"So these are your friends," Peter said, looking around their part of the bar. "Sometimes I forget how young you are.”
"Don't you have a group like this?"
Peter smiled. "Once. They disintegrate after a while, as will yours.”
Looking around her group of friends, she didn't want to believe it, but Peter’s predictions had a habit of coming true. She couldn't imagine life without her friends. She couldn't quite imagine what Peter's life was like without them either. “You’re just a barrel of laughs sometimes, you know that?”
"And who is this? What have you not been telling us?" Sarah said, blatantly checking out Peter, who was leaning casually on the bar. Alex tended to forget how impressive Peter was on first acquaintance.
"This is Peter," Alex said. "My degenerate colleague.”
"Degenerate?" Sarah asked, smiling mischievously.
"I prefer hedonistic," Peter responded.
"Do you?" Sarah said curiously and Alex rolled her eyes.
"Changes girls like he changes socks, probably quicker, actually.” As she'd brought this viper into their midst, she felt duty-bound to inform her friends exactly what he was. "Pathological aversion to commitment.” Peter gave her a warning look. "And my date for the evening," she warned back to inform him that this was not his hunting ground and that he was there for a reason. Peter grinned slyly at her.
They chatted for a while. Alex's warning didn't seem to deter Sarah, but if it went any further, Alex would have to inform Sarah exactly how horrid Peter was. If nothing else, warning her friends away from Peter served to distract her from Marco's presence. He definitely knew she was there; she felt his attention on her from time to time, and she wondered if this was as awkward for him as it was for her.
Taking a sip of her drink, she wondered how soon she could leave. All things considered, the evening was going fine so far. She hadn't fallen apart and the reintroduction to the group was complete. She did owe Peter a favour, which would probably come back to haunt her at some point.
After ordering an olive tapenade from the bar's tapas menu, she excused herself and made her way to the bathroom, running into Marco in the small corridor that led to the restrooms. She hadn't noticed that he'd left the bar area. Stopping in her tracks, she waited as he came towards her along the narrow corridor, her heart pausing painfully.
"Alex," he said; her name rolling off his tongue. She'd forgotten how much she loved his voice, how it seemed to tickle over her skin.
"Marco.”
Only a few feet from her, he stopped, blocking the way through. He was holding his jacket in his hand and now only wore the T-shirt with a purposefully designed loose neckline, so soft it naturally showed off every curve of his muscles—likely very expensive. "How are you?"
"Good.”
"Good," he said in affirmation, looking uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something, but didn't know what. "You look good.”
"Thanks. You too," she said, smiling awkwardly, wishing this would end. She went to move past and he moved sideways for her.
"That's Peter Dunham, isn't it?" he said as she'd passed him. Unwillingly, Alex turned back to face him.
"Yes.”
"He's a creep.”
"He's my colleague.”
"You can do better than him.”
"Marco, you don't get to tell me who to hang out with.”
"You don't need to hang with guys like him. He's a pure player.”
"I know what he is, Marco," she said tersely and turned, marching to the bathroom. Irrationally, she felt tears coming on, hating that she still had such emotional reactions to their break up. After pulling herself together, she returned to the bar, wishing she could leave, but felt she was unable to as she would obvious be running away. Instead, she ordered another tapas and another drink, feeling like everyone was watching her at that moment, except Sarah whose attention was firmly on Peter. Maybe it had been a bad idea coming here, and bringing Peter.
After another half hour of pretending to be into the conversation, Peter proposed it was time to leave. Alex wasn't sure if he'd just had enough of the charade or if he picked up on her discomfort. The former, she suspected.
Peter pulled on his coat and led her out, with his hand on her lower back. Suddenly, Alex missed being part of a couple, having someone there for her. Even though this was a complete charade, she still wanted it. It was the first time an understanding of what she wanted had filtered through the quagmire of pain, sorrow and doubt this break up had left her in. For a while now, nothing seemed to break through the cloying sadness, but here was a glimmer of a future and her mind grasped onto it like a lifeline. This was a good sign; her subconscious seemed to finally be turning away from its fixation with her wounds to what it was she wanted, and it was still the same as before: being with someone—someone who wanted to be with her. A small sense of excitement filled her. Maybe she was finally starting to recover. Peter was obviously not a part of that, but he stood in for an idea.
"Alex," she heard Marco behind her when she walked out on the street. Both she and Peter turned. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
Peter looked at her like it was up to her. "I'll get some smokes," Peter said as walked towards the late night convenience store. Cursing inwardly, she turned back to Marco.
"What do you want, Marco?"
"Don't go.”
Alex knew Marco thought she was going home with Peter. There was still that part of her that wanted to assure him that there was nothing between her and Peter, but he didn't have the right to know that. "I have to get on with my life, Marco," she said.
"Not with him.”
"It's my business, and it isn't yours.”
"I still care about you.” His eyes were deep and earnest, and she could tell that it cost him to confess it. Marco wasn't like Peter, who would say whatever he had to in order manipulate her into doing what he wanted. Marco's mouth was drawn and she could see the tension in him. He was suffering and she reacted to seeing it, but this needed to happen. She had to watch out and be strong for herself or she would always be a doormat.
