The Importance of Being Married: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  I looked at him hopefully, and he laughed. “You don’t want to know about all my girlfriends.”

  Not particularly, I thought.

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  “Really?” He looked at me incredulously, then shrugged. “Well all right then, I’ll tell you,” he said eventually, his mouth creasing upward and his eyes twinkling. “But this just reinforces my view of you, Jessica Rarebit. You are unlike any woman I have ever had the pleasure of having dinner with. So, shall I start at the beginning and move forward, or start with the most recent and move backward?”

  “Whichever you prefer,” I said, smiling brightly with no teeth. “I really don’t mind either way.”

  It took the whole of dinner to get through them. I counted up to forty-two, but I could have missed a couple here or there.

  “And you never wanted to stay with any of them?” I asked, genuinely interested now. “Like, not even to see what it was like?”

  Anthony shook his head. “I stayed as long as it made sense to. But why settle? Would you settle, Jess?”

  “Settle? I…oh, no, I mean I…” I smiled, feeling myself getting flustered. I’d spent my whole life determined not to settle, convinced I’d never even get married.

  He looked at me intently and took my hand. “Would you settle for someone you knew wasn’t perfect? Or would you wait for the right person to come along?”

  I gulped. “Oh, I think I’d wait,” I said, my chest tightening. He was stupidly good looking. Not that I was going to let a beautiful face turn me into jelly. I was far too strong for that sort of thing. I was just going to flirt, like I’d promised I would.

  Anthony grinned and let go of my hand. “Exactly. People might look at me and say I’m a philanderer. But I’m not—I’m an incurable romantic, that’s all. All I want is the right woman to come along.”

  “You…do?” I asked curiously. “You’re not just playing the field?”

  The bill arrived and Anthony immediately put a card down, holding up his hand when I attempted to go halves.

  “Not at all,” he said, looking intently into my eyes. “I want what everyone wants. Someone special to love. Is that naïve, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, no, no, it isn’t,” I said tentatively. Of course it is, I was thinking. Completely naïve. At least I thought it was…I kicked myself. Of course it was naïve. I was getting way too carried away. The idea that there was some special love out there just waiting for you was insane. People built their lives around beliefs like that, then wondered why they were disappointed years later.

  “Me, too.” Anthony smiled. “Although I’m sure some therapist would tell me I’m a hopeless case. Just trying to replace the love of my old mother.”

  “Your old mother?”

  “Dead mother.”

  My eyes widened. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Anthony shrugged. “Why should you? It’s no big deal. Both my parents died awhile back. To be honest, we weren’t that close.”

  “You weren’t?”

  Anthony shook his head. “They were ambitious. Thought I should make more of myself.”

  “More?” I asked incredulously. “But you’re a huge success.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Anthony said thoughtfully. “But unfortunately they never saw the rise of Milton Advertising. They…they were gone years before.”

  I nodded slowly. I suddenly felt a kinship with Anthony, felt like maybe at some level I actually understood him. “My parents died, too. At least my mother did. When I was little. I…I never knew who my father was.”

  “Really?” Anthony’s eyes crinkled in sympathy. “Poor you. Poor, poor Jess.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. “Not poor,” I said quickly. “I had a grandma who brought me up. It was fine, actually. I’m very lucky.”

  “How did she die? Your mother, I mean.”

  “Car crash,” I said quietly. “Apparently a lorry plowed into her on the motorway. She didn’t stand a chance, Grandma said.”

  Anthony nodded seriously. “I’m really sorry, Jess. That’s awful.”

  “I guess.” I blushed.

  “And what about love? Have you found the right person, Jessica Rarebit?”

  I shrugged, a little embarrassed all of a sudden. There was way too much attention on me for my liking. I needed to change the subject and quickly. “No, no, I haven’t,” I said, scanning my brain for new subject matter.

  “You mean this boyfriend of yours isn’t the one?”

  My head jerked up. “Boyfriend?”

