Marbella Twist

by Camille Oster

  “Roan, please. We don’t quite know,” he said. “I’m on a bit of a sabbatical, I suppose.”

  “You be careful. That’s why I came here. I wasn’t going to stay more than a few months, but I’m still here.” She turned her face to Alexi, going all puppy eyed. Cheyenne wanted to vomit.

  “I’m sure eventually I will have to head back.”

  “Not too soon, I hope,” Alice said. “You should come to dinner one night.”

  Cheyenne could tell Alexi was uncomfortable with the idea. She still made him uncomfortable, which was interesting. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we?”

  “Absolutely. Kind of you to offer,” Roan said in his rounded American accent.

  The woman blushed again. Roan couldn’t talk to some women without them going to pieces. Paul must be gritting his teeth. No doubt, he was getting a wild ride that night. Although Cheyenne would be messing with the real deal.

  Chapter 13

  “For the first assignment, you will need to work in pairs,” Professor Wallis said at the front of the lecture theatre. Esme turned to look at Inns in the back and he looked back with a murderous look on his face. He really was socially awkward, wasn’t he?

  Maybe she shouldn’t partner with him, but he was the only person she knew. There were the girls she’d met and talked to, but frankly, they were idiots. It would be fun doing the assignment with them, but it would be a crap project they turned in. She felt like she needed to do a good job with this course, prove that she wasn’t entirely useless. That disappointment she’d seen in her father’s eyes of late, particularly when she’d been hospitalised after partying a little too hard.

  No, doing the assignment with the serious and studious Inns was probably a prudent idea.

  “Why do we have to partner?” he complained.

  “Because part of business is working with other people?” she said lightly.

  Inns scowled where he sat in the row behind her. Admittedly, he was scowling whenever she’d seen him, so it wasn’t anything new. In fact, she had never seen him smile at all. It made him look harsher than his face was. He wasn’t ugly, as such, but there was no lightness about him, as if he was carrying the world on his shoulders.

  A little project and it would be over. Esme opened her ring binder where she had placed all the course material. The assignment was to write a business plan for a fictional business.

  “Alright, that’s it for today. Till we meet next, find your partner and decide what you are doing. The assignment is due in two weeks. I suggest you don’t leave it till the last minute, although I know a few of you will. Do yourselves a favour and put some time into this assignment. It really does show if something is thrown together at the last minute.”

  Professor Wallis packed up his effects into his briefcase, and students started to surround him with questions.

  “So, what should we do?” Esme said, turning to Inns, who was also packing things away in his backpack.

  He shrugged. “How about I do the project and you do some graphs or something?”

  “Graphs?” Esme said, not quite believing what he was saying. He was completely dismissing her. “No, the project is for two people, so we have to do the project together.” Inns lips narrowed in his displeasure, but Esme didn’t actually care. If he was going to be difficult, that was his problem. “So you pick a topic and we’ll do it together.”

  Inns grumbled and slung his backpack over his shoulder, starting down the row to get out.

  “Alright, we’ll get right on that,” Esme said sarcastically, wondering if she’d picked the most sulky, difficult person to have as a partner. Difficult, she didn’t mind. He could be as difficult as he wanted as long as a good mark resulted out of it. Obviously, she wasn’t going to let him do it all on his own, although she suspected he would try to. Not really one for playing well with others.

  *

  Pulling into Aggie’s driveway, Esme parked up and got out, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. The ringer on the door set off a chime and soon she could see shadows shifting in the entrance hall. Aggie swung the large door open and refreshingly cool air escaped from the inside.

  “Esme,” Aggie said with surprise. “What’s up?”

  “I’m actually here to see Inns.”

  “Oh, really?” There was even greater surprise in her features now. Esme guessed Inns wasn’t big for getting visitors.

  “We’re doing a project together for a paper. Is he in?”

  “I forgot you were starting at the business school, too. Yeah, he’s here. Where else would he be?”

  Aggie walked back into the house, wearing soft lounging pants. “How’s your brother? We barely see him anymore.”

  “Well, I would say he is getting laid. I suspect it’s all he and Shania do.”

  Aggie chuckled. “He’s really head over heels for her, isn’t he? Never thought I would see the day, and he used to hate her so much.”

  “It was always a complicated relationship,” Esme admitted. Although these days, it was really simple. Theirs was a tiny world, the broader world kept out. In a way, Esme was jealous. She would give anything to be so completely into someone. Frankly, right now, she would be fine with anyone as long as she was getting some. Things had been a bit dry on that front for a while. Her reputation for being trouble seemed to have spread, which was a bit unfair, and some of the guys she knew were staying away, thinking she was more drama than she was worth. Her period of rebellion really did have some consequences that weren’t seen as entirely cute. But she was getting her act together.

  “You know where the guest bedroom is, don’t you? The one I think you stayed in a couple of times.”

  Esme nodded and walked up the stairs. She did remember. “Hey, why don’t we go for a drink later?” she called back. There was a good chance she would need it after having to deal with Inns.

  Taking a deep breath, she approached what was now his room. He better not be wanking, she thought as she knocked on the door. “Inns, it’s Esme.” There was silence inside and then the door swung open and Esme smiled. “Thought we’d get started on that project.”

