“Hi, everyone,” Trish said and sat down next to Hannah. Felix sat down and drank deep sips from his glass. He would stay sober for about five minutes. What the hell was Trish doing with that guy? Was she that hard up for a rich guy she would put up with the unrestrained alcoholic?
Trish was laughing and Cory felt a pang of jealousy. She seemed so much lighter and brighter than he’d seen her in a while. His chest tightened. She seemed happier. Before long, a burger arrived for her and she started eating. Cory headed up to the bar to refill his beer. She wasn’t even paying attention to him now.
He’d flatly told Mirabel he was hanging with his friends that night. She hadn’t been happy about it, but the unhappier she was the more he seemed to get laid. Mirabel was apparently a bit twisted in that way. Admittedly, the sex was spectacular. She’d just about wore him out. He needed this night off to recover.
Trish appeared at the bar, asking for some ketchup. “Hi,” he said. “How are you?”
She looked a bit taken aback for a moment. “Good. Just having my dinner. All well with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Minty the barmaid handed a bottle of ketchup to Trish, who smiled and walked away. The normally offended reproach she had seemed to be absent.
“Another,” Felix said arrogantly to Minty, putting his glass down on the bar.
“Seeking oblivion?” Cory asked. Felix was apparently drinking to suppress something. What the hell did Trish see in this loser?
Felix turned his attention to him, his eyes starting to get a bit glassy already.
“Perhaps you should consider slowing down.” The bruise on his cheekbone was starting to fade. Guilt flared in Cory, but he was also not entirely sorry, because the dude had obviously lied. “Thought you said there was nothing going on with you and Trish.” He was still going to call the wanker out on it, though.
“There’s not. She won’t let me near her.” Cory felt justification. Felix turned around, placing his elbows on the bar.
“You’re really not her type.”
“Nope,” Felix said.
Cory was still annoyed that she was friends with this dick. But equally she seemed a lot more relaxed. “You sure there’s nothing going on?”
Felix turned his gaze on her. Felix wasn’t ugly as such, but he had the body he deserved. “Whatever’s going on with her has nothing to do with me.”
“She seems really chill.”
Felix considered her for a minute. “She’s decided to dump you.”
“We’re not an item.”
“From what I hear, you two have been pussyfooting around each other for months on end.”
“She confides in you now?” Since when were they friends? “Trish and me have been friends for a long time. There will always be a thing between us, but for now, we are friends.”
“You were never friends. And you’re going to be less now,” he said, picking up his new whiskey.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Felix grimaced with the burn of the whiskey. “She’s detaching from your little thing. I’ve seen it before. She’s had enough and every day she will stop caring a little less. Pretty soon, you’ll just be some guy she used to see. Then some new guy will come in, someone she’ll fall in love with, and then you won’t exist. This is what they do. This is what they always do.”
Unease travelled down Cory’s spine. It wasn’t like that with them. They had always had a thing and always would.
Trish laughed; he heard it. But she was different. Something was different with her, and apparently it wasn’t Felix.
Mirabel’s arse was in the air and Cory was pumping into her. She wanted hot and heavy, always. She moaned, her hands clasping the white sheet of the bed. Her arse was beautiful and in this position looked like the perfect pear, but still, he was barely keeping hard enough. He pulled out. “Turn around,” he said and Mirabel looked up at him before complying.
He wasn’t in the mood for hot and heavy. Instead, he positioned himself between her spread thighs, pushing in, feeling her give for him. Mirabel had practically no tits, her body too lean and muscular. Right now he wanted soft, he wanted to press down on those mounds, feel himself encased in warm softness.
Closing his eyes, he imagined it was Trish he was stroking into. Immediately he grew hard again, lengthening his strokes, pushing deep into her. This was better, what he needed. Reaching down, he kissed her. This is what he wanted, her underneath him, her legs wrapping around his hips, welcoming him. His release came on suddenly and he shuddered through the intense pulses.
“That was different,” Mirabel said, breaking through his reverie. “Not saying it was bad, just different.” He pulled out of her and sat up while Mirabel took off to the bathroom.
Cory sat with his elbows on his knees, looking out the window. It was near dawn and Mirabel would leave for training soon. For some reason, Cory felt like shit and he shouldn’t. He’d managed to keep his job, specifically because Mirabel wanted him there and Felix wasn’t making a fuss.
Felix’s words from the night before returned. It couldn’t be true. She knew they were too much to be together. He wasn’t ready. With Trish it was all or nothing and he couldn’t do all just yet. They were too young for that shit, but he couldn’t stop himself from going back to her. Detaching, that was utter bullshit. Still, sheer unease had settled into him. Maybe Felix was right. Maybe Trish was moving on. He’d messed with her that one time too many.
Chapter 43
The blue of the sea was almost mesmerising to Alexi as he sat at his home office, staring out the window high above the coastline. For some reason he had trouble keeping his mind on work lately and this strange mood wasn’t letting. This was unusual, but the thrill of the chase, prospect wise, just wasn’t appealing. He’d transferred that instinct to Rosalie and she’d called him on it. By no means was he proud of his activity looking back now, and he had to concede that this was all his doing. He’d wanted to flex his power, to make her see, but she saw past that and sought the intensions underneath—intentions he still couldn’t quite hone in on.
