CUL-DE-SAC (On The Edge Book 1)

by YILDIRIM, M. E.

  Yet he managed to stop himself from taking her hard this time, gritting his teeth because Chloé’s words kept reverberating in his head and he was hell-bent on proving he could offer Catalina more than a rough ride.

  He cupped the back of one silky thigh and rocked against her, allowing himself to love her with his body while withholding from her any kind of verbal declaration.

  CHAPTER 40

  Catalina caught herself reaching for her cell, nearly dialing Chloé’s number more than a dozen times, wanting to share with her this or that. It was a reflexive reaction after years of doing the same without pausing for a second to think it through.

  Thinking was not only overrated, she decided, it was also a never-ending hell, because no matter from which angle she kept looking at it, what she had considered friendship had irrevocably come to an end.

  However, culling out habits that had been such a big part of her life demanded time and Cat suspected it was yet another wound in her heart that was not going to scab over. Not anytime soon at least, because while Chloé kept faking her true feelings toward her, Catalina was fully and truly invested in what she thought they had shared.

  What kind of a lesson lay in that? She wondered.

  The kind that said she should beware trusting people in general because apparently she was not such an expert when it came to knowing human nature and judging other people’s character?

  Harsh, she thought, especially now when she was in love and attempting to be happy no matter the twists and turns of this relationship.

  Another thing she needed her friend for. Cat sighed, trying to battle the sudden tears filling her eyes, but she was on her own yet again.

  She should have been used to people disappearing from her life one way or another. They were all travelers, passers-by, not permanent residents. How stupid of her to let herself get so attached and let it bother and hurt her anew.

  She couldn’t allow herself to wonder about Xan’s presence in her life, as if afraid to tempt fate. He hadn’t been a part of her path for long but his straightforwardness tumbled down all the walls Catalina had built up around herself, letting him close while she was known for keeping her distance with everyone at all times.

  She had no idea how she stopped herself from telling him she loved him, especially after the beautiful way in which he made love to her. Now she was puzzled over what exactly was stopping her from it.

  Cat believed he wasn’t indifferent toward her, but Xan was not the kind of man who was used to expressing his feelings left and right. Neither was she, for that matter, and it was one of those things bringing them closer to each other in her opinion, even if they didn’t feel like admitting having anything in common in the first place.

  No matter how different their backgrounds were, the broken foundation of their childhoods cast a long shadow on their lives to this day. As a result of the tragedy that split hers in half, Catalina was starved for all the things she had been deprived of early in life, chasing the unknown in order to understand it.

  She suspected in Xan’s case, it was the other way around; he didn’t believe in commitments based on emotions, running away from anything he perceived as a weakness.

  But she refused to acknowledge they had no future, she thought, rubbing at her throbbing temples when the doorbell’s sound reverberated around her, pulling her away from her thoughts.

  She stifled the need to groan out loud when she opened the door to stand face to face with nobody else but Florence Bennett.

  Her grandmother looked unblemished as usual, and Cat couldn’t recall even one instance–anything really–regarding Florence that had ever been out of order. Even when they were living together, Catalina had never seen her leaving her bedroom without a perfect outfit and subdued make-up.

  “Grandmother,” she said, obediently pressing a kiss to Florence’s cheek.

  “Catalina.” The older woman gave her a once-over and her lips became the thin displeased line Cat was used to seeing.

  She had no idea what was wrong with her leggings and a tunic this time, especially since she was spending the whole day indoors. She decided that asking about it would only provoke an unnecessary discussion she preferred to avoid.

  “Can I offer you a chamomile tea?” Cat asked, knowing it was her guest’s drink of choice no matter the circumstances.

  “No, thank you, I’m on my way to meet with the committee, but I stopped by to see your dress for Saturday,” Florence announced.

  “I’m picking it up today,” Cat answered.

  “You must be jesting, Catalina; the ball is just around the corner and you are trying to tell me that you are not ready?” She raised one eyebrow as if questioning Catalina’s common sense, intelligence and everything in between with one expression alone.

  “That is not what I said. I simply stated I have chosen one already but it demanded small changes and I will have it later today.” She smiled coolly.

  It was a lie, pure and simple, but she was determined to stick to her version at any cost. She would have never heard the end of it otherwise, Cat thought. She could live without adding another disappointment to the long list of her offences against etiquette, propriety and Florence herself that her grandmother was undoubtedly in possession of.

  When she was a child, she often wondered whether she was a Bennett at all, trying to find a reason for her grandmother’s constant displeasure with her. She liked to imagine she was adopted or similar other scenarios that could explain the constant cold shoulder Florence gave her. But the family likeness didn’t allow her to maintain this illusion for long.

  She was no longer a child but it still bothered her, and some part of her kept awaiting some kind of a change in their relationship, knowing at the same time it would never come to pass.

  There were, however, types of disappointment a person learned to live with, no matter how much weight they were putting on the heart and pulling it down. She imagined it to be something akin to adding stones to an ever-growing rampart, except it wasn’t meant to protect but slowly tear a person down.

