by Geneva Lee
“And that’s what they mean by the calm before the storm,” Edward muttered. He shook his head and jumped between the two women, capturing Belle around the waist and pulling her back. Philip, in typical asshole fashion, watched with his mouth hanging open.
There was something poignant about the way Pepper’s nose sprayed blood all over Philip’s suit. Also it was just plain awesome.
“Fucking bitch!” Pepper screamed as she held her nose.
“It takes one to know one,” Belle shot back, fighting Edward’s hold on her waist.
“We fucked in his bed! In his car!” Pepper’s vitriol spewed as freely as the blood spewed from her nose. “We even fucked in your flat on the kitchen counter!”
Edward pushed Belle toward me, but she broke free and got back in Philip’s face. She twisted her engagement ring off and held it in front of her nose. “I’m keeping this for damages. I’m glad you two found each other. It’s a real match made in hell.”
Philip stood so fast that his stool fell over behind him and snatched for the ring. I glanced around realizing that a crowd was gathering. Hooking my arm through Belle’s I tugged her toward the door. When she resisted, Lola took her other side. With us surrounding her, Belle straightened up coolly and walked away. We were almost out the door when the first security arrived. The trouble was that I didn’t know whose security team it was.
Edward pointed toward the lift. “Get her to the suite and out of sight. I’ll deal with this.”
“How?” I asked. I’d always suspected that Philip was an asshole, and I wouldn’t put it past him to press charges now. I knew Pepper would try to.
“Norris,” he said quickly, holding his hands up, “and you know, Prince of England.”
“Shit, you can’t get involved with this.”
He pressed the up button and smirked. “It will only help my rep. Alexander has been the bad boy for too long. Maybe it’s my turn.”
I was sure David would have something to say about it, but I followed Belle into the lift as soon as the car arrived.
Belle pressed the button for our floor and stepped back like nothing had happened. Lola peeked over her shoulder and shot me a confused look. Just when I was beginning to question how she could be so calm, I noticed her chin quiver. My arms were around her before the first tear fell.
“That bloody knobhead! Pillock! Wanker!” A steady stream of insults followed as I rubbed her back and continued until we arrived at our suite.
I swallowed a sigh when I saw the placard on the door. I’d forgotten that we were in the Honeymoon Suite. I was just about to suggest heading home when Belle’s hand lashed out and ripped the sign down.
That worked, too.
“That sodding arse! How could I be so bloody stupid?” she sobbed.
I hugged her close to me. “Hey, your British is showing.”
This earned me a small smile.
“And,” I continued, “you have a serious right hook. Let me see that.”
She grimaced as I gingerly took her hand. Her knuckles were raw.
“I hope this means you broke her teeth,” I said, inspecting the damage.
“I broke her nose.” That garnered a real smile from both of us.
“I’ll go grab some ice from the front desk,” Lola said.
I shot her a grateful look. As soon as she was out the door, what was left of Belle’s composure dissolved and she melted into me. A lump formed in my throat and sat there as she cried into my shoulder. I tried to blink back my own tears but there was no way. Not when my best friend was hurting this much. I cried for the future she’d lost and I cried because of the guilt I felt. But mostly I cried because I didn’t want her to cry alone.
“Clara,” Belle whispered. “I need to tell you something.”
I drew back and nodded. “You can tell me anything.”
“No, I can’t.” She choked a little as she shook her head. “You’ll think I’m terrible.”
“You just broke Pepper Lockwood’s nose,” I told her. “Your brilliance has been established. Nothing will make me think you are anything less than a badass.”
“I cheated on Philip a few months ago,” she confessed breathlessly. “I had no right to be so angry with him.”
I swallowed hard on her admission. “That might have been wrong, hon, but it doesn’t change that he’s been cheating on you.”
“That’s not the terrible part.” She bit her lip, her eyes welling up.
Ice formed in my veins, but I forced myself to speak. “You can tell me.”
“I slept with Jonathan Thompson.”
“Oh!” I gasped in surprise, trying to ignore the sharp stab of hatred her revelation provoked. Jonathan had been a first class asshole to Belle at university, but it was what he’d done to Alexander that made me loathe him. Not only had he been responsible for the crash that killed Alexander’s sister, he’d also let him take the fall for it when Pepper Lockwood leveled accusations against him. That put him neck-and neck with Pepper Spray for the top of my shit list.
“I couldn’t tell you after you found out what he’d done to Alexander’s sister,” she babbled.
“When?”
“Last summer,” she admitted. “I ran into him and one thing led to another. You were…”
I was home heartbroken over Alexander. A pang stabbed my center as I recalled that time.
“But also I was embarrassed that I shagged him after the way he treated me at university.”
I sighed and gathered her into my arms. “We all do stupid things.”
“But maybe Philip sensed it and—”
“No,” I stopped her theory in its tracks. “Philip is a wanker, remember? I won’t say what you did was okay, but it didn’t give Philip a free pass.” I clamped my mouth shut before I could add that from the sounds of things, Philip and Pepper were a lot more than a one night stand.
“How am I going to do this?” she asked me, her chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. “We’re supposed to be getting married in six months. Everything is planned. What am I supposed to do?”