  Anthony smiled reassuringly. “Max told me. It’s okay, I’m not judging. Actually I quite like that you have a boyfriend and you’re having dinner with me. I guess it’s all part of the Jessica Rarebit mystique.”

  “Max told you I had a boyfriend?” I started to say indignantly.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No! Why would he say that? Why would he…” I trailed off as I suddenly remembered the funeral. The boyfriend I’d invented out of nowhere. What was it with me and imaginary men? “What I mean is,” I said hurriedly, “is that I don’t have one anymore.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. We split up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need,” I said. “Really. It was just…you know…one of those things.”

  “So you’re young, free, and single?”

  I smiled weakly. “Absolutely. Yes, I am.”

  “Well that’s a turn up for the books,” Anthony said lightly, a smile playing on his lips. “So, after this, do you want to go home?” He smiled expectantly at me. “Or somewhere else?”

  I smiled back nervously. “Um…home?” I said, feeling like I was on a game show. Deal or No Deal. Winner Takes All.

  “Home it is,” Anthony said. “What do you say we get a cab? I’m assuming those shoes are horribly uncomfortable because they look fabulous.”

  “You think? But no, I mean, I can walk,” I said, even though the shoes were shooting needles into my toes. “You get a cab, I’ll be fine.”

  Anthony frowned. “Me? Not a chance. We’ll get a cab and I’ll see you home.”

  “But it’s completely out of your way,” I protested halfheartedly. “It’ll be really expensive.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I own my own company, isn’t it?” Anthony said, his eyes twinkling as he stood up, thanked the maître d’ for a glorious meal, then pulled me out of the restaurant and hailed a cab.

  “You know, I had fun tonight,” he said, leaning back into the leather seat a few seconds later. “I hope you did, too?”

  “Definitely.” I sneaked a peek over at him; he was looking right at me. God, he was gorgeous. He was making my skin feel all prickly with anticipation. But anticipation of what? Was I actually hoping he was going to kiss me?

  “I’m very glad,” Anthony said softly.

  I sat back, every muscle and ligament on high alert. Of course I was hoping he was going to kiss me, I told myself, doing my best to rationalize the situation. I wanted him to kiss me because that was the plan. That was the point of the date. It was the next step of Project Marriage. And if I was getting a strange ache, an odd feeling of longing deep down at the bottom of my stomach, then it was just that I was in character, that I was taking this project very seriously indeed.

  I smiled tentatively; Anthony smiled back, then turned to look out the window, causing my stomach to flip-flop with disappointment. But suddenly I knew what I was going to do. Taking a deep breath, and praying that Ivana knew what she was talking about, I tentatively stretched out a hand and lightly brushed Anthony’s. “You know,” I whispered, trying not to think too much about what I was doing, “it was really nice to…go out with you tonight.” My breath still held, I took his hand in mine, and replicated as far as I could the gentle touching that Ivana had demonstrated in Regent’s Park. My eyes flickered up anxiously; Anthony’s eyes were fixed on my cleavage. Oh my God. It was working.
>
  “The pleasure,” he said, his voice low and husky, “was all mine, Jessica Rarebit.” Slowly, his other arm, which had been leaning along the back of the seat, dropped just a bit and touched my shoulder, then wrapped around me and pulled me toward him. Before I knew it, his lips were on mine and his arms were pulling me into him and it was all I could do to remember to breathe in and out.

  And then suddenly the car stopped and, to my dismay, he pulled away.

  “We’re here,” he whispered. “Let me come up.”

  “Up?”

  “Up,” he confirmed, pulling me toward him again and kissing me. “I don’t want to go.”

  “You…you don’t?” I raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “No, I don’t.”

  It was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea. I wasn’t that sort of girl. Not at all. I was going to say no. It was the only sensible response.

  Only I wasn’t feeling that sensible. I’d never felt less sensible in my life.

  “Maybe you could come up for one coffee…”

  “Coffee. Yes…” Anthony grinned and in one seamless movement, he paid the cabbie, got out of the car, and banged it on the side signaling for it to drive away.

