by Carrie Stone
'I think you'd better hurry and get ready. Our guests will be arriving soon and I’m sure you don’t want them to see you like that.' She did her best look of disdain at my sweaty, bikini clad appearance, before sauntering off to join Sampson on the large, outdoor wicker lounging bed.
I hadn’t been allowed to forget the gathering that was being hosted that evening. I'd even been roped into helping to prepare the food and drinks. Did my mother really have that little faith in my hosting skills, that she believed I would greet her guests dressed in a bikini a size too small, showing four days worth of bikini line growth?
I heard the first of the guests arrive downstairs as I put the finishing touches to my make-up. Pulling the price tag from my new silk coral dress, I slipped into it, careful to avoid the still wet deodorant on my armpits. I checked my reflection in the wardrobe door mirror. My mother would be hard pressed to find fault. The delicate silk dress hung beautifully in its halter style. Whoever Mark was, I hoped my mother would appreciate the effort I had made on his behalf. She needn't know that I had been intending to save the dress for my third date with Edward.
My heart fluttered at the thought. I quickly slipped on my shoes and went downstairs before the sadness and disappointment could envelope me once again.
The terrace area had been lit by large fire flames, held by intricate wrought iron holders. Music pouring out softly from hidden wall speakers and tea lights scattered around every surface offered a warm ambience. The marble dining table was awash with a feast of cold meats, fish and salads.
A handful of people I didn't know were milling around chatting at ease amongst themselves. I noticed Mark immediately from my mother’s description. Slightly separate from the rest of the group, he was sat by the pool area, beer in hand. I walked across to him.
'Mark?' I asked tentatively.
He looked up from his beer, eyes widening, clearly taking me in. He quickly looked away again, taking another gulp of his beer. The beer missed, trickling down to his chin. He wiped it with the cuff of his jacket.
'Depends who's asking' he replied arrogantly.
I watched as he greedily drained the remainder of his beer, placing the empty bottle amongst some nearby pot-plants. A Neanderthal man with no finesse. It didn’t matter that his black hair, chiselled cheekbones and full lips made him startlingly attractive for a man. Nor did it matter that he was dressed in a suave outfit that reeked of class and distinguished taste. My mind had been made up; I didn’t like him.
'Nobody's asking' I spat with contempt, spinning on my heel and walking back towards the others.
Edward would have never dared be so rude to a woman. Just who did he think he was, talking to me like that?
'Idiot' I muttered under my breath, loud enough for it to be heard by Mark. Not a word of apology or action came in response. He couldn’t have cared less.
I headed straight for the opened bottle of Bollinger chilling in a bucket near the doorway and poured myself a glass. Riled by Mark's rude manner, there was only one way I was going to get through tonight surrounded by pretentious, arrogant people and I had decided that it was going to be in a champagne induced state.
I guzzled the sparkling fizzy liquid quickly, allowing a feeling of detachment to settle within myself. I noticed my mother drifting towards me with a small army in tow.
'Lizzie, I'd like you to meet Josef and his wife Tilde.' My mother gestured towards a tall, thin man and his equally willowy, fair haired wife.
'Hello Lizzie, it’s wonderful to meet you' he said in a slow Scandinavian accent. I smiled warmly, listening politely as he began to speak.
Within minutes, I found myself wishing I had managed to gulp another glass of champagne, given that his chosen topic of conversation was the current economic financial trend.
Amusingly, I began to hiccup, courtesy of the fizzy liquid that had now found its way comfortably into my bloodstream. My mother shot daggers in my direction. It wasn't in her book of ladylike manners to hiccup in the presence of company.
Unexpectedly, my next hiccup gave way to a loud yawn. I desperately tried to keep my mouth closed as my nostrils flared in defiance. My mother looked horrified and whisked both Josef and Tilde over to Sampson. I took the opportunity to replenish my champagne flute.