  “Here?” he said, obviously startled. He wore the same uniform he always did—khaki pants and some boring, nondescript shirt. For not entirely being an ugly guy, his fashion sense did nothing for him.

  “Where else?” She stepped into the room, making him step away as she advanced. The room smelled of him. Not bad, just that distinct male smell. The bed was perfectly made, the corners tightly tucked in. “Did you go to some military academy?”

  “No, I went to Eton.”

  “Of course you did,” she said and sat down on the corner of the bed. One of their text books was sitting open on the desk. He’d obviously been sitting here reading it. Turning, she saw a pile of monstrously boring books by the side of his bed. There was no TV or magazines, just books and the odd personal item. Not a single discarded piece of clothing lay on the floor. No food anywhere. “What do you do in here all day?”

  He didn’t answer, still stood by the door as if he didn’t know what to do with this intrusion into his personal space. Esme looked over at him. “So tell me about the business you’ve chosen.”

  “A café,” he finally said.

  “Oh, I know all about cafes.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Really, are you an expert, then?”

  “Running a café is a very different prospect from being a customer in one.”

  There were more books along one row in a bookshelf next to the desk. Then some things lying across a shelf below. Esme rose to have a look. There was a watch, old with a worn leather strap. Obviously, inherited from someone. Cartier, old Cartier. The metal of the dial was cool under her fingers. There was also some little figurine whittled in wood. A brass compass. These things all had meaning to him.

  As she placed everything back after picking them up, he corrected them back into the position he wanted them. Everything was laid out very ex
actly. Everything about him was so contained. It was in a way unnatural.

  “Well, maybe we should go to a café, then,” she said.

  “That’s hardly necessary.” Defeated, he sat down in the chair by the desk. His skirt sleeves were rolled up and blond hair covered his arms. Using his hand, he stoked down his face. “Fine, one café.”

  Whatever had just passed between them, she’d won.

  Chapter 14

  It had been a long time since Roan had done something as mundane as bringing a bottle of wine to a dinner party. Granted, it was grabbed from the hotel, but it was the thought that counted—that they would do what everyone else did when invited to a dinner party.

  “Hello,” Alice said brightly as she opened the door. “Welcome. We’re sitting out on the patio. I hope you’re hungry. We have Javier in to cook for us from Patron. He’s amazing.”

  Roan could see the woman chiding herself for jabbering. Closing the door behind them, she led the way.

  “What’s her thing with peach?” Cheyenne asked, and Roan didn’t know what she was talking about until he noticed that the woman’s whole house was peach. It was nice, expensive furniture, but it was all a little too sorbet soft on the eye. Roan wondered what that said about Alice. The woman turned and smiled as she led them out to the patio where a table had been set and the others were already there, the people he had met the other night.

  They were a very eclectic group. The brother and sister academics, the cold and brusque Russian, and then Alice, who was just happy to have people over. Roan didn’t quite know what to do. This wasn’t stuff he did. Sure, he went to dinner with producers, directors, even crew, and with girls he was trying to get into bed, but this felt like a different kettle of fish. In this environment, he didn’t quite know what was expected of him. Was he the entertainment? Cheyenne seemed comfortable and sat down, reaching for a bottle of wine. Roan was grateful he could just follow her lead. Cheyenne was good like that; nothing seemed to phase her. She could walk into a room of people who hated her and be completely at ease. A useful skill in LA.

  He smiled awkwardly as he sat at the table, still unsure what was expected of him.

  “So, we are spending a whole month in Marrakesh,” Paul said, looking fondly at Alice. “We’ve rented an old madrasa. Absolutely stunning. Living history.”

  “Paul loves Arabesque architecture,” Alice said, still smiling a little too much. But she turned her gaze back at Paul.

  “So what will you do for a month?”

  Paul shrugged. “Eat, read, maybe do a bit of writing.”

  “We’ll shop at the markets every day,” Alice said. “Obviously not for a few months yet until the end of term at the business school. But those are our plans.”

  “You’re welcome to come visit, of course. There’s plenty of room,” Paul said to his sister and Alexi, then caught himself. “You too, naturally. The more the merrier. It’s a great place to get away from it all, and I find it helpful to escape my students every once in a while. They do try your patience.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Roan said, feeling he had to say something, but he did note Paul’s eyes quickly flick to Cheyenne and back.

  “I love Marrakesh,” Cheyenne said. “But we’re not really in a position to make any plans just at the moment, are we?” she said to him.

  No, Roan was still freaked enough at having no immediate plans to agree to something that would mean a commitment to being here. He wasn’t entirely sure he could handle being here. Although the fact that having no job to run off to was so confrontational for him probably meant he needed to be here. “Bit soon to do any planning. Still trying to find my way around.”

  “I remember when I first arrived,” Rosalie said. “Paul had to drive me around everywhere, but you soon get the hang of it. Do you have a car?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You can borrow one until you get your own,” Alexi said.