I recalled the night that I’d left Alexander. Even now, the pain at that memory nearly knocked me off my feet, but I locked my arms around her. “Tonight, you cry.”
We’d figure out the rest in the morning when the sun shattered the darkness.
Katherine Paige Couture was on lockdown. The posh bridal shop had practically become my second home over the last few months. But today the curtains blocked curious eyes from seeing inside the shop. Kate met me at the back door, her eyes bright as she guided me inside. Most people had been surprised when I’d chosen her to design my dress. What they didn’t know was that Edward had introduced us. Hardly older than me, Kate could have passed for a model instead of a lead designer with her curly brown hair and lithe figure. But her passion lay in the design business, which had earned her an exclusive, albeit small, clientele.
“We’ve spent all week kicking paparazzi out of here,” she explained when I shot her a questioning look.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. It seemed my marriage was actually becoming the spectacle of the century for all involved.
“Don’t be! How often do I get to design a wedding dress for the next Queen of England?” she gushed, pushing a loose curl behind her ear.
The next Queen of England. A dizzying rush clouded my head and I caught her arm to steady myself. “I can’t get used to that. One of these days I’m going to get so nervous that I will faint.”
“As long as you don’t ruin your dress.” She winked mischievously, reminding me exactly why I felt so at ease with her. “If you’re light-headed, I suppose that champagne is a bad idea.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe later.”
The dressing room was nearly as beautiful as Kate’s gowns, managing to be lavish and welcoming at the same time. Warm ivory walls and soft lighting made the space glow. The gold leaf tables and mirror frames added a touch of sophistication.
But the calm atmosphere faded with the arrival of my bridal party. My mother and Lola fluttered into the room with Belle at their heels.
“Two days!” My mother caught me in a hug, pecking me on both cheeks.
I did my best not to look like I was about to throw up.
“Mother has been counting down the minutes all week.” Lola shot a save-me-now look over my mother’s shoulder.
“It is not every day that a mother marries off her daughter.” Mom plucked a champagne flute from a nearby tray and took a dainty sip.
“We’re set for the final rehearsal in the morning,” I told her, bypassing small talk in favor of direct action. I needed to focus if I was going to keep my sanity. I would give myself a list and not let my mind wander to the cameras and crowds already filling the streets that led from Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace. It was the only way to prevent getting caught in a cycle of disturbingly vivid fantasies about all the ways I was going to make an ass out of myself.
“Here are the shoes.” Kate bustled into the room with a pair of simple ivory silk pumps.
My mother grimaced, not bothering to hide her disapproval of my choice. “Are those heels tall enough?”
“I’d rather hoped not to fall on my face,” I told her.
“Your father is not going to let you fall.” She tilted her head and called into the adjoining lounge. “Are you, Harold?”
“Dad’s here?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
“Of course, he wants to see his little girl in her wedding gown.” My mother’s voice caught, but she looked away before I could see if she was crying. Tears weren’t in Madeline Bishop’s emotional repertoire. Sightings of them were rare enough to warrant study.
I couldn’t be certain if the show of emotions was maternal sentimentality or if she was strongly clinging to the last shreds of her marriage.
A hush fell over the group as two of the shop’s employees cautiously carried my gown into the room, holding it as I undressed and Kate helped me into a corset. I’d seen the dress at various stages, standing through numerous fittings until my feet ached and my skin throbbed from renegade dress pins. But I wasn’t prepared for the emotions that swept through me when I saw the final dress.
Decorum dictated a certain level of modesty for a church wedding, but somehow it was still the sexiest thing I’d ever owned. Even if it took four of them to lift it over my head.
“I hope it’s not this hard for Alexander to get it off,” Belle whispered.
“I have faith in his abilities,” I said in a low voice, reminding myself now wasn’t the time to fantasize about those skills.
My arms glided through the delicate lace sleeves, allowing the skirt and train to float down. Turning as they arranged my skirt, I drew in a deep, steadying breath. French lace rested gracefully off my shoulders, covering my décolletage where a silk bodice narrowed to my waistline and then widened into a full skirt trimmed along the hem with the same lace.
Thousands of tiny Swarovski crystals glittered delicately in the light. I pressed a hand to my stomach, absorbing the fact I was wearing my wedding gown as Kate began to fasten the zippers and buttons that ran from the back of my neck to my tailbone.
“Oh dear,” Kate muttered, heaving a sigh.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh dear what?”
She yanked the back of my dress tighter, struggling to get the zipper up.
“Breathe in,” she instructed, widening her stance for leverage.
I sucked in, contracting my belly against my ribs. Relief poured through me when I heard the zipper slide up, but it was short-lived as soon as I exhaled.
“Is it supposed to be this tight?” I asked, turning to get a side view.
The seamstress frowned, pins jutting from her teeth. She plucked them out and checked her notes. “It’s been tailored to your most recent measurements.” She sighed and circled me. “We’ll have to let it out a little.”
“Is that a problem?” my mother said, biting her nails. Never in all my life had I seen Madeline Bishop risk her manicure. If she had the choice between saving a baby seal and chipping a nail, it was a no-brainer for her.
