationalist. So, we will stick with just trying to capitalise on his pretty face."
A wave of good-humoured laughter spreads through the audience and I notice Cross in the third row down laughing with his fellow Marines. "Since I know that you are all really just waiting for dinner to arrive, I'll cut this short and turn the floor over to Mr Reevus."
There is a polite round of applause as Lenic walks up, passing me on his way to the podium. I am feeling rather proud of myself for refraining from saying anything ignominious.
"Good evening," Lenic addresses the crowd. "Thank you for the ... interesting introduction, Miss Saint James. Evidently her newfound fame online isn’t enough to help her find a date for this evening. Since this is a charity event, we can only hope she’ll finally have a bit of luck finding someone with enough sympathy to help her out for the rest of the evening. And hopefully distract her from her apparent obsession with myself and quit stalking me."
The Tempest Page 11