Through his actions, he had chased her lover away. The context around that didn’t entirely make sense and he didn’t exactly want to delve into his own reasoning for his actions. He been angry with her for appearing in his life, making him question the decisions he’d made back then.
This had all settled a heavy feeling on him and he couldn’t quite shake it. No, it wasn’t right to say this was her fault, because the truth was that she’d been a distraction when the heaviness had been there before. She’d just walked in and presented him with a target, and he’d been shooting at her ever since.
A feminine hand pressed down on his shoulder. “Deep in thought,” Malin said softly.
Alexi sighed. He didn’t feel like talking, although talking to Malin was relatively easy. Things never got hard with Malin. She did everything right, tried her best to be there when wanted and absent when not. She worked at pleasing him and he knew it. Basically that was her job—the perfect girlfriend. How much of it was pretence? But then he was with her because she made it easy.
Rosalie as a girlfriend had been completely different. She’d challenged him and pushed him. Things had been so different back then. Rosalie had led and he had followed. Perhaps it had been because he was new to the country, in an environment that was completely foreign—full of strange and illogical traditions. Rosalie was born and bred in that environment, so he had let her lead him.
Malin’s other hand descended, stroking down his shirt and he felt her breasts at the back of his head. That should perhaps stir desire in his body, but it didn’t. This heaviness was stealing that from him as well. Something had to give.
“You should come have some lunch,” she said. “I thought we could eat on the balcony.”
“I’m not hungry,” Alexi said.
Of all the unease he felt in his gut, hunger didn’t register. He wished he could speak to someone abou
t Rosalie and what she represented to him. If he could define this, then maybe he could lay it to rest, but he and Malin had never spoken of such things. She would tell him to forget about it. She could call Rosalie inconsequential, and from Malin’s perspective, she was. She didn’t understand that Rosalie had at one point had a great deal of power over him—power he had resented and apparently still did. You wouldn’t think it looking at her; it wasn’t overt power, just her fierce logic and ability to argue, and an unerring belief she was right.
Malin walked around and leaned on the desk at his side, her slim legs stretching out. Shifting her seat, she inadvertently touched the mouse of his computer and the screen saver switched off, revealing a picture of Rosalie from her Oxford University profile. Malin froze before she recovered. “Not those tedious people again,” she said, her voice cultured boredom.
Reaching over, Alexi shut the site down. He didn’t want Malin prying into this. Never give the enemy insight. With an exhale, he turned his attention out to the water again. He didn’t trust Malin. Never had. He never trusted any of his employees. She wasn’t strictly an employee, but if he was honest, not far off. She provided a service. The girlfriend. It was an unspoken contract, but it was understood by both parties. In fact, it had been a long time since he’d trusted anyone. Had he trusted Rosalie? He couldn’t answer. Even then, he’d never given his all. The temptation had been there, to just give in to her, but she never saw a different course for her life. Rosalie did as Rosalie wanted, even back then, and she would never follow him. It had taken him a while to understand that. So he’d left, turned his back on it and worked like a demon since.
He’d never let himself wonder how his life would be different. If he’s stayed, he’d have been Mr. Rosalie Wallis, the accessory when she went to events and parties with her academic crowd. He would probably have some average job in London—finance maybe. They’d probably even have children, a nice house with a Range Rover parked out front, maybe even a country house for the weekends. Mediocracy in every conceivable way.
And still she looked down on him. That was perhaps the thing that irked. Like with his father, what he wanted, what he did, was never quite good enough because it wasn’t their way.
“Come on, darling. Come have lunch,” Malin said, rising from the desk. Her long, graceful steps sounded on the marble floor with her flat shoes. “Maybe we could take a trip somewhere. New York maybe.”
Travelling with Malin wasn’t something Alexi relished. She wanted to shop and pretend they were in love, and that bored him.
Chapter 44
Every way of not right confronted Shania. She had no idea where she was; she was half choking and she couldn’t open her eyes. Everything had a nasty, full feeling. Nothing was right.
“Hello, there,” a woman with an accent said. Did Shania know her? Who was she? Light touches on her face and arms. “Big cough now,” the woman said. What? There was something in her mouth, it pulled. Shania was nauseous and her insides revolted against this thing. It released and went away. She still felt nothing, her face, her arms. Except her mouth, which was dry.
“Shania?” said another voice, more familiar this time. “Wake up, Shania.”
Wake up? She felt herself drift again. Someone was squeezing her hand. Where the hell was she?
“Open your eyes,” a woman said, the one with the heavy accent. “That’s it.”
Bright light speared her eyes and she shut them again. She tried to move, but someone held her down. A panic shivered through her system and she opened her eyes again, trying to escape whoever was holding her down.
She was in a room, in a bed. It was so damned bright. Nausea rolled over her like a wave. Her stomach heaved. A woman put a kidney shaped bowl by her mouth.
“Very normal,” the woman said. “Hello. I am Anna. Do you know where you are?”