“It shouldn’t be.” Kate patted my arm. “There’s room in the bodice to let it out, but it’s not that bad. We can always adjust your corset.”
I swallowed a groan. Said corset was already digging into my ribs, its boning stabbing me every few seconds. There was no way it was getting tightened.
As soon as Kate excused herself, my mother rounded on me. “This gown cost twenty thousand pounds. Every major media outlet has been speculating on it for months.”
“Mom!” Lola interjected.
She ignored her, pacing in front of the three-way mirror. “They are predicting millions of television viewers. I’m merely surprised that this is the time Clara chooses to let her weight go.”
As soon as she said it, she clamped a hand over her mouth, a look of horror descending over her elegant features. “Clara, I’m—”
I waved off her apology, locking my jaw to stop my trembling chin.
“Let’s go see about some tea,” Lola suggested, taking our mother by the shoulders and marching her into the lounge off the dressing room.
Belle exhaled loudly when they were out of sight, relaxing against the mirror. “Sometimes I think she actually studies thoughtlessness.”
“It comes naturally,” I assured her. Gesturing to my gown, I bit my lip. “Does it look terrible?”
“Clara, you look beautiful.” Belle straightened to face the mirror. Her grey eyes sparkled in its reflection. “Alexander isn’t going to know what hit him.”
I reached back and fluffed my train, allowing all twelve feet to cascade silkily from the raised platform I stood on. “He generally prefers me less clothed.”
“Clara’s new clothes. Now that would surprise all the major media outlets,” Belle said, tipping her nose in an excellent impression of my mother.
I fiddled with my hair, pulling it up and letting it down again. “Honestly, I wish it was all over with. I want to be married to Alexander. I could happily skip the wedding,” I admitted.
“Every girl dreams about her wedding.”
“I guess,” I said absently. “Maybe that would be true if mine weren’t a spectacle. If I had my way, we’d have gotten married with a couple of close friends standing by.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Belle’s smile tighten.
“Will you please tell me when I’m being a total bitch?” I groaned. “This is probably the last place you feel like being.”
“It’s okay. I keep forgetting, too.” Belle sank to the ground and crossed her legs.
It took some effort but I managed to maneuver around my train and join her. “I should warn you now. I’m not going to be able to get back up without your help, so I hope you’re still my best friend.”
“No,” Belle said sharply.
“Umm, okay. I’m not sure what to say.”
“Philip doesn’t get to ruin this,” she said, completely oblivious to the near heart attack she’d just given me. “This is your wedding, and I am happy for you. I swear I am. But I’m…”
“Hurting,” I finished for her. “I want to castrate him for what he did to you. But honestly, I can’t imagine getting through this without you, especially if it means dealing with my mother.”
“Lola seems to have her pretty well in hand,” Belle noted, “which suits me because I want to focus on you.”
“Are you sure?” I blinked against the tears swimming across my vision.
“Don’t cry,” she pleaded, her words hitching slightly. “If you cry, then I’ll cry—and oh, sod it! It’s too late.”
“Alexander knows people who can kill him for you.” The joke was out of my mouth before I remembered that it was actually true.
Belle’s lip curled, but she shook her head. “I think getting stuck with Pepper is punishment enough. She’ll take all of his money and then he’
ll just be some wanker with a small prick.”
“Small?” I repeated.
She wagged her pinky finger, adding, “Aunt Jane is already discussing who I should take as my rebound lover.”
“Might I suggest someone with a substantial prick,” I whispered.
She laughed at this, wiping away tears with a sigh. “Clara Bishop, you are a fallen woman. To think, a year ago I was begging you to shag someone with wealth and power. Now you’re total vixen.”
“I took your suggestion very seriously,” I assured her.
“I love you,” Belle said, her expression growing serious.
“I love you, too.” I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, only to hear the sickening rip of lace.
“They can fix it,” she murmured, not letting me go. When she finally did, she smiled impishly. “Come on, let’s go toy with your mum’s blood pressure.”
I held out my hands, and she bounded to her feet gracefully. Struggling up from the mass of silk and tulle, I collapsed into her with a giggle.
“Hey, you’re getting married,” Belle said.
“I’m getting married,” I repeated, willing her words to sink in. In a few days I would no longer be Clara Bishop. I would be entirely his.
My father’s head poked into the dressing room. “Can I have a moment?”
“Of course.” She gave my hand a quick squeeze.
My father grinned sheepishly as she passed, running a hand over his thinning hair.
“You look stunning,” he said softly.
A girlish contentment settled over me. No matter what mistakes he’d made, he was still my father, and I wanted his approval. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I know these last few months have been hard on the family, and I know you’ve been less than thrilled with your mother and me.”
“With Mom?” I asked.
“You’ve been hard on her.” Dad wrung his hands together. “But your mother was doing the best she could. I know that’s difficult to understand. I’m not an easy man to live with.”
“Mom’s not exactly low maintenance,” I admitted, unsure whose side I was taking.
“That’s the thing about marriage, Clare-bear. Sometimes you mess it up. What matters is how you handle,” he added.