by Corri Lee
“Emmeline has always been bustily blessed.” Blaze chose that exact moment to walk out of the connecting office with Chris feet behind him. It was impossible not to wonder how long they’d been listening and whether he’d cut in just to save me. He strolled right up to my side, gave the dresses he’d picked an appraising nod, and then slung an arm around my shoulders. “Ready to come cake tasting with me?”
“Seriously?” That was what he had planned for me? He couldn’t have picked a worst time. “Do I have to?”
“Free cake? Yes, you have to.”
I went along with it, just because I had to get out of there. If I spent another minute in the same room as those dresses, I was going to throw up over them and the fact that I could afford to replace them was a negligible point. I shouldn’t have had to feel that way and have to suffer the bratty snipes of some brainless twit. Picking a bridal gown should have been one of the most exciting choices of my life. Instead, I felt like whatever I wore on my wedding day would be outshone by my muffin tops, double chin and mammary overhang.
I felt better as soon as I was in another room, like I could breathe freely again. All this nuptial nonsense was suffocating and making people forget that I had more hang-ups and insecurities than the average Jane. I didn’t know that I’d be able to brush off this measurement business as a pathetic attempt to trample my self-esteem. The problem with my neuroses were that they were completely unmanageable with happy thoughts or compliments and totally irrational.
The delicate clattering of heels just behind me told me that Ivy had shadowed me to the bedroom. I fought the urge to tell her I wasn’t so unstable that I needed an escort to get my handbag, and hung around, waiting for her to walk in with a pep talk. When she didn’t, I figured out her real motive for following me. She wanted something.
“What is it, Mum?”
She stuck her head around the doorway and took a step into the room. The way she methodically placed each footstep meant she was working up to something big, something she knew I’d instantly say no to until she wore me down.
“It’s such a shame that you have to keep the ceremony closed off from the press.”
“It’s for Esme. And a back row of journalists is only a commodity. Normal weddings don’t have them.”
“This isn’t a normal wedding.”
I shifted my weight onto one leg and put my hands on my hips. “Why not?” I challenged. Why the fuck couldn’t my wedding be normal?
“Sweetheart...” Ivy took a step closer to me and I countered it with two backwards.
“Sweetheart what? We’re different because he’s famous and we’re rich? You were happy to let me act like a commoner until he turned up. What’s changed?” Lifting my hands to my face, I rubbed at the pounding starting behind my temples. I was all over the place. “Forget I said that. Just tell me what you want.”
She moved toward me again and this time I didn’t back off. The more I fought her, the longer it would take for her to cut to the chase. I just felt so damn argumentative that morning. “You’re not feeling like yourself today, are you?”
“No. I’m not. So please, just tell me what you’re thinking of.”
Her brief hesitation made think that, just maybe, she wouldn’t make any demands of me when she knew I was feeling off, but she dug in anyway and went on to say, “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have an engagement party?”
Ugh, God. No. Not when what she really meant was ‘press packed soiree to uphold a public image’. An engagement party had no other purpose than to make the media feel like they weren’t missing out on something good. She was probably more worried that they’d feel deprived and dig around to find out our family wasn’t as perfect as it looked on the outside. In actuality, I didn’t have a problem with that. What was wrong with being recognised as human?
“The wedding is less than seven weeks away. Isn’t a knees up for the engagement a little redundant this close to the day?”
“Absolutely not.” So she was determined to make it happen, likely whether I wanted it or not. Ivy watched me dump my wallet, keys and phone into a small bag and gave a wounded little huff at the fact it wasn’t designer. “You have to shove your happiness in their faces, Emmy. Especially when your unhappiness makes much better news. It’s a matter of self-preservation.”
“I’m not unhappy. Not with life, anyway. Just myself.” And we all knew it was less about preserving me than it was about preserving the myth that the Tudor family were inherently in charge and in control of everything. The fact I’d tried to kill myself verged on being a scandal and the fact they’d done so much to keep it a secret made me instinctively aware that they were ashamed of it.