Marco …," she started.
"We can still recover from this. We were good together. We still can be.”
"That's the point, Marco. We weren't good together. You were pretty clear in pointing that out. And you can't change your mind now because some other guy is in the picture.” She was fully aware that his regard for how good they'd been had only surfaced when she turned her attention to someone else. This could well be just a knee-jerk reaction on Marco's part, so he could string her along—not really wanting to be in a relationship, but not letting her go either. She was not going to go on like that; she'd seen that before and refused to get herself into that situation.
Marco watched her intently, as if he was working out what to say. "I miss you.”
"You'll get over it.” She started to turn away, but Marco stopped her, grabbing her by the elbow. Something in her elated at him touching her. No, she couldn't react that way. He was not hers.
"I'm sorry for what happened; I wish it wouldn't have. I would undo it if I could.”
"You can't say that now," she said, feeling her anger surface. "You can't just yank me around now because I'm moving on.” She was starting to move on, even if technically it wasn't with Peter. She knew in her gut that she was ready to turn her attention to the future.
"So, you turn away from me, who cares about you, for some guy who is only using you?"
"And you were so much better?" she snapped.
"I never used you.”
"Are you sure? It doesn't matter, Marco," she said holding up her arms, wishing this would end. It was dragging her right back into the quagmire that was just loosening its grip on her. "I don't want to deal with it.”
"I want us to give it another try.” The temptation was there, just to walk into his arms and forget everything, but she couldn't forget. If she just forgave him and gave in, it would always be there—the next time he
didn't feel like being in a relationship anymore. He just couldn't be what she needed—he wasn't ready for a relationship like that, and that was just the base truth.
"I don't," she said and it hurt to say it—hurt to give up on him.
"I don't believe you.”
"You broke up with me, Marco. You just didn't feel like being with me anymore, remember. What? Our relationship was cramping your style? That is how much our relationship meant to you, and that's not what I'm looking for.”
"I would undo it if I could.”
"Well, it's a bell you can't un-ring. I can't trust you. How could I trust you when our relationship means that little? And why would I put up with that? I was a casualty of your mood, and that is not good enough for me. That will never be good enough.”
"And he is?"
Alex rolled her eyes in annoyance. "He's not important, and neither are you—anymore. Go back inside, Marco. Go hang out with your friends, get drunk, hit on some drunk girls. I don't care. You're not my problem anymore.”
She walked away as fast as she could. She hadn't really gotten a feel for how deep her anger was until now. She really shouldn’t care if Marco hurt, part of her hoped he did.
"Faced down your demons, then?" Peter said, leaning on the door frame of the convenience store.
"Shut up, Peter.”
"You're sexy when you're angry," he said and grinned. For some reason, he knew how to dissipate her anger, but instead of amused, it left her feeling utterly drained. "You sure you don't want to come back to my place?"
Alex closed her eyes because she felt so drained and the temptation of filling the void with something beckoned powerfully. It would be good too, giving in. It would likely be good enough to rock her world. It would make her forget it all for a while. This was how he got Lacey, Alex recognised—temptation.
"If you weren't such a complete mirage, Peter, I would adore you forever," she said and leant up to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks for being there for me tonight. I owe you one.”
"Then come home with me.”
"I'm not a masochist," she smiled. "And you are just too much punishment for me.”
Stepping away, she hailed a taxi and had the good fortune of getting one straight away.
* * *
Chapter 19:
* * *
Returning to the bar, Marco felt his chest tightened. Having seen Alex turn up at the bar with that guy had been confronting. He hadn't expected it and seeing her with someone like Peter Dunham had been plain disturbing. And then she'd walked away, saying their relationship hadn't been good enough. He didn't know how to take that. Part of him was offended, but it also hurt—although not as much as seeing her with another guy.
Marco had a feeling of foreboding, but what really got him was that she didn't seem to believe they had a chance of getting back together. He'd kind of invested in that assumption, but she didn't seem interested.
"You alright, mate?" Gavin asked.
"Course," he said, suppressing the stress and adrenalin in his system. He certainly couldn't appear to react to the situation; it wasn't done.
"Alex is moving on, eh? You know that guy?"
"I know of him and he's bad news.”
"Alex is a big girl.”
Technically it was her choice who she saw, as it had been her choice to not even try to repair their relationship.
Images of Alex and that guy tortured him, but he tried to push them away, taking a swig of his beer. He didn't know where to turn; likely the best option would be to get blind drunk. Actually, it seemed the only course of action at the moment. Everything just seemed to hurt and he didn't want to feel it. He ordered two shots.
Marco woke with a pounding headache. He didn't remember much, other than Alex turning up at the bar and then going home with that smarmy guy. Rubbing his eyes with his palms, he tried to sit up, but groaned his way back down. He'd lost the plot last night and now he was suffering for it.