  We didn’t actually have any coffee. To be honest, we didn’t go anywhere near the kitchen. We went straight to my bedroom instead. And my clothes didn’t stay on very long, either. Nor did Anthony’s. It was like I suddenly really was Jessica Wild—by nature as well as name. Anthony Milton was kissing me, and I was kissing him right back, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Being self-sufficient was all very well, but being desired like this was pretty intoxicating actually.

  “Wow,” Anthony said, an hour or so later, leaning back on his hands and pulling a cigarette out of somewhere. He offered me one, which I declined, then lit his and sighed as he exhaled. “Well, that was something.”

  “Something?” I bit my lip anxiously. Did he mean good something or bad something?

  “It certainly was. And to think you were going to send me away,” Anthony said, shaking his head.

  “So you…enjoyed it?” I asked tentatively.

  Anthony laughed. “You crack me up, Jessica Rarebit,” he said. “Of course I enjoyed it. You know, I think you are one of the most unpredictable people I’ve ever met.”

  “And that’s good?” I wished I didn’t feel so insecure all of a sudden. Wished I didn’t suddenly feel so vulnerable. I’d never had sex like that in my life. It had been incredible, like in films, like books always made it out to be—passionate and exciting instead of vaguely disappointing. But now all I could hear was Grandma’s voice in my head. No one loves a slut, she’d say to me whenever I told her about someone at school having a boyfriend, whenever I’d suggested tentatively that I might go out on a date myself. “Look what happened to your mother, if you don’t believe me. Left pregnant and alone. No wonder she couldn’t cope. She probably drove into that lorry on purpose.” I hated it when she said that. Suggesting my mother left me knowingly. But the point stuck. Sluts came to a sticky end.

  “Very good.” Anthony leaned over me, kissed me, and dug out his cigarettes, lighting another one. I wrinkled my nose, then forced myself not to cough as I snuggled into his chest. There was no need to feel vulnerable, I told myself. Grandma was wrong. Grandma was a bitter old woman who didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “I had fun tonight,” Anthony said softly.

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  Anthony took another drag of his cigarette, then stroked my head; I allowed myself to lean against his shoulder, letting my hand explore his broad chest, his firm stomach. Anthony Milton’s firm stomach. If it wasn’t actually happening, I’d never have believed it.

  “Your bathroom,” he said suddenly. “Is it down the corridor?”

  I nodded, wishing he didn’t have to go, didn’t ever have to move. “Just past the kitchen.”

  He got up and grabbed my dressing gown from off the back of the door. I watched him go, giggling. Anthony Milton. In my dressing gown. Who’d have thought it?

  I lay back on the bed, allowing myself to luxuriate slightly. Things could not have gone better. And I couldn’t believe that I actually hadn’t thought Anthony was that attractive. The man was gorgeous. Gorgeous and charming. Gorgeous, charming, and fun. The opposite of Max. So much nicer. So much better.

  A beeping sound disturbed my reverie, and I frowned. It sounded like my mobile phone. Quickly I jumped out of bed and grabbed my purse. But when I checked my phone, there was nothing flashing, no message to read, no voice mail.

  Sighing, I got back into bed. And then I heard it again. Beep.

  Carefully, I got off the bed, following the sound. It could be the smoke alarm, I thought worriedly. Or some other alarm. I listened again. Beep. It wasn’t in my room, I was fairly sure of that. I wrapped a sheet around myself and made my way out into the corridor. Beep. It was coming from the hallway. Slowly, I walked toward it, turning on the light, wrinkling my nose as I tried to work out what it was.

  And then I saw what it was. It was Anthony’s mobile. On the hall table, where he’d left it an hour or so before. I picked it up and started to mooch back to the bedroom. But then something caught my eye. It was a name, flashing on the small screen.

  MARCIA.

  I frowned. Maybe it was a work emergency. I couldn’t think of any other reason Marcia would be texting Anthony in the middle of the night.

