Tyler kisses me deeply, so tenderly that I feel like I could cry. I feel every bit of what he feels for me in that kiss. What he offers me. Lips fused, we mercilessly expose all of the feelings that we both are trying desperately to suppress. I know now why he watched me, why he kept his eyes fixed on me. He wanted to see the moment clearly, the moment where I came. He waited for it.
By this time, the champagne has worn off, and the weight of my, our, actions comes down on me. I stand against the wall, the mixture of emotions swirling uncomfortably in my gut.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry about this, Emily,” Tyler says quietly. “I don’t regret it. I can’t regret you. I wish I had the willpower to turn away. At least then it would spare you this moment.”
“What moment?” I ask, leaning into him, taking in the scent of us.
“The moment where you realized what has just happened. The moment where you start to feel guilty. I hoped you wouldn’t. But you’re too good not to.”
He sums up my feelings perfectly. “Look,” he says, turning towards me and running his hand slowly across my cheek. “I can tell you I’m sorry, that I wish this hadn’t happened, and it may make you feel better. But somehow I don’t think that you want me to lie to you. I care for you so much. When you process this, remember that. And it has nothing to do with competing with Blake.”
He’s right, it didn’t. Nothing about what Tyler and I just shared competed. When Blake and I had sex, he got lost in it, and after a while it felt like he forgot that I was even there at all. It was all about his satisfaction. His pleasure. Tyler mind-fucked me in the best way. The way he grabbed me so tightly. The way he held my gaze, gauging my every response, my every reaction. Orchestrating his every movement to ensure that I was beyond satisfied by it all. A small, deliciously heated shiver ripples through my body as I remember how he felt inside of me, just moments ago.
Tyler decides not to rejoin the party, both of us agreeing that it would be better that way, seeing as how I am the first one to admit that my poker face sucks. He kisses me gently on the cheek before leaving.
I try desperately to fix my hair, uncrease my dress. Remove any telltale signs of my duplicitous behavior. The one thing that I can’t remove is the unwanted guilt I feel, leaden in my stomach like a huge, dark stone.
I walk back into the party. No surprise that Blake is exactly where I left him, working the room expertly. As I’m walking over, a cold hand grasps my elbow. I turn quickly to find myself standing face to face with Eliza Carson. She looks at me curiously then opens her clutch. I’m tempted to take a cautionary step back, in the event that she’s reaching for a pistol. Instead, she holds up a small gold tube. Lipstick?
“Your hair is a frightful mess,” she says with not a trace of emotion. “Your lipstick is smeared very unpleasantly across your face. Your dress looks like it has been discarded in a heap, and then reapplied. And one of the silver chains on the back of it has come loose.”
She continues to stare. I get the distinct impression that she knows exactly why I look like I’ve just been involved in a vehicular pileup. But as much as I search, I see no anger, nor judgment in her eyes. I take the lipstick gratefully.
“The powder room is that way. Blake has been asking after you. I assured him that I had seen you socializing with some of the other ladies. I’ll keep him occupied while you fix this,” she continues, gesturing with a nod towards Blake.
My eyes follow her as she walks over to him, purposely steering him in the opposite direction, cautious to keep his head facing away from me.
Did Eliza Carson just save me? I rush back to the restroom. She’s right. Blake would have immediately realized that something was amiss if I had gone back to him looking like this. I wipe away the lipstick and reapply the severe red shade that Eliza had given me. I reach back and yank off the disabled silver chain, and then fix my hair into a messy bun. What have I done? I feel guilty, I feel bad, but I don’t feel wrong.
Minutes later, I rejoin the Carson’s. “Emily,” Blake says, moving towards me and placing a possessive arm around my waist. “Did you change your hair?”
“Blake, how rude,” Eliza interjects, again saving me from fumbling over my words. “And I did tell Emily to go to my salon for this event. Her hairdo would never have come out like this had she listened.”
“She still looks beautiful,” Blake defends, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. His lips land on the same spot where Tyler’s were, not all that long ago. And all I want to do is swat Blake away from it. Eliza shoots me a warning glance.
Slowly, people begin to filter out of the ballroom, and when I look around again, the crowd of guests has diminished to only a few families. Maia and Jackson leave as well. Blake looks markedly pissed when, upon saying their goodbyes, Jackson and Maia both comment on what a great guy Tyler seems. Before they walk away, Maia says to me, “Don’t forget to call me tomorrow.”
“About what?” Blake asks, blissfully unaware of how out of line and intrusive that sounds.
Maia shoots him an irritated look. “Girl stuff, Blake. Mind your own business.”
We leave shortly after. And I take with me Tyler and my dirty little secret. Plus the persistently nagging feeling that I am planning to marry the wrong fucking person.
Chapter 15:
Blake
If there is one thing I can’t fucking stand, it is when people tell me how fucking awesome my brother is. How they gush about what a great guy he is, how easygoing he seems. He managed to create a lasting impression with Emily, and now with Maia and Jackson within five minutes of meeting them. I saw Jackson take down his number from across the room. Jackson doesn’t even have my fucking number. He wants everything I have. My blood boils, until I look over at Emily, staring distractedly out of the town car window, watching the lights of the big city pass by.