The evening passed in a blur of introductions, numbing conversation and people with expensive clothes and boring personalities. My mother’s loud, false laugh echoing across the terrace, far too often.
I was aware that Mark had made every effort to distance himself from the others for the best part of the night and was now being cornered by Sven, a nightclub owner. Categorically nightclub, but in fact no more than a legalised strip club. Earlier in the evening, I had been assured by Sven that if I wanted a change in career, he could easily find a position within the club for me. My polite smile had given way to images of myself, gyrating my cellulite affected thighs up against a pole. For someone that had still not mustered the courage to dance sexily for her partner in the depths of darkness, I didn’t feel this would be a viable career move.
The champagne began to take its desired effect; I was becoming even more detached and aloof from the happenings around me. I looked across at Mark again, visibly bored into a stupor by Sven. His dark hair reminded me of Edward. He wasn't as broad or tall, but he had something moody and destructive about him that I was starting to feel drawn to.
Walking in his direction, he looked questioningly at me as I interrupted the conversation and grabbed his arm.
'There you are, I need to borrow you for a moment.' I nodded apologetically in Sven's direction. 'Just play along' I whispered to Mark, aware that a few of the others had noted our departure from the terrace and were watching as we headed towards the house.
'So couldn’t resist me any longer huh?' He smirked at me sideways, self assumingly nodding his head. I kicked his left ankle hard.
'Ouch!' he jumped, slightly startled.
'Well don’t be so cock sure of yourself and assumptive, or you'll be getting a few more of those.'
'Ooh, feisty. I love a woman that has a temper.' He narrowed his eyes as he said this and I felt my stomach twist. Something about his temperamental personality was making me feel turned on. It was entirely unexpected.
The lounge was off to the side of the villa and was secluded from the terrace in both sight and distance.
I released my grip on Mark's arm and walked across to the large, inviting sofa, plonking myself into the middle of it. The room began to whirl around me and I struggled to keep my focus. I was vaguely aware of Mark standing in front of me, looking down. His hands reached out to tenderly stroke my hair.
'You're a funny one, Lizzie. I've been watching you all night, coming across as the perfect enraptured guest, knowing that you secretly couldn’t give two hoots. You'd most likely prefer to be standing in a cheesy nightclub dancing away.'
Impressive. He'd read me well. Spotting a bottle of water on the table, I leaned forward to retrieve it. Mark stepped in, picking up the bottle and opening it gently; he pushed my head back to allow me to drink from it as he held it in his hands. An act so simple, yet so erotic. I felt stirrings deep inside myself. He was making me want him.
He looked handsome amongst the soft glow of the lamps. His dark tousled hair, at least two days of stubble and well weathered skin, all tempting me to move closer to him.
'Like what you see?' He looked into my eyes with intent. 'What about seeing more?' his comment lingered for a second before adding 'I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.'
It felt as if time was standing still as the electricity of lust built up in a heady daze between us, each of us holding the other's gaze.
'Look at you two lovebirds sneaking off' my mother’s voice boomed from the doorway. She swayed gently with a glass of champagne in her hand, unaware that her dress was transparent against the low lighting of the room, and the bright lighting of the hallway.
Mark immediately backed away from
me, running his hands through his hair and avoiding my eyes.
'Mother' I seethed, making furious eye movements for her to leave the room. She ignored me, sipping more champagne and smirking. I turned towards Mark.
'She's drunk. Take no notice of her.'
'Stop being so childish Lizzie. I'll close the door and give you both a little more privacy.' She turned clumsily, pulling the door towards her and winked at us before closing it. I shook my head in disbelief.
Mark burst into laughter. 'Your mother is crazy.'
His laughter was infectious and I found myself grinning at him. The interruption had surprisingly made me feel more sober.
Mark's lips were on mine before I realised what was happening. His slight stubble grazed against my skin as I closed my eyes. His tongue was soft and gentle. I waited for the feeling of passion to sweep over me that had been lingering just moments before. Oddly I didn’t feel anything.