  “You have no partner either, I presume? Luckily I can avert this catastrophe.” Florence looked at her.

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve already made plans on my own; thank you though,” Cat smiled politely.

  It was hardly the first time her grandmother had tried to fix her up with someone and after a few tries, Catalina started to avoid it like one might a plague. She had no doubt Florence had the best intentions, but the problem was she imagined Cat with the type of man her granddaughter had zero interest in.

  “Oh? Why is this the first time I’ve heard about it? What is his name?” For the first time, there was a note of interest in the tone of her voice.

  “Alexander Thorpe and I’ve been seeing him for a while now.”

  “Alexander… good name, but do I know any Thorpes? Have I met his parents on some occasion?” Florence tilted her head, trying to remember something that had never happened.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Catalina saw no need to remind her grandmother she met Xan that night at the exhibition.

  “It doesn’t matter, I suppose; you will introduce him to me on Saturday.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject as if all was said and done.

  In her mind it was, Cat thought, and felt a wave of trepidation crashing into her at the thought of upcoming ball. Not only because she didn’t like those kinds of events and it was something she could never agree with Florence on.

  It was also going to be the first time she would have to face Chloé after the infamous night at the club. She wished she could say her former friend would behave with class and tact, but could she be sure of anything at this point?

  The fact Xan was going with her could work as adding fuel to an already existing fire.

  “I realize we never saw eye to eye, Catalina, but I hope you know I wish for you to be happy and settle down. That’s what your father would expect of you and of me to see it through.” Florence
said, and as much as the first part could soften Cat a little, the second caused her spine to go ramrod straight.

  She hated when her grandmother acted as if she had the smallest idea what her deceased father would do or think. If she had known his heart so well, she would have never forced him to let go of his dream to become a photographer and pursue a career he had zero interest in instead, she thought bitterly.

  But there was no point in bringing it up; she made the mistake one time when she was on the cusp of her maturity and it was the final drop that finally divided the ever growing precipice between her and her sole living family member.

  “Of course.” She smiled politely because that was expected of her.

  “Excellent; see you on Saturday, Catalina,” Florence said and a moment later was gone, believing her duty fulfilled.

  It was all about duty and that was another thing she had never allowed Cat to forget.

  She knew that the very same thing along with guilt were not going to take their hooks out of her until she went shopping and made her words true by getting the dress today.

  She really was a Bennett after all, she thought with a deep sigh.

  Work was the last thing on her mind again, but Jonah had called her just that morning and she shared with him an idea about another exhibition. It was the kind forcing him to look outside of the box, which was precisely why it spiked his interest.

  Catalina smiled to herself because it was basically as good as a done deal. Jonah wasn’t the type of person to waste time once he set his mind on something. His determination usually spurred hers as well, and whenever they worked together, the results were satisfying for both of them.

  Yet she felt too restless to start working on the project and it was not an unusual state after one of her grandmother’s visits. They were definitely not working well in tandem and it was a sad summary of their relationship.

  She walked into the kitchen, thinking about throwing herself into cooking or baking in order to offer her mind a moment of respite. Yet her eyes landed on an empty cup sitting on one of the shelves of her cupboard and a vision took root in her head.

  She took it and walked toward her studio before she could talk herself out of it. She placed it on her work table and reached for the Nikon she got from Xan.

  What was photography about if not an elusive moment? Cat asked herself. What was life about if not the same for that matter?

  It was the instant before and right after, the smallest hesitation of a finger hovering above a shutter button. Hope and failure both suspended in the air like a never-fading echo.

  For Catalina this was what magic was all about as well.

  She had done it countless times in the past and hoped for many more in the future. An attempt to capture the perfection in the lens of her camera was simply her obsession. She considered it not such a bad thing, as far as obsessions went.

  Perhaps it had become so important to her for the very reason that she was full of flaws herself. Florence didn’t believe in hiding shortcomings from the world; the only solution was to destroy what was staining the perfect image. She did her best trying to rid Catalina of her imperfections, but the outcome was hardly satisfying for both of them, she thought now.

  They were still there, like tiny scars hidden deep within her where eyes couldn’t see. If she had learned anything under her grandmother’s care, it was that she was the problem herself because she was flawed at her very core.

  So Florence made sure Cat was nothing but a perfect doll on the surface instead.

  Always with the surface, because appearances were the only thing that ever mattered. It was not important what she was thinking or feeling. None of it had any right to bleed out to the outside for the world to see.

  Every step and every breath Catalina had ever taken was ruled by the seemingly fragile and time-weathered hand of her grandmother. But it was one more illusion because truth be told, it was more of an iron hand in a velvet glove.

  Yet Cat loved her only remaining family member regardless, even if the tender emotion was not what Florence cared about. The only thing she ever wanted was absolute control over the child she had been given. To own her, to shape her in a mirror-like reflection of herself, to curb all the possible mistakes before Cat even got a chance to make them.

