by Corri Lee
Pretty? Ah, God. I might not have been mooning over him anymore, but I couldn’t resist the sweet talk and he knew it. He’d obviously kept that one tucked away as a secret weapon.
Pushing to my feet, I grabbed the remote control to turn the television off and rubbed at my eyes. “God, I fucking hate you sometimes. You have no idea how unhappy I am about this.”
Laughing, Hunter stood next to me and pulled me into a bare hug. “It’s a few days out of your life at a time that conveniently coincides with your only company being away with his own loved ones. Feel like shit sat on your own in a big apartment, or feel like shit with people who will undoubtedly force you to laugh about it?”
It made such obvious sense I resented him for it.
We ate and shopped quickly for my winter wardrobe before catching a flight the same evening. I left New York as I’d arrived; with just one holdall carrying my bare essentials but with the addition of my laptop.
We both worked for the entire duration of the journey home—which we miraculously managed to get first class seats for—neither of us really working to fill the silence. I knew better than to think he was feeling guilty for dragging me back to a place synonymous with hurt, but he looked too distracted. Something was playing on his mind, but I felt a little too self-absorbed at the time to forcibly extract it from him.
I wasn’t prepared for how light it would be in England when we landed, my mind still running on Eastern Standard Time. Snow had begun to take over there, too, coating the landscape in a spattered blanket of white that struggled to stick to the ground beneath it.
Being away for three months made me look at London with the same awe I’d looked at New York. The place I’d grown to well know enough seemed like an alien land now, brash and swarming with an arrogance I could really appreciate after being away from it.
New York exercised it’s obtuse selfishness and curiosity with an inherent laziness. Celebrity news was entertainment, but banal human gossip was only appreciated in small subgroups. There were far too many people in one place to care about everyone else’s business, and if you didn’t protect yourself, few others would.
London’s selfishness was both defensive and aggressive. People glowered as they walked, weighed down by the drama that was forced on them. Too many people wanted your life to involve them, and they shoved themselves at you until you caved.
Much like Hunter had just done with me.
It paid to be armed with the finer details of every man and their dog’s inner most thoughts and perversions. London was nosy because it was beneficial—a necessary evil in the name of protecting yourself against the consequences of a momentary lapse in your defences. A lapse that everyone would jump on to exploit.
And I’d never felt quite so exploited by all the eyes that dug into me and took root from the minute I stepped off that plane. I had become an enemy on my own turf, a person people deeply disliked because I’d dared to turn my back on a man who really wasn’t as wonderful as they’d been led to believe.
“So where are we staying?” I asked Hunter as we climbed into Henry’s sleek black Mercedes. As far as car’s went, my family had a fleet, but for once I was glad of the heavily tinted windows that hid me away from the glares of my ‘fellow’ Londoners. It had been a relief to see at least one friendly face when the family driver, Oscar, had greeted me with a grin at Heathrow. “Do we have reservations in one of my father’s ostentatious hotels?”
“I do.” Hunter smirked into the newspaper he’d picked up inside the airport. “You’re going home?”
“But I’ve only just—... Oh.” He meant the flat. I’d presumed, and hoped, that Henry had taken me on my word when I’d told him that I’d never return to London again, and put my possessions into storage. It would have been easy to find a new tenant—I knew that he owned the building I lived in and had a waiting list of applicants as long as my arm—and I wasn’t really sure how to feel about the fact he’d kept the flat open for me. I didn’t even know if I was still playing the rent. I really hadn’t had a reason to check.
“We all knew you’d come home at some point, Emmeline.”
“This is a flying visit. ‘Home’ is New York.” And I missed it already. London felt different. Looked different. It even smelled different. The air was too heavy with smog that I felt suffocated, that sensation helped along by the thick coursing veins of people battling against each other. As busy as it was, New York always felt wide and spacious with room for more, offering a silent invitation to outsiders to come and nestle down inside. London was a vacuum packed sardine tin stuffed too full with people who hated me irrationally, portraying one very simple message. Keep out.
We dropped Hunter off at The Hotel of York, Henry’s upscale right in the heart of the city, before heading over to my flat. By unspoken agreement, Hunter seemed to understand that taking those first steps was something I needed to do alone, and had arranged to collect me the next day to take me frock shopping for the ball. I was grateful that I hadn’t needed to spell it out for him.
The building seemed ominous when we pulled up outside. There had been no maroon Aston Martin Cygnet’s spotted as we’d gotten closer, and I heaved a sigh of relief for knowing that I wouldn’t have to deal with something so intense immediately on my return. If I’d walked in through the door and found Blaze sitting on my camelback... God, it didn’t even bear thinking about.
The entire area was drenched in an oppressive silence and no sounds of stirring within the other flats, almost like there had been a pre-war evacuation nobody had warned me of. As ever, the lift was out of order, leaving me to haul my holdall up the four sets of concrete and steel steps that would lead me to my front door.