On the other hand, I figured there was a juicier story to unveil. It would take some keen detective work, but it was entirely too possible that someone could find out about Natasha’s suicide, too. That would open a none too pleasant Pandora’s Box for not only me, but for Blaze as well. The fact he’d been married and I’d essentially been his mistress had been heavily guarded from public knowledge, and being outed as a philanderer wasn’t good for anyone’s career.
Besides, I was one of only two people who knew that there might be more to Natasha’s death than everyone thought. That couldn’t get out. No way.
“I’ll ask Blaze what he thinks, okay?” He’d agree with Ivy and I’d have to debate that, but I felt better about negotiating with him than with my mother. Frankly, I stood a better chance of getting my own way if I managed to get him on my side.
“Righto.” Satisfied, Ivy swanned out without saying goodbye, leaving the exasperation she inflicted as her calling card. Sometimes I wondered how nice it would be to be as whimsical as her; then I often decided I preferred to having a brain. As much as I loved her, Ivy could be incredibly naive, something she accused me of on occasion. At least when I was following a futile path of fantasy, I was doing it after some conscious thought and consideration. She did it because she that’s how she was programmed that way. Silliness and gullibility came naturally.
Man, I missed my old life and it’s lack of complexities. I could have crawled into Double Booked, slept in the bathroom, crawled to the pub, gotten drunk and gotten laid. No dress fittings, no engagement parties, no flower arrangements and fucking suits. I wouldn’t have to be in a situation where I was about to be force-fed baked goods I felt too guilty about eating to enjoy. Everything was screwed up. I wanted to be Emmy White again.
“Ready for noms?”
I heard Blaze’s voice before I lifted my head to look at him and it felt like my heart had started beating for the first time. He was so beautiful it made my eyes burn and he’d offered unequivocal acceptance from the day we met. Life had gotten messy not just because of him, but for him.
“Kiss me.”
He looked confused but came to me anyway. His hands cupped my cheeks and gently eased my head back to an angle perfect for a deep, slow kiss.
His warm, soft lips covered mine and lingered there too briefly before they were gone. When they came back, they’d magically taken away and dispelled some of my anxiety.
“Better, cupcake?”
Love-drunk, I nodded and rested my head against his shoulder until the endorphins stopped whizzing around in my brain. Underneath the cotton of his shirt, I felt how feverish his skin had become. The hot man with the hot name was burning for me, as though it was actually possible he worshipped me the way I worshipped him. If I could be such a fat whale and still set him alight that way...
Screw it. Let them eat cake. If we didn’t have time to procure me an orgasm that would get me through the afternoon, I was going to need chocolate.
The hum of my Bentley lulled me to sleep about twenty minutes into our journey. It struck me as odd that Blaze had asked to drive it but he seemed to be avoiding the Aston Martin Cygnet I so hated. That made sense, I guessed, as the ‘car’ was technically Natasha’s. She’d brought it for him and he’d driven it out of necessity, though I knew he secretly
liked it no matter how much I bitched and insulted it.
Signs of Spring were everywhere. After the deep snow at Christmas had melted, the weather had become nicely mild and warmer than usual, which brought the new buds out a little earlier. Spots of yellow edged and highlighted lush stretches of greenery, the bared carcasses of trees beginning to fill out with tiny new leaves.
Ten minutes of staring at the fresh new landscape passed before I realised we weren’t in London. Jolted to full wakefulness, I sat up and gaped at the fields of livestock we were driving past.
“Are we in Wales?!”
“Hello to you, too, sleepyhead.” Blaze rested his left hand on my leg and hazarded a quick sideways glance at me. He was such a cautious and meticulous driver, so wary and watchful behind the wheel. “Nice nap?”
“It was fine, but seriously. Are we tasting cake in Wales?” That did make more sense. Ordering a cake in London was almost foolhardy, carrying a risk of it getting ruined in transit. No doubt he’d thought of that and made most of his reservations with companies over the border. We’d probably spend the whole day touring the little country we hailed from, giving our approval to various insignificant yet accumulatively vital details of our wedding.