As his kiss gradually became more urgent, I felt his hands shifting from my back around towards my breasts. Repulsion crawled across my skin like an army of ants. I opened my eyes and gently pulled away from him.
'Everything OK?' His breath was heavy and close to me. He looked so sexy. I wanted myself to want him. How could I not be feeling sexually attracted to him. What was wrong with me? I smiled encouragingly.
'Everything is wonderful.' I leaned forward and pushed myself closer to him.
Within moments his mouth was on mine again, kissing me fast and seductively as his hands explored my body.
It wasn't working. Unable to lose myself in the moment, I felt irritation beginning to build as his stubble continued to graze against my skin, and his wandering hands started to feel rough against me.
I focused on the Persian rug a short distance away. A pretty peach and cream decoration, blending perfectly with the rest of the room. I was almost certain my mother had received it as a gift from her Elvis wannabe ex-partner. Sadly he hadn’t the same taste in clothes. I stopped my train of thought. Shouldn't I be daydreaming about what Mark could be doing to me on the rug, not who bought it?
Mark reached for the zipper on my dress, as he took my hand and placed it suggestively against his hardness. Repulsion swept over me.
'Stop Mark, I can’t do this. Sorry, but I just can’t.' I stood up and looked down at him.
Confusion plastered itself across his face. Still so handsome and sexy but his forehead creased in misunderstanding.
'I don’t understand - I thought you were enjoying it?' he was standing facing me, waiting for answers. The air of sensuality was replaced with an awkward silence.
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I didn’t quite know how to explain it. It wouldn’t be fair to tell him that his kiss and touch irritated and repulsed me. Nor would it be fair to say that despite his sexy appearance, I felt more thrill at the prospect of eating a chocolate digestive than having sex with him. I gave a small, regretful shrug of my shoulders.
'It's not you Mark. It's me.'
His face filled with distaste and anger at my words.
'Of course it’s you. Do you not realise how many women would love to be in your position?' He shook his head angrily at me.
'You've just made a big mistake' he said, standing up and fixing me with one last stare from his dark, moody eyes.
I watched as he stormed from the room and headed towards the front door. The loud slam reverberated through the marble hallway as he departed. I stood alone in the darkness, watching his car speed off into the night from the safety of the hallway window.
That had been slightly awkward and humiliating for both of us, particularly Mark. However, at least I wasn’t now naked and having to disguise my repulsion with fake pleasure. I had never been good at acting.
I breathed a sigh of relief and slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom. My mother had a lot to answer for.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
I looked in the mirror and sighed sadly at my reflection. My hair hadn't adjusted to the change in water and frizzed heavily around my face. I noticed my skin was looking dry and the small wrinkles around my eyes were becoming more pronounced. I was only twenty eight years old and already in need of Botox. The sleepless night I’d had after my incident with Mark hadn’t helped matters.
Guilt loomed like a blackened cloud above my head. Although I wasn't in a relationship with Edward, it didn’t feel right to have overstepped the flirting boundary with Mark. A small part of me argued that sexual advances were physical acts of basic human need, whilst the other part questioned my morals.
What if I had enjoyed Mark's advances? It would have led to sex. Did I really want to be sleeping with other men whilst Edward was at the forefront of my interests? Was there really any hope for Edward and I?
It didn’t help that most of the people I knew at my age were already mothers. Or at least in long term relationships. Here I was, becoming a desperate case that saw every opportunity from doing the food shopping to putting petrol in the car, as an opportunity to meet someone special.
I had even jokingly made reference to joining my mother and Sampson at their weekly Salsa class. Sampson had been quick to point out it was for advanced dancers only. My mother's face had been a picture of relief. My suspicions were that she'd alluded to the other attendee's that she'd once represented the UK at the Latin dance championships. Of course no such thing had happened.