  Catalina wanted to rebel like every other child would, convinced about her right to cry in the very least. A stinging slap to her cheek proved her wrong and taught her otherwise pretty fast. Tears were yet another weakness, a beginning of the end, a tool of destruction and the final downfall.

  Catalina blinked repeatedly, trying to wrench herself from the memory that her grandmother’s visit brought forth, and focus on the present instead.

  An irrefutable fact was that for Xan she seemed to be enough. He had never pointed out her mistakes or flaws, perhaps because he had no intentions of pretending to be perfect himself. Was that why she found him so attractive from the get-go–for being far from impeccable and pristine?

  Perfection was relative after all, wasn’t it?

  What one person condemned as broken, another found attractive and wanted to admire the cracks.

  She looked down at her white knuckles clenched convulsively around her Nikon. She forced herself to breathe deeply, steadily, no matter how much she was shaking inside.

  She tilted her head to the side, looking through the lens, trying to decide on the perfect angle.

  Then she reached with her hand, shoving the cup off the table.

  But her concentration was not on admiring her work of destruction, but the firm push of her finger against the shutter just before the sound of broken porcelain could split the silence.

  A small smile quirked her full lips, and butterflies in her stomach roused in excitement. She knew she managed to capture this elusive moment.

  The perfect fall without shattering.

  Sometimes falling didn’t mean an irreversible damage but a leap of faith and an attempt at freeing oneself from the imprisonment.

  CHAPTER 41

  Xan looked at himself in the mirror and snorted out loud, unable to stop himself.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered.

  Tuxedo, he was wearing a damn tuxedo. The world as he knew it was surely heading toward the end.

  “Tempting, but you are not my type, boy,” Kel smirked. “What is the big occasion anyway?”

  “Cat’s grandmother is being rewarded for her dedication to charity work or some other crap like that.” He shrugged because it didn’t matter to him one way or another; he was going only because of Catalina.

  “Don’t be so flippant about it; you could take better care instead of limiting yourself to imagining when you’ll get her out of whatever dashing dress she is going to wear tonight.” Kel told him.

  Xan’s lips twitched because it was true to the letter, or close enough.

  He couldn’t wait to see her, to be with her, but no matter how much time they spent in each other’s company, it seemed not nearly enough, and he could swear he heard the ticking of an invisible clock in his head, counting down their time together.

  Not that anything in Catalina’s behavior suggested it, but the number Chloé did on her didn’t leave her unscathed. Hell, it affected him as well and he was not even the one who had been friends with the bitch, he thought.

  Tonight they were going to find themselves surrounded by people from her natural environment. From his point of view, agreeing to this madness was reminiscent of a suicide mission on his part, yet how could he deny her? He wondered if it would finally open Cat’s eyes and make her see him for what he really was or if they were going to pretend the obvious differences between them didn’t exist at all.

  She knew from the beginning he was a thug and a son of a bitch in general; he left her no space for the benefit of the doubt, but Catalina didn’t seem fazed by any of it.

  He kept expecting her to back down more times he could count, yet she was still adamantly next to his side.

&nb
sp; When was enough going to be truly enough?

  He felt tempted to tell her the rest–tell her all–just to speed up the inevitable, hoping she would never learn it at the same time. These two sides kept warring within him constantly, driving him mad.

  He couldn’t understand her and perhaps it was one of the reasons he couldn’t put her out of his mind. Unearthing what made her tick had become a compulsion, his obsession, or maybe both and he was unwilling to let any of it go. Not before he knew all there was to her and maybe not even then, he added inwardly.

  The fact he had nearly forfeited his fight for her should have been a startling wake-up call, instantly making him pull the plug on the relationship before it got even more serious. But the fact was, he really couldn’t force himself to give a fuck about the bloody sport, which used to hold his whole focus. His days in the club were numbered and the end wasn’t coming fast enough, if anyone asked him. Tony was not leaving him any other option, constantly bringing forth the past while it should have forever stayed buried.

  Besides, looking at the bigger picture made him realize he was a winner anyway, because he had Cat and a man couldn’t get luckier than that, Xan decided and sighed. It was ridiculous, not to mention embarrassing, how much he wanted her.

  She was the first person since Robert Thorpe who wielded any kind of power over him. It made him break out in cold sweat because it reminded him of another sliver of his past when circumstances forced him to be a ‘let-sleeping-dogs-lie’ kind of man. There was no maliciousness in her whatsoever, but that was beyond the point.

  Catalina had the means to knock him down and he was past the point where he could tap out.

  “Hey, Romeo, where is this big shindig taking place?” Kel wanted to know.

  “Fairmont Miramar Hotel.”

  “Hot damn, I should have pounded your ass to the mat and taken your place at Catalina’s side.” Kel whistled, but catching Xan’s look in the mirror, he raised his hands. “Kidding man, she is too young for me. Besides, she has one horrible flaw.”