Barely Yours

by Charlotte Eve

  And am I just being paranoid, or does she completely change the subject every time I’m talking? Although I am glad that dinner is here. Anything to distract us from this awkward situation.

  Will’s right. The venison is wonderful. Despite the fact that I seem to be being completely ignored, I once again attempt a charm offensive on the group. “Joan,” I say, again in my bright, happy voice. “This venison is delicious! Is it locally sourced?”

  “Of course,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Caught on the estate. I know it’s not the factory farmed mass produced food that you’re probably used to in America, is it?”

  I’m so taken aback, I don’t say anything.

  “I mean the food out there is simply shocking,” she continues on. “Isn’t it, Rupert darling? Do you remember when we went to Florida? It was practically impossible to find a fresh vegetable. Everywhere you looked, just processed nonsense. Giant hamburgers and pizzas and hot dogs. I thought I was going to come down with scurvy by the time we left. And the portion sizes! Good lord! I mean, it was just ridiculous. No wonder you’re all so obese!”

  I’m completely and utterly shocked. So as not to appear mute, I simply say quietly, with my head hung in embarrassment, “I’m not from Florida.”

  Say something Will, I inwardly urge, but he doesn’t. He remains silent.

  “Actually, Rupert?” I say. “I think I will have that glass of wine, after all.”

  “Good girl,” Rupert chuckles as he pours me a rather large glass of burgundy.

  Now, I’m not usually a red wine drinker, but it’s very appealing this evening. It works beautifully with the venison, and it’s also taking the sting off Joan’s harsh words. Before I know it, I’ve drained the glass.

  “A top up, my dear?” says Rupert, and I nod, consigning myself to failure.

  Guess it looks like I won’t be passing Joan’s test any time soon. The odds are stacked against me, and I may as well just give up and enjoy this wine. It is, after all, delicious.

  So in that rather miserable fashion, I manage to get through the rest of the meal. I guess the wine has helped calm me down, but if I’m honest, I think it’s made me a little sulky, too. Because by now, even Will has noticed my silence and is making attempts to draw me into the conversation.

  But it’s too late for that. My stupid sulky drunk brain is blaming him for his mother’s behaviour, and I start acting like a teenager, answering his questions with a hmm, or a yes, or a no – nothing more. Soon the conversation turns to Tabitha’s education.

  “Indeed,” Will says, “as you know she’s on the list for several excellent pre-prep schools in London and I told you that we’d decided to send her to Queens Crescent Girls. It’s an excellent school, the best in London.”

  Joan sighs. “Yes, darling. I know. The best in London. But I wish you would reconsider St Swithun’s. After all, it’s the best in the country.”

  “Yes mother,” he groans, “but it’s in Winchester. And I told you, no boarding schools. My mind is absolutely made up on that one.”

  “But what about your future,” she says. “It’s all very well, the past few years, taking time off work to look after Tabitha, but if it carries on, your business will suffer. You simply can’t give Tabitha the care and attention she needs in London. The headmistress of St Swithun’s is a very good friend of mine, and she assures me that they have excellent pastoral care, particularly for poor young girls in Tabitha’s position, without a mother in their lives.”

  “Please mother,” Will says, as I drain yet another glass and silently watch the situation unfold. That’s three large glasses of burgundy now, and I’m feeling more than a little woozy. “No more talk of boarding school,” he continues. “Tabitha is and will continue to be perfectly well cared for at home, with me, where she belongs. Besides,” he adds, putting his hand on mine in an attempt to draw me into the conversation, “Tabitha has Christina now. And as you can see, they’re devoted to each other.”

  “But surely this isn’t a permanent arrangement?” spits out Joan.

  And there is no mistaking the venom in her voice. Will is shocked into silence, and I smile bitterly to myself at the irony of the situation. It’s like she knows that I’m gonna have to leave any day now.

  “I guess it isn’t,” I blurt out.

  Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have said that. That’s the alcohol talking.

  “Well, there you are then,” says Joan, smiling at me for the first time since I got here, pleased that I’ve confirmed that I’m not sticking around.

  “Why don’t we change the subject?” says Will quietly.

  “Good idea,” Rupert finally pipes up, and begins a long anecdote about the village postman, who’s wife ran away with the publican.

  §

  This evening has turned out so much worse than I could’ve ever imagined. But eventually, thankfully, finally, it’s all over, and we’re heading up the stairs and shutting the door to our room. With a sigh of relief, we’re finally alone, and I fling myself dramatically on the bed.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say. “That has to be the single worst meal of my life.”

  Will understandably looks hurt. “Oh, come on,” he says. “It wasn’t really that bad, was it?”

  I’ve said my piece, but I must be drunk and spoiling for a fight now, because without thinking I snap back at him, “Not that bad? Excuse me? Were we even in the same room?”

  At this he looks wounded, taken aback, and I don’t blame him. I’m being vicious and nasty. I want to stop, but the anger I’ve been holding in all weekend, plus the wine, are a pretty heady cocktail, and once I’ve started I just can’t seem to stop myself.

  “Now then,” Will says gently, more gently than I deserve. “That’s not quite fair.”