  Not that I was going to look. It was his phone, after all.

  Quickly I went to put the phone back on the table. I would alert Anthony to the beeping when he came out. Who he got messages from was really nothing to do with me. And I certainly wasn’t the kind of pathetic person who read her boyfriend’s texts.

  Not that Anthony was my boyfriend.

  Or was he?

  The trouble was, either way, I wanted to know. Had to know why Marcia had Anthony’s mobile number. Why was she contacting him now? I’d never wanted to know something—needed to know something—so much in my whole life.

  I shook myself. It was probably a different Marcia, I decided. A cousin, perhaps. An old friend? Feeling a light layer of sweat covering my face, I walked into the kitchen and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. Marcia. It had to be work Marcia. There weren’t that many Marcias in the world.

  I heard Anthony clearing his throat loudly in the bathroom, and suddenly, without allowing myself to think about it, I flicked his phone open. Immediately Marcia’s message appeared. And I tried not to look, but it was hopeless. I had to. It was impossible not to.

  And then, when I’d read it, I almost wished I hadn’t.

  Hi hon. All going well? Can’t wait to hear the gory details xx.

  I stared at it for a few seconds. Hon? Anthony was hon to her? And gory details? Did she mean me?

  I felt my heart sink and the next thing I knew, I had dropped the phone for real. Gory details. Of course. This was all some big joke. A joke on me.

  “Jess? Is everything okay?”

  I looked up to see Anthony looking at me quizzically. I looked down again. Grandma had warned me about men, and she’d been right. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid.

  “Your phone,” I said flatly. “It was beeping. I…”

  “Oh, my phone. Thanks.” He leaned down and picked it up. Then he frowned as he read the message. “You…you read this?” he asked tentatively.

  I nodded. “You should call her,” I said, feeling myself tighten, feeling myself close up like a clam. To think I’d thought…To think I’d actually believed…How stupid. How pathetic. “Only I think you should go first.”

  “Call her? But it’s the middle of the night.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  Anthony went slightly white. “Jess, this isn’t what you think.”

  I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “What do I think, Anthony?”

  “I don’t know, but I can assure you, there’s
nothing…untoward about this text.”

  “Untoward?” I rolled my eyes, all my defenses coming slamming down. “I suppose it depends what you mean by untoward. To my mind, laughing about someone behind their back is untoward. And I’d like you to leave, please.”

  “Laugh about someone? About whom?” Anthony looked at me worriedly. “Marcia…,” he said, frowning, “she wanted to know the gory details of a client meeting I had today. One of her accounts.”

  “Sure,” I said sarcastically. “I’m sure that’s what it was.”

  “But it was,” Anthony said hurriedly. “Jess, honestly, it’s nothing to do with you. Marcia didn’t even know we were going out tonight.”

  “She knew about our lunch. And she gave me this little smile on Friday when she told me to have a good weekend.”

  “A smile?” Anthony shot me a look of mock horror. “Not a smile, surely.” He attempted a grin, but I ignored it.

  “She knew,” I said flatly. “I know she did.”

  “Fine. So Marcia’s nosy. That’s all it is. Really.”

  I shook my head tightly. “Just go,” I said. “Please, go.”

  “Okay. Okay, I will.” Shaking his head, Anthony wandered out toward my bedroom; a few minutes later he reappeared wearing his clothes, hastily put on, the buttons all done up incorrectly.

  “Well, see you on Monday, then…,” he said. “You will be there on Monday?”

  I nodded silently.

  “Okay, then.” Anthony shrugged.

  “See you,” I managed to say, but he didn’t hear. He’d already walked out of the front door, was already on his way down the stairs, no doubt about to call Marcia and tell her they’d been found out. And I didn’t care at all. I’d always known this whole marrying-Anthony-Milton thing was a total joke. I hadn’t taken it seriously at all. Not one little bit.

  Chapter 16

  PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 15

  To do