He had to collect Charlotte and fly to Lichtenstein that afternoon, but first, he needed to buy a wedding present. Dragging himself into the shower, he tried to get his mind in order. Images of Alex kept flooding into his head, threatening to consume him. He really didn't want to think about that mess at the moment.
Dion was in the kitchen when Marco made his way there, fully dressed to leave for Oxford Street. "How're you feeling?" Dion asked.
"Like crap.”
"You hit it hard last night.”
"I don't remember anything.”
"So you don't remember us ending up at that strip club?"
"No!?"
"Gavin had that blow up with his girlfriend.”
It was all blank to Marco—not that he particularly wanted to remember anything. He just wished he wasn't feeling so awful right now. "I've got to go," he said after swallowing some orange juice. Last night he'd over-reacted; had run from something he didn't want to face. It had served no good whatsoever, but it was the only course of action he could think of at the time. Better than sitting imaging Alex in bed with that guy—which he probably had anyway—at least he didn't remember it.
He bought a large coffee down by the tube station and waited for the next train to come along. It was a lot less crowded with only a few people on the platform—most of them pushing prams. The early morning weekend activities for families was completely alien to him, but Marco had learnt that it was best to tackle Oxford Street early, before the crowds turned up. Saturday on Oxford Street was madness—it didn't matter what time of the year, rain or shine.
They landed in Zurich around dinner time. Charlotte had a large suitcase loaded into the back of the waiting limousine.
"I hope we're going to eat when we get there. I'm starving.”
"Do you want to get something here?"
"No, let's go.”
From what he understood, it would take them an hour to get to Vadez. He was tired, but he'd finally started feeling alright after lunch.
Sitting down in the car, he placed the box holding the crystal vase he'd bought—just. Turned out he'd spent quite a bit of his bank balance last night, on things he didn't remember.
"I love this area," Charlotte said. "It's so old world. They really hold to their traditions here.”
Marco didn't really know what she was referring to, but he was glad someone was getting something out of this trip.
It was dark outside and the shapes and shadows of the countryside moved silently passed as they were driven across the border to Liechtenstein. Being the first time he'd really stopped all day, his mind fleeted back to Alex, wondering what she was doing. Maybe she was spending the weekend with Peter Dunham, cozied up in her room. He tried to tell himself that their breakup was a good thing; that it had to happen, but it was hard to convince himself when there was some blond git that had taken his place.
The hotel was five star, styled in the European taste for elegant sparseness. A tall, athletic woman smiled tightly behind the check-in desk. "You are here with the Luc party?" she said in the clipped English that the Germans managed.
"We are," Charlotte offered and the woman returned her attention to her computer, tapping away.
Marco looked around and spotted his uncle at the bar, talking to a man Marco didn’t know. It had been a while since he'd seen Damon, who yet hadn't seen him.
"You are staying in the same room?" the woman behind the desk asked.
"Separate," Marco said, really not in the mood for sharing a room. Actually, he should have checked on the arrangements before coming. Sam said everything was sorted and he hadn't even thought of the room situation. Staying in the same room with Charlotte would just be awkward. The woman looked annoyed and kept tapping on her computer. "Here you are," she finally said, handing over two small paper jackets with room cards inside. "Unfortunately you are not on the same floor as this arrangement was not known to us.”
"Fine," Marco said, not really sure if she was being critical or if she just came across that way. He'd learnt th
at Europeans really were different. Charlotte took her card, looking up at him. "You go ahead. I need to talk to someone.”
"Shall we have dinner or should I just get room service?"
"Should we meet here in an hour?" he asked, feeling guilty for actually wanting to leave her to take care of herself.
After saying goodbye, Charlotte left for the elevator and Marco turned his attention back to his uncle. As Marco's father hadn't been in the picture since they were born, Marco had idolised Damon growing up. Damon made everything look easy and Marco had tried hard to emulate him in most ways. Although a little aloof, Damon had served as a good role model, proving that if you go for what you want, you can get it if you are smart and tenacious enough.
"Marco," Damon said as Marco moved into the bar. "Just arrived?"
"Damon. Good to see you. Have you been here long?" They embraced quickly and Damon introduced him to the man he'd been speaking to—Jacque St. Julien.
"You must be on the groom's side," Marco said, remembering Charlotte mentioning the St. Julien family.
"I am, as are many of the people here.”
"Is everyone staying at this hotel?"
"We have the whole hotel," the man said, placing his drink down. "Now I must see what has become of my wife.” After a nod, the man left.
"It's good to see you, Marco," Damon said. "How are you getting on in London?"
"I won my first account," he said, happy to have a success to report. A fleeting thought of Alex passed through his head as she had paid for the account going his way. Damon wouldn't understand feeling guilt over the vanquished; Damon was ruthless in business—although there was the added complication that Alex had been his girlfriend at the time.
"Well done," Damon said and turned to the bar. "Do you want a drink?
"Sure. A whiskey.”
Damon raised his finger and the young waitress came immediately. She was pretty and seemed captured by Damon's attention, smiling broadly as he ordered two neat whiskeys.
The Gamble (D'Arth Series Book 3) Page 12