“Not exactly.” I turned in my seat to face him and frowned. “I might have just come up with that to get you out of the hotel. Trust me, I’m taking you somewhere better than a bakery.”
“We have a wedding cake, though?”
“Of course. Sort of. I put a bulk order in with Esme’s cupcake guy—way too many so we didn’t have to wait for RSVPs. We’ll share whatever’s left over with the wedding party afterwards.”
“Oh.” It was actually a pretty nice idea, one I’d never have thought of myself. Esme’s cupcakes were delicious and had won me my pet name. It was a nice touch and extra personal to us. Of course I could count on Blaze to plan a day that wasn’t generic and soulless. “So we’re in Wales for something else. Are we visiting your mum?”
“Not today. I have a surprise.” Squeezing my leg, Blaze shifted a little and tried to steer me away from the subject. “What did you think of Caroline?”
“I hate her.” His brow lifted in surprise and I didn’t care. People had been telling me for years that honesty was the best policy. “She was generally prissy, made me feel like an idiot and I don’t think she likes me, either. She definitely doesn’t like my dress idea. What’s wrong with red and ivory? You can rock it. So can Dan and Jonathan. Plus she couldn’t help but point out I’ve gained weight. She made me feel really fat.”
“Baby,” Blaze crooned. “You got back. You’re deliciously curvy and you’ve got tits that would have given Sir Peter Paul Rubens wet dreams. You’re so sexy I’ve been known to weep, and I don’t mean tears of joy from my willy. I’ve actually cried tears of gratitude and disbelief.”
The daftness made me grin. It was truly amazing how he could make me feel good about a major insecurity, taking away all the ill thoughts I had about myself. That he’d ever been attracted to me was a miracle; I’d been a body-conscious and slutty waif with badly self-dyed black hair when we met and that seemed to do it for him. To still want me as badly now I was a direct opposite busty blonde was almost unrealistic. He was one special man.
“As for the dress, why don’t you draw your idea? She’d work a lot better from a guide image than a vague concept and you stand a better chance of getting what you want.”
“Have you drawn designs for her?”
“A couple. Both yours.”
Wow... Handsome and multi-talented to excess; had I hit the jackpot or what? As an added sweetener, he was full of helpful suggestions and I was going to seriously consider drawing a dress, even if it was just for me to look at. The chances of getting the perfect bridal gown made and fitted in a little over six weeks was unlikely enough without having to work with a bitch of a seamstress.
“She asked if I’m pregnant,” I griped. “Basically said my rack is too abnormally huge to not be and everyone will think the same.”
“Oh, pfft. She’s just bitter.” Yeah... Yeah, she was! She was middle-aged with boobs like fried eggs nailed to a wall—a victim of age and gravity. I was young and voluptuous with the same bust measurement as Marilyn Monroe, which looked comparatively bigger on top of a relatively tiny waist. Most people had to pay for my figure. “You could be, though.”
Wait... What?! “Come again?”
“I noticed on your notes that you’re well overdue a Depo jab. They tested before your blood transfusion but it could have been too early to detect...”
Oh my God. There went all the good feelings I’d managed to scrape together. Just the very idea of bringing a child into the world made my scalp prickle. There was absolutely no way I could be a good mother—bring a child up to follow good morals I clearly couldn’t adhere to myself. They’d grow up to learn that I was a hypocrite and lose all respect for me, if they’d grown up to respect their shambling mother at all.
And oblivious to my plight, Blaze just sat there and kept talking like he wasn’t suggesting I might have a potentially life changing cluster of cells growing inside me—a little cancer with a face.
“... Not that I wouldn’t be elated if you were.”
“Kinda feels like we’re about to have the family talk.” And I wasn’t up for it, not by a bloody long shot.