Shania looked around again, her eyes settling on the other person. Esme, her mind said. She tried to speak, but nothing came other than the flair of pain in her throat.
“Just rest,” the Spanish woman said with a smile. “You are fine.”
I’m not fucking fine, she wanted to say, but her tongue was too swollen. Laying her head back on the pillow she turned to look at Esme again. She was in hospital, she realised. The last thing she remembered was that revolting strip joint, and now she woke up here. At least she wasn’t dead.
“I was so worried about you,” Esme said, sitting down awkwardly in the chair. “Your face is very swollen, but the doctors say you’re making good progress.”
Shania wondered if anyone had called her mom, she hoped not. Her mom would stress. She didn’t cope well with stress.
“It’s really good you woke up. The doctors will be pleased,” Esme continued.
Shania closed her eyes again. Her eyelids were growing really heavy and she wanted to sleep.
There were drains in her face. She was still too swollen to talk comfortably. Apparently they’d had to repair her jaw from what those bastards had done to her. An orderly was rolling her out in a wheelchair. The morphine was nice. Her face and ribs ached when she didn’t have a top up quick enough. She was okay, apparently. The doc had said so. Just recovering from the surgery. The cops had been and she’d tried to tell her story.
Esme was walking beside her as she was rolled through the halls and out the door. Getting from the wheelchair into the car was going to be exhausting. Lifting her finger was exhausting at the moment. It sucked being an invalid.
The driver took them away, back to Esme’s house. Ideally, Shania didn’t want to go there, but she had no choice but to accept charity right now. She would just have to put up with Felix’s accusations and recriminations. The means for doing anything else were simply absent, so she had to throw herself on Esme’s mercy. Luckily, Esme was able to put her disgust aside for now.
The day was bright and sunny, while Shania felt like utter shit. Her mood and the scenery really didn’t match. She wanted to go home, be at her mom’s crappy little house. It might not be much, but it was home, and right now she wanted home. Going was not an option though, even if she asked Esme to buy her a ticket. She wasn’t in a state to travel. She had to recover first.
Apparently a nurse would take care of her at home. Honestly, right now Shania didn’t care. She didn’t care if Esme and her family were forking out a fortune to help her. She just wanted to sleep. All things considered, she was lucky she had Esme, because it would suck recovering in a hostel, with people walking in and out of the room and her in no state to defend herself if someone chose to hassle her. For now, she would have to accept being a charity case.
With Esme’s help, she walked into the house. This place even had an elevator somewhere off the kitchen, which Shania had seen as a crazy rich people choice, but now was her life saver.
With a groan, she lay down in bed and turned away. If Esme expected a thank you, it would have to wait. It felt like her flesh was ready to fall of her bones, she was so exhausted.
Felix had not made an appearance. She wasn’t sure if he was aware she was there and she’d have no idea what to do if he barged in and demanded she leave. He would probably have to carry her out and leave her on the street. Maybe the nurse would show some pity on her and take her home. The woman was fiddling with her drip. There was a moment of cold in her veins whenever a new drip was attached. It was almost as if she was too exhausted to sleep.
Chapter 45
The house was quiet when Felix stepped inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except a wheelchair sat by the door. She must be here, he recognised. Guilt washed through him as he took his sunglasses off and walked through the silent house. Esme was sitting outside at the main table, reading a magazine. She looked up at him as he walked out. Putting his sunglasses back on again, he sat down.
“You look like shit, Felix.”
“I feel about the same.” His voice was coarse and his head pounded.
“She’s here and I swear to God, Felix, if you ma
ke so much of a peep about it, I am going to rip your balls off and feed them to you.” Esme’s look was harsh. What did she take him for? His sister obviously thought the worst of him.
“I had no idea this would happen, did I?”
Esme waved her hand like she didn’t know what to say.
“It’s not as if she mentioned, ‘oh hey, by the way, there are these goons eager to beat the living daylights out of me’.”
“You wouldn’t have believed her if she had.”
Felix shifted uncomfortably because the accusation was true. He wouldn’t have believed her, so convinced she’d been here exclusively for a cushy ride, trying to trap his father into something, probably with pregnancy if she’d had her way. Never in a million years would he have expected she was hiding from someone. Could he be blamed for that? They didn’t live lives where you hid from people wanting to beat the shit out of you. And she had slept with their dad. He’s seen that with his own eyes. Who could blame him for throwing her out? Apparently Esme’s disgust at that little revelation had dissipated. Esme always was a little hypocritical when it suited her.
“Is she alright?” he finally asked. It was strange to think that the utter mess he’d seen lying in the hospital bed had now improved to the point where she could leave.
“No, she’s not,” Esme accused. Okay, enough with the blunt hammering, he wanted to say. He got the point already. “She’s sleeping,” Esme continued more calmly. “The doctor says she needs bedrest.”
Felix showered and changed before leaving the house. He still felt supremely uncomfortable. He would see the entrance to the guest bedroom she was in from downstairs. The sight accused him of all sorts of things. It didn’t matter what she was; she didn’t deserve what had happened to her, and he had brought it about. The fact that he wouldn’t have believed a word of it if she’d said something sat like a weight in his chest.
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