  And that’s all I need before I’m off on a full-blown hissy fit. “Not fair?” I snap. “Not fair? I’ll tell you about not fair. Not fair is being made to feel like nothing but the hired help for an entire afternoon, followed by an evening of total humiliation, where your mother ignores me at best, or at worst insults me and my entire fucking country. The only thing I did right all evening was telling her I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

  “Okay,” says Will, the color rising in his cheeks. Because suddenly it seems like he wants to argue too. “Can you tell me exactly what that was about anyway? I thought we were very clear at the very beginning of this arrangement that Tabby needed permanent care in her life. What do you mean that you’re not going to be sticking around?”

  “Because this isn’t going to work, is it?” I shout, hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes now. “This whole weekend has been a total fucking disaster. And there’s just no way it’s ever going to work between us, Will.”

  I can feel the tears beginning to overwhelm me. And I’m about to blurt everything out – my whole stupid mess – but even like this, I can’t quite bring myself to confess it to him.

  “In fact,” I say, “I don’t see why I should even stick around here tonight.”

  And with that, I jump up from the bed and dash to the wardrobe, grabbing my things and stuffing them into my suitcase. In a mad whirl of tears, I collect everything and then run into the bathroom to fetch my toiletries. I suddenly feel like I can’t stay here a moment longer.

  But Will runs into the bathroom after me. “What’re you doing?” he urges. “Calm down. Stop it, please. We have to talk.”

  “Get out,” I hiss back, pushing him away with both hands. “Can’t a girl have some privacy in the bathroom. This place is just too much.”

  “I mean it, Chrissie, what is going on? Why are you being like this? We need to talk.”

  “Get out, get out, get out,” I sob, trying my hardest now to push him out of the bathroom, pummelling his chest with my fists.

  “Enough,” he cries. “Stop this.”

  He grabs my hands and looks deep into my eyes.

  “What’s gotten into you? This is absolutely crazy.”


  I gaze up into his big, dark eyes. They’re so kind. So full of love, of hurt, of pain and confusion and concern, and I feel myself crumble, throwing myself into his embrace, and beginning to weep quietly.

  “Your mother,” I sob. “She’s made me feel like dirt, all weekend. And I don’t give a shit about her and how she treats me – I don’t mind, I can handle that. But you never once stood up for me, Will. And that really hurts. It hurts so much.”

  Will grasps me tight, clutching me urgently to his chest.

  “I know,” he sighs, stroking my hair. “I know and I’m so sorry, Chrissie. I’m really angry with her, if you want to know the truth. I know more than anyone how cold and heartless she can be. The shadow of it dominated my whole fucking childhood. And I’ve tried so hard to keep her bad influence away from Tabby. But even so, I didn’t want to believe that she could be so nasty to you, too. But of course, I saw it. And I’m going to put a stop to this. I’m going to speak to her first thing, I promise. Oh darling, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

  And with that he gathers me up in a passionate embrace and before I even know what’s happening we’re tearing at each other’s clothes, kissing madly, falling onto the bed, the intensity of our argument now transformed into pure, white hot lust.

  “I want you so bad, Will,” I moan, my hands in his hair, my legs wrapped tight around him, as I write beneath him, desperate to feel him inside me, right fucking now.

  “God, I want you to Chrissie,” he replies, the heat of his breath dancing against my bare skin, every part of me aflame, my rock hard nipples grazing against the broad musculature of his chest. “But ...”

  “What is it?” I say, as he pulls a little away from me, his hands fumbling around in the pockets of his discarded suit pants.

  “Damn it,” he curses beneath his breath, eyes casting desperately around the room.

  “Will?” I urge. “What’s the matter?”

  He climbs back over me, his face now framed in an apologetic smile as he explains, “I don’t think I brought any protection.”

  “It’s okay,” I answer back immediately. “Don’t worry. I said I was going to go on birth control remember?”

  “Oh, yes,” he replies, face breaking into a huge relieved smile, and just like that we’re kissing again, and a moment later, I feel him push inside me, slowly and sensually, as I rake my fingernails across his back and wrap my legs around him again, moaning and sighing in his ear as he bucks his hips, plundering me, each thrust sending me closer and closer to the edge.

  “Come for me, Will,” I moan, wanting to feel him explode inside me, wanting so badly to be filled with him like that. “Please. Come for me.”

  And with that, he picks up pace, taking me hard and fast, his cock plunging so deep inside me, driving into me, each movement causing me to moan and whimper. Then, I feel him stiffen, all the muscles in his body tensing and rippling, and with a short cry he finally lets go, his cock swelling and pulsing, buried deep inside me as he floods me with his warmth, just the way I’ve been craving. It pushes me over the edge too and I draw him even tighter to him, clinging on tightly as I too start to come, so fucking hard that it takes me by surprise, like every nerve in my body is flashing with white hot electric pleasure, almost more than I can take.

  And in that moment, I forget everything – all my worries, all my troubles. In that moment, it’s just me and Will, lost together in the moment; lost together in desire.

  PART FIVE

  One Month Later ...