“Well... Why not, eh?” He shrugged, not once taking his eyes off the road. “I told you I wanted kids.”
“Yeah, less than three months ago.” And all I’d done is tell him I was capable of it. I’d never said that I shared that familial itch. “We’re getting married in a matter of weeks.”
“Yeah... and I know you’ll want to drink at the reception—”
“And you start filming in June.”
“I’m getting the feeling that you don’t want kids...”
Ya think? Talk about understatement. It wasn’t like getting a sodding puppy; a baby was an enormous responsibility and at that time, I needed him to look after me. “I just don’t understand the rush. We’ve been together for only half of the meagre eight months since we met and we’ve hardly been stable. I’m only twenty-two and just came out of hospital after a suicide attempt, and we’re living out of a hotel. That isn’t a good foundation to build a family; even my dad had more going for him before Tallulah congealed.”
I’d spoken so quickly I had to stop to catch my breath. What was wrong with it just being me and him? I’d only fail as a mother and that would make him think less of me. I’d lose him and because I was so useless, I’d lose the kid, too. All I’d have left would be myself, whatever I had after a messy divorce and a bunch of disappointed family members who’d probably side with him. There was a good chance I’d end up like Natasha—lonely, hopeless and swallowing a bottle of pills, just to be found dead by a member of staff because everyone’s concern laid elsewhere.
“Emmeline...” Blaze reached blindly to wipe away the tears that had started to trickle down my cheeks. “I’ve spent too long waiting for the things I want. I compromised on love and a future to look after Natasha just to spend seven years being treated like a fool. I deserve to get the things I dreamed of and, now that they’re in reach, why wait?”
“Because I’m not ready.”
“You weren’t ready for anything when we met. Now you help to run one of the biggest international companies. If I can get you ready for that in a few months, imagine what I could do with another nine.”
“Shit...” He wanted it so badly and I’d sworn to do anything that made him happy but this was too much. I was fine with ruining my own life for him but I couldn’t bring a child into the world just to fulfil a self-imposed responsibility. “It’s too much, Blaze.”
“It’s a big decision,” he agreed. “But I believe in you more than you believe in yourself and you know it.”
Lifting my chin, I pushed myself to turn away from him and glared out of the window. “Some might call that stupid. You’re a building yo
urself up for a fall.” Neither of us would ever know for certain, but I could have been a terrible person. Who in their right mind would want to procreate with a murder? But I couldn’t present that as a valid excuse without destroying everything. “I’m not good enough to give you the things you want. If bigamy were legal, I’d actively encourage it because anyone has got to be a better parent than I could be.”
“Your problem is that you don’t know your own value. You think you’re worth less than you truly are.”
“I don’t think I’m worth less. I think I’m worthless.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘priceless’.”
He wasn’t going to give up, so utterly blind to the reality that was staring him in the face. He wanted something he thought would keep us together. I thought—and seemed to be getting proven right—that it would really tear us apart. “How I rate myself really isn’t what matters to me. I’m only bothered with it as long as I’m valuable to you.”
“Don’t you know, cupcake? You couldn’t mean more. The problem is I have more love to give than you can handle so I need to share it with little pieces of you. If I tried to give you it all, it’d probably kill you.”
“You say the sweetest things, but—”
“I wasn’t being metaphorical, Emmeline. I’m actually scared by how much you mean to me. If you told me that I had to let you go, I wouldn’t be able to. I’d destroy whatever you told me stood between us without a second thought and to hell with the consequences.”
I tried to respond but was kept quiet by a lump in my throat. The way he was talking made me uneasy because, as worrying as the things he was saying were, it was what he didn’t say—the hidden, undecipherable subtext—that spoke louder.
Something had happened. He’d been erring on the needy side since I came back from New York, but something had happened that had made him obsessive over me and I struggled to believe it was just that I’d nearly died. He had a secret and it couldn’t be more obvious that he had no intention of telling me what it was. As I couldn’t judge him for it, I prayed instead...