The flat was exactly how I remembered it. It was far smaller than the apartment; just an open plan lounge spreading out into the kitchen, a small boxed off bathroom for visitors and one bedroom with it’s own en suite. The furniture was mismatched and scuffed, most of it left behind by the tenant who’d been there before me. Somewhat reassuringly, my cabinets of collectables and memorabilia remained ordered and untouched, seemingly the only part left of the girl who lived there.
It definitely didn’t feel like my home anymore. My life had becomed bright and glossy, while this dive of a place felt more like a pit of despair. No wonder I’d been such a mess as Emmy White. Dropping my holdall and laptop off by the door, I made an immediate beeline for the kitchen to make myself coffee before I faced my bedroom. That was another hurdle of it’s own.
But there was no coffee. No percolator, and no beans, not even any instant grounds. The fridge and cupboards both stood empty and useless, no longer holding the groceries that obviously would have gone off by now. Someone had at least had the decency to take care of that for me so I never came back to a house full of rotten food.
That’s when it hit me. The flat was immaculate, and I had once been habitually messy. Only one person in my entire life had tidied up after me with enough proficiency to make my dump look acceptable.
Blaze had been the last person into my flat.
Sagging against the breakfast bar, I wondered how recently he’d been. There was no telling scents of bleach to suggest the kitchen had been cleaned in the past day or so, but there was also no film of dust forming on the surfaces. It didn’t smell musky like it might have done if the place had sat dormant for the whole three months, but there was no glimmer of life in it , either
Maybe I was reading too much into it. Henry easily could have had one of his cleaners come in when he’d heard from Hunter that I’d be flying back with him.
Feel brave, I paced over to my bedroom and paused with my hand on the handle. When I’d left, I’d done so with company; Henry stood and waited for me as I packed my bag for The States. The room had still been full of Blaze’s personal effects and the emanation he left everywhere he went. It wasn’t enough for him that people cared he was standing in the same place as him, it mattered that people who came afterwards knew he’d been
there, too.
That pulse and charge in the air had gone. The bed I’d refused to sleep next to him in stood neatly dressed in clean linen that I knew on impulse was brand new. The chests and wardrobes show no signs that he’d ever taken over them at one point and carried only the clothes he’d bought for me. All of his toiletries had been removed from my bathroom.
It was like he’d never existed at all, and if it wasn’t for the ring I wore, I’d have questioned if he ever really had. Seeing the flat so stripped bare of atmosphere was like the sobering slap in the face that I’d needed for it to finally register that there was no more fire in my life.
I felt sick as we walked into the foyer of The Roses the next evening, somehow feeling like I had less of a right to be there by attending with Hunter. Being out at press packed events with him when he visited and knowing that I wasn’t the woman who belonged on his arm had always made me feel like a fraud, but there always used to be a distinct and lingering smugness about me. I’d hoped that Siobhan would see the pictures and realise how much better I looked with him than she did.
I didn’t care too much for that vindictiveness anymore.
However, for once, the attention seemed to centre around me. I’d already seen that my limited work in Henry’s business had sparked some speculation over whether I had finally agreed to take over, but that almost certainly wasn’t my focal point. That might just have been the new body I’d come back from New York with and the way I no longer let Hunter, or my Blaze disaster, overshadow me.
My chin was high and proud, and eyes sparkling with some of the starriness that was left over from my fascination with Manhattan. The fruits of my shopping trip that morning had blossomed to an olive green satin gown that matched my eyes. It draped over one shoulder and clung to my body like it had been painted on, with most of the open back covered by golden hair I’d left loose. I looked nothing like the meek outcast who’d shied away for so many years. I didn’t look out of place. I looked as comfortable and cosmopolitan as the other women at that ball, maybe more so now so for being the heartbreaking daughter of mega-mogul Henry Tudor.
My new found confidence didn’t go missed by the man at my side struggling to keep up with the relentless flash of cameras across the opening stretch of red carpet into the auditorium area. Almost bewildered by the power of my orbit, he clung to me like I was his anchor and did what he could to get a word in edgeways. It was so much like the polarity of the planet had flipped and everything was upside down. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wished for, and yet...
Esme glided over to me the minute I broke away from the cameras and gathered me up into her arms with an open mouth and wide eyes. She looked as beautiful as always in a red fishtail gown that shared a serious resemblance to Jessica Rabbit’s. Her gaze slid across my features, greedily drinking me in like I’d been gone far too long, and settled on my chest.
She prodded at my breast with an investigative finger. “Are they real?”
“I’ve missed you, too, Esme. Yes, they’re real.”
“Wow.” Her lip curled into a sneer as she took a second look at me. “You look stunning—better than me. I have to go and change.”
“Don’t you dare!” Thoughtlessly releasing Hunter’s arm, I gripped hers and pulled her over to a crescent shaped portable chrome bar, finding myself swarmed by Daniel, Jonathan and Chris—all dressed in dapper tuxedos—and took their jibes and insults for taking off with no warning with dignity.
“You abandoned him,” Daniel crooned when the rapid fire interrogation was finally exhausted, casting a furtive glance towards a dejected looking Hunter. “After all this time, you’ve done to him what he did to you so often and you don’t even realise you’ve done it.”