Edward had brought such hope and romance into my life that I didn't want to contemplate whether it was to be short lived. The two dates we'd been on in the time that we'd known each other had been enough to convince me that we could have something special. Given that he hadn't called me, I would have to begin to accept that maybe he didn’t feel the same way.
I grabbed my bag, which had become surprisingly light since visiting Spain and headed out towards my mother's car. Soreena had suggested we meet in Puerto Banus.
A friend for many years, Soreena was a petite blonde who had grown up in Marbella but had a passionate distaste for everything Spanish. Her wealthy English parents had provided her with all that money could buy. Everything, except a stable personality.
Mel and I had met Soreena in our late teenage years, when my mother had first moved to Spain and we'd visited for a temporary period. Mel's quirky ways paled in comparison to Soreena's. Finally Mel had met someone she could mentally empathise with.
The three months of living in Marbella had been a blast and Soreena had introduced us both to the delights of the high life, and the breathtaking Spanish scenery, mainly discovered by accident after too many drunken nights and wrong directions home.
Neither of us had managed to keep in regular contact with her after she'd emigrated to Dubai, to live with a wealthy Arab oil tycoon. It was only by chance that my mother had recently bumped into her family member. After polite conversation, she'd learned that Soreena was back living in Marbella following the relationship break down. It didn’t take me long to track her and arrange a lunch date.
As I pulled the car into the valet parking area outside the venue at which we'd agreed to meet, I allowed myself one last check in the overhead mirror. It didn't matter that five years had passed since we'd last seen one another; Soreena was an open and direct person.
Even our phone conversation to arrange the lunch, had been as easy and fluid as if we'd last spoken only days prior. If anyone would know what to do about Edward, Soreena would. For all her demanding and spoilt ways, she imparted wise, thoughtful advice.
The port looked as luscious and elegant in the sunshine as it did every time I visited. Palm trees lined the roads, as various super cars and exquisitely dressed people passed by me. Most were headed for the front line, where large yachts, liners and boats took pride of place on the water, and the surrounding restaurants, shops and bars catered for the wealthy and indulgent.
I weaved in and out of people as I headed towards the entrance of Don Leones restaurant. There was no sign of Soreena. The restaurant was already filled with
diners and the open awning meant I was in full view of those seated. I fished in my bag for my bronzer compact and brush. Touching a little of the powder onto my cheekbones for accentuation, I caught the reflection of a familiar profile.
Mark was seated at the back of the restaurant sitting happily in the company of an older, well dressed woman. They were smiling and appeared relaxed together. Mark's moody, serious look was replaced with a carefree and content air. Bile rose in my throat; the last thing I wanted was an embarrassing scene. The woman was reaching across for Marks hand, gently placing hers over his. Their body language was solemn.
'Oh my word! Look at you.' Soreena's voice caused me to snap shut my compact as I was greeted with a tight hug and lots of thick blonde hair in my face.
We squealed in unison with excitement. Stepping back to survey me, I was shocked as I took in Soreena's more rounded appearance. She was twice the size I'd last seen her at and her usual well preened demeanour was lacking finesse.
'Soreena, you look so different - very healthy' I said tactfully, hoping the shock on my face hadn't revealed my true thoughts.
'Oh do be quiet, Lizzie – it's written all over your face that I’m bigger and more unkempt than usual.' She laughed loudly, oblivious to the stares from the diners at the table near to us. 'Well it's only to be expected, I suppose, given that I had an arsehole of a fiancée. He treated me like a queen until I realised it was all pretence and he was no more than a controlling, manipulative monster.'
Her face creased into a huge smile and she grabbed my arm and marched me into the entrance before I could comment.
Aware of Mark's back to me on the far left side of the restaurant, I was relieved when the waiter directed us to a table towards the front right. I seated myself facing forward and hoped Soreena wouldn’t pick up on my nervousness.
'So, aside from the fact that you clearly eat a lot less than I do, what else have you been doing with yourself these past years?' Soreena asked inquisitively, picking up a bread roll from the basket between us and breaking a piece off.