  When they say a woman just knows, they’re right. I just knew. It felt like, from that moment on, something changed inside me. Something was happening. For the last few weeks, I’d tried to push it to the back of my mind, but it was becoming impossible to ignore, always rising back to the surface again.

  And then, finally, the first sign. Waiting for something that never happened. That wasn’t going to happen. One day, two days, three days, then a week. And finally today, the waiting just got too much and I had to know.

  Which is how I find myself sitting alone on my bed in disbelief, staring at physical proof of what I knew was happening all along.

  One small white piece of plastic. Two tell tale blue lines, that have just changed my life forever.

  It’s official. I can’t ignore it any longer. I’m pregnant.

  Oh my god. What am I going to do?

  I mean, for a start I can’t tell Will. I just can’t. He’s going to be so mad. I know that he doesn’t want any more children. I know that he wanted me because I wasn’t one of those gold-digging women who just wanted to get pregnant with his baby and live off his money their whole lives. He’s already said as much. He’s going to fucking hate me.

  And anyway, I said I was going on birth control. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. We had talked about it. And I did go to the doctor and I did get the little pills. They were right there in my bag. I just hadn’t started taking them yet. I can’t believe I was so stupid. But in that moment, I just wanted it so much. I didn’t care. The words just spilled out of my mouth. I was drunk and I wanted him and it felt so right.

  And although I’ve spent the last month trying to tell myself that it was once, one time, that nobody ever gets pregnant after just one time, the feeling I had deep down told me something different.

  I look up at the clock.

  Jesus, he’ll be home any minute. I can’t face him, I just cant.

  I need to get out of here.

  So I hurriedly pack my things, dragging the suitcase out from under the bed and throwing in whatever I can fit. Everything else, I’ll have to leave behind. All of the gifts he’s bought me, the books and mementos of our time together, even that beautiful Dior dress. I can’t take it. It will just hurt too much.

  I look up again at the clock.

  I have to go, right now. Will will be home in fifteen minutes and he can’t find me here.

  Oh Tabby, I think. If only I could give her a hug. Let her know that I love her and I’m sorry, sorry for everything. But she’s out on a play date, and she won’t be back for another hour. So I hurriedly grab a pen and paper and scribble a note.

  I had to go. I can’t come back. I’m sorry. Please tell Tabby I love her, and it’s not her fault. xxx

  I read it over, and the overwhelming sadness that’s been threatening to consume me suddenly bursts through its barrier. And so, in floods of tears, I grab my suitcase and run.

  I run down the three flights of stairs, into the hallway, and out of the front door, down the steps and into the street.

  I hail the first black cab that comes along.

  “Airport, please,” I say.

  I simply don’t understand it. I’ve read her note, a thousand times over. Why did she have to go? Why can’t she come back? But most importantly, where the hell has she gone?

  I can’t stand the idea of her out in the world alone and so obviously in pain.

  I’ve sent text message after text message. So many emails. And I’ve called her mobile hundreds of times. But it’s always switched off. I don’t know how else to contact her.

  Her room seems empty, empty without her. She must have left in a rush, taken only what she could carry.

  I look up at the world map on the wall, complete with pins marking the places she’s been and the places she hopes to go one day.

  I walk towards it, gazing at it, realizing she could literally be anywhere.

  Why did you leave so suddenly, Chrissie?

  And where in the world are you?

  Chrissie and Will’s story continues in Book Two: Nearly Yours – out soon!

  To make sure you’re the first to know when it’s published, simply sign up for my mailing list today at: www.tinyletter.com/charlotteeve

  A NOTE FROM CHARLOTTE

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading my latest novel. I do hope you enjoyed it and I’d love to hear your thoughts, especially if you were kind enough to take the time out to write a quick rev
iew on Amazon or Goodreads. Not only would mean so much to me, but those things really do make all the difference for an indie author like myself!

  And don’t worry – I won’t keep you hanging on for long. Book Two – Nearly Yours – will be out very, very soon!

  Thank you so much for all your support,

  Charlotte

  xx

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Finally, I would like to say thank you to my lovely team of beta readers and Facebook champions for providing such wonderful feedback and support for this novel. I couldn’t have done it without you! So a HUGE thank you to: Ann Meemken, Dawn Vickers, Victoria Carter, Vanessa Booke, Missey, Sloan and Sue Sachse. Thank you all so much! xxx

  ALSO BY CHARLOTTE EVE

  DANCE WITH THE BILLIONAIRE

  I didn’t want a man in my life. I thought love was for losers, and all I needed to be happy were my friends and my dancing. But then, one Friday night, a gorgeous arrogant playboy called Dylan Campbell came crashing into my life and changed everything.

  That night, I hated him. I thought he was a spoiled, entitled asshole. And he was – at least at first. But he turned out to be so much more than that, too. Because Dylan taught me who I really was – awakening dark desires inside me that I didn’t even know existed.

  He taught me about love and life, and maybe I taught him a few things, too. And now everything has changed. Because now he owns me completely ...

  From the author of the Taming Blake trilogy comes this brand new novel about an aspiring dancer and the playboy billionaire who captures her heart. Due to a number of SMOKING HOT scenes of an adult nature, this novel is only suitable for those aged eighteen and older ...