My four friends traded glances and burst into raucous laughter I didn’t have the heart to join in with. It hadn’t been my intention to somehow seek petty vengeance on him by making him feel the way I had for many years, so I pushed past them all and wrapped my arm back around his. He was my best friend, after all.
“I’m sorry, I get a little crazy around Esme.” He hummed nostalgically, recalling the times he’d seen just how crazy things had been known to get. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were reminiscing.”
“Well, how many men get to walk in on you two naked and wrapped around each other?” I didn’t answer, aware that he might be under the impression that it had been an exclusive privilege. Instead, to deter him, I dragged him over to the seating plan to find our table.
My heart sank when I saw the name of who’d sit directly opposite me. “Oh no,” I breathed, sagging back into Hunter’s grasp. Selfishly, I wanted to be annoyed that Blazed been invited at all but I couldn’t. Just seeing his name gave me a perverted thrill, though stupidly, I hoped that he would skip out on the event to avoid my friends and family, or just to avoid me. But of course, he had no way of knowing I was back, so why should he avoid an event he’d have attended anyway? With a date. My stomach twisted at the thought.
Hunter looked over my shoulder at the seating arrangement and squeezed my bare shoulder. “Table of twelve. That’ll be nice and awkward.” I nodded in agreement and tried to shake off the nightmare visions of being sat in the middle of my friends, family and Hunter’s mother with Blaze and his plus one glaring at me. Oh God, the potential conversational hazards... “Do you want me to see if I can get him moved?”
My pulse leapt in inexplicable panic. “No, that’s pathetic. I have nothing to be ashamed of.” And I honestly believed that. I’d made a mistake by falling for a taken man, but that was obviously nothing new. I hadn’t initiated anything knowing that he had a sick wife waiting for him at home, and I hadn’t so much as suggested that I’d tolerate it once I knew. I’d done nothing wrong.
“You’ll be all right, Emmeline. You’re a tough girl.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed, “for now. You have no idea what it’s like staring at someone you need like oxygen knowing that they’d only ever looked as you as a decorative accessory to your life.” Shaking off the resentment, I scraped back my composure and started off towards our table, where I could already see my parents sitting. My sister always declined the event to Esme’s winter ball, and I suspected that she may not have even been invited this year after the way she’d imparted the news about my rival bride. Apparently the drama most definitely lingering in the ether already was drama enough for one year.
Henry stood with a beaming great smile when I approached, and greeted me with a peck on the cheek I tried not to recoil from. Ivy peered up at me tearfully from her seat at our table, forcing me to stoop down next to her and discourage her sadness with a hug. I tried not to hold it against her, but the night would be tough enough without a posthumous reception from the women who’d spoken to me more than anyone else.
Their outfits were a matching shade of sapphire to coordinate with the theme of the ball. As always, Esme had gone all out with her decorations, filling the tables with centrepieces of intricate glass art that had been shaped like bluebells and snowdrops. It was, at least, large enough to obscure the direct view I’d have of something that would most likely put me off my meal.
Ivy wore a trimly fitted bodice that flared out into a trailing skirt and hung around her ankles, shoulders modestly covered by a glittering shawl. Henry fiddled with his blue tie as he watched over her, and for the first time, I saw how much he loved her.
It was a kick in the balls. Ivy had been snapped up as a trophy wife when she was young, being gorgeous and tenacious, but had it ever occurred to me that I’d been conceived from something meaningful? Never. I was too cynical for my own damn good.
I declined several offers of drinks over the following hour, preferring to keep myself cut off in a corner rather than face a barrage of questions from acquaintances who’s thirst for gossip was rivalled only by their thirst for fortune. The refusal won me a handful of suspicious looks, but I knew that I’d need to reserve my alcohol allowance for later, and when mixed with my m
edication, I’d be wiped out and useless in no time.
Favouring sparkling water, I chatted with my friends about the burlesque and cabaret shows I’d seen in New York, grateful that nobody had remarked further on my abrupt departure and the reason for it. In some ways it was like I’d never left, but in others, I saw how they looked to me yearningly, holding back their urges to spoil me with affection because soon, I’d sift back off away from them like a puff of smoke. It broke my heart when it dawned on me that not a single person had said ‘hello’ to me that night.
Because saying ‘hello’ meant they’d have to say ‘goodbye’.
When Hunter’s phone rang some time later to alert him to his mother’s arrival, I begrudgingly agreed to go with him to greet her. She’d be sitting with us at the head table with husband number five, so figuring I’d get the awkward questions out of the way before she was just feet away from Blaze, I straightened my hair out in my reflection on the bar top and took a quick calming breath.
Helen Rosen could get to a person like tear gas. With a fleeting glance, she saw a person’s weaknesses and made a snap judgement over whether or not she disliked them enough to exploit it. For her, every meeting was a first meeting, even if she stood eye to eye with a lifelong friend. That initial impression lasted as long as the conversation and could change in a heartbeat, making the woman ridiculously bipolar. One minute she could be your loquacious best friend, the next, your taciturn worst enemy.
No wonder Hunter was an insufferable bastard.