  “That’s sweet, Alexi,” Cheyenne said, almost as if she was teasing him. There was clearly some tension between her and everyone around the table, but not so anyone was rude to her. Maybe she was that member everyone in the group tolerated. There was always one, and Cheyenne seemed to be it. Then again, on face value, these did not seem like her kind of people. Fashion was, by far, not a concern in this group. It wasn’t something that floated his boat, exactly, but by occupation, he had to know what he was doing in that department. Alexi was alright, but the others skirted close to being disastrous, which was actually quite refreshing. These were not people who would judge him on what he wore.

  “Culturally, there is so much to explore here in Spain. Do you speak Spanish, Mr. Hancock?” His name sounded funny in her crisp accent, almost as if it was difficult to say.

  “A little. Mostly forgotten high school Spanish. But it’s amazing how much you remember when you have to apply yourself.”

  “Once learned, it comes back easily,” she said. “I bet you’ll be speaking fluently fairly quickly. The Spanish culture has a habit of sucking you in. Have you been around old town?” she continued.

  “No, I haven’t really had a chance to go anywhere.”

  “It’s lovely to walk around there.”

  It sounded absurd, simply walking around a place with no purpose. Hiking, he understood. It was a purpose all in itself, but just to wander around the street with no purpose. It wasn’t something he did. “Might have to give that a try someday.”

  Rosalie blushed. “I hope I haven’t put my foot in it. With your fame, it might be difficult for you to walk around freely. I would guess in LA it would be hard.”

  “People don’t walk much in LA, but no, it would attract attention. Probably end up plastered all over social media.”

  “I have to be honest; I don’t get social media,” Paul said. “Why would you want to broadcast what you’re doing every moment of the day? Obviously for someone like you, I can understand, but no one is interested in what I’m doing at any one point.”

  “I am,” Alice said.

  “Yes, but I tend to come home and regale it all to you in person at the end of the day.”

  Alice squeezed his arm.

  “Who needs to bother with conversation, when you can have a unilateral relationship with the Twitter universe?”

  “Perhaps for people who are seeking to avoid your long-winded diatribes, Paul,” Rosalie said teasingly.

  “Fine, I concede your point. But then you’re not on Twitter yourself.”

  “God no. I have enough to do without taking the time to inform people what I’m doing.”

  “I think the point is about connection,” Cheyenne said. “It’s fun. I have some absolute darlings following me. If I ever need a pick me up, they’re right there, happy to talk. I adore them, and they adore me. It’s a very simple relationship.”

  “Anyone who wished to listen to me prattle on typically does it because it’s compulsory for their degree. And they pay for the… I wouldn’t call it torture—”

  “Yes, you would,” Rosalie said.

  “Alright, fine. Even I bore myself with some of the stuff I have to teach, but you can’t walk before you crawl. I would perhaps consider putting up some photography.”

  Paul started talking about his photography. Alice blushed discreetly, which Roan noticed. There was something about Paul’s photography that embarrassed her. Roan guessed he took some of her, probably nude and now she blushed at the mere thought of it. It made him chuckle. This group was so wrapped up in their own concerns, the outside world didn’t seem to touch them.

  It wasn’t exactly as if he felt excluded from the conversation. All heads would turn to him if he spoke, but it also wasn’t required. He wasn’t the centre of attention, which was nice. He could just sit back and listen. These people clearly loved their partners, and sister and brother good-naturedly ribbed each other. This was easy. It was as if nothing was expected from him. There was no purpose here other than to be in each others’ company. No o
ne was selling anything, seeking favours, or some other form of advancement.

  And these were happy people. It was apparent on their faces. They have everything they wanted, sitting here with their partner and friends. There wasn’t that edge of desperation of trying to capitalise on a situation, or feeling like being held back until released from an obligation. Nothing here was an obligation for any of them; this was just dinner and light-hearted banter with an eclectic bunch. In LA, he could usually see what type of persona someone was trying to present by just looking at them. It wasn’t important to project the right image here. They weren’t bothering in front of him, and Roan had the feeling they would agree without question or concern to anything he wanted to project.

  Chapter 15

  Was it a good idea to attend the Dunbury Industries beach party? Cheryl wasn’t sure. On the surface, it would help to have good neighbourly relationships. A good portion of the people here were their clients too, and it never hurt to have good and deep relationships with clients. People underestimated how much of the client/stylist relationship was about trust.

  All her people were there—Dean, Sam, Natalie, and the new girl, Chelsea. They’d decided to travel together in two cars, arriving at the busy carpark along the beachfront.

  The smell of barbeque was wafting along the carpark, and the mumble of hundreds of voices like the buzz of a beehive met them.

  “Should be interesting,” Dean said. Cheryl hoped he was right.

  Walking around the landscaped garden, they reached the grassed area where the event was held. It was too crowded for them to be particularly noticed, but Cheryl soon spotted familiar faces and smiled at them.

  A long table had been laid out, filled with all kinds of food. Dominic was certainly not stingy with his spread. There was enough food to feed an army. Some were sitting on benches, others on picnic blankets or just standing around with plates in their hands. In fact, most looked more informal than she typically saw them. Dunbury Industries have quite a formal dress code, but perhaps that was because Dominic always wore suits.