I smile to myself. He won’t have her. She loves me too much. So does Aria. He won’t have her, either. I put an arm around her shoulder and pull her towards me. For the briefest of moments, I feel like she recoiled at my touch. Maybe my hands were cold.
I have everything that I want. A beautiful fiancée. A happy mother, since my upcoming nuptials are closer than ever to being realized. A great job, with amazing career prospects. Emily and I are one of this society’s hottest couples. Our wedding will be the event of the season.
With her head resting on my shoulder, I play with the tendrils of hair that tickle my chin.
“Blake?” she says softly.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Are you sure that I am the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
“Why would you ask me that?” I reply, not missing the sadness in her eyes, glistening as she looks up at me.
“Just curious,” she says.
“I love you,” I say confidently. “I would do anything to keep you with me, forgive anything. I hope you haven’t found a replacement,” I joke nervously. Knowing that I have no choice in the future but to forgive any of Emily’s indiscretions, although I highly doubt I will have that issue, or any other form of betrayal. I’m not a hypocrite. From the inside of my glass house, I’m not going to be the one throwing stones.
But that will never happen. She loves me so much. And she knows that I love her. She just doesn’t know about Aria. Hell, every man I spoke to tonight at that party was quick to divulge their dalliances with escorts, hookers, mistresses. It’s almost like lighting a cigar or seeing the wife walk away was the cue to start spilling their secrets.
Seeming satisfied with my response, Emily rests her head back down. She closes her eyes briefly and brings her finger up to touch her lips gently. A small smile plays across her lips. At the same time, a sinking feeling lands in my gut, because I’m not one hundred percent confident that I inspired that smile.
Emily goes straight to the shower and then directly to bed when we arrive home. I run a hand up her thigh and under her silk teddy, but she doesn’t respond. She’s fast a
sleep. I’m so amped up from all of the networking. I want to celebrate. So I grab my keys and sneak out, locking the door behind me. If she asks, I’ll tell her what I usually do, that there was an emergency at the hospital. That I had to leave. She hasn’t figured out yet that I’m nowhere near having the seniority or experience to be called in for emergencies. For now, I’ll just milk it.
I haven’t called Aria, but I expect that she won’t mind me swinging by. To my surprise, the lights in the shop are still on. Being that it’s two am, I hardly expect anybody to want a tattoo at this time of night. I walk round the side and grab the key from its hiding place and quietly unlock the door.
In the distance, I do hear the faint buzzing of the tattoo gun. My brow creases in frustration. Who the fuck could be here at this time of morning? Then my heart drops. What if Aria is in there with someone? What if she got tired of being my side piece? What if my mistress is cheating on me? That’s too fucked up for even me to comprehend.
I walk purposefully down the hallway, towards the shop. I hear Aria’s voice, melodic and laughing over the buzz of the machine. A male laugh follows. A familiar laugh.
My blood begins to boil, and a violent, scarlet rage clouds my vision. I slam through the door, pushing Aria and her gun to the side, and slam my fist mercilessly into Tyler’s startled face. My brother never did like a beating. He immediately stands, realization dawning, and comes at me, shoving me painfully into the far wall. His blood coats my sleeve as I try to loosen his hold on my shirt. I hear Aria screaming in the background for us to stop. Swearing for trashing her room.
“Let it go!” Tyler yells. “Just fucking stop, Blake!”
I ignore him. Shoving him off me, I take another swing. The rage that I feel is unparalleled. Nobody touches what belongs to me. Not motherfucking ever. He should know that by now! Tyler realizes that the fight isn’t over and ducks, seconds before swinging at me. I duck as well, but not low enough. His fist connects with a thud into my cheekbone.
I pull my hand back to retaliate, my vision blurred by my watery eyes reacting to the pain of Tyler’s punch. I nearly follow through with my next punch, until my vision clears enough to see Aria standing between us. I stop, stunned. I could have hurt her, badly. She doesn’t face Tyler; she faces me. With a murderous glare.
“Stop,” she says menacingly through gritted teeth. “What the fuck are you doing here, Blake?” Her words are controlled, but laced with rage.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” I laugh sardonically. “What the fuck is he doing here?” I point an accusatory finger at my brother.
“No,” Tyler interjects from behind me. “The point is, what are you doing here, at two o’clock in the morning? When your fiancée is at home.” He looks at me with disgust. Aria averts her eyes and takes a step away. She’s obviously not getting into that side of things.
“Don’t fucking question me,” I say steely. “It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Maybe I should make it my business,” Tyler scoffs. “I’m sure your trusting fiancée has no idea, does she? How long has this been going on?”
No way am I answering this fool.
Instead, Aria does. “Since you left,” she says. My jaw drops. She fucking sold me out.
“How dare you?” she says, turning to me. “I told you once before that I don’t accept any man telling me who I can and cannot speak to. And then you walk in here, trash my shop—”
“Your shop?” I laugh. “You ungrateful bitch. My shop. Who pays the bills and the rent in this fucking joint?” I gesture around the room.
Tyler’s face registers shock as the words fly uncontrollably out of my mouth. “What the fuck are you gawking at? Put a shirt on, for fuck’s sake! And get the hell out!” I spit angrily at him.
“Tyler, stay,” Aria commands. “Blake, let me clear a few things up. You insisted on paying the bills here. I rejected your money so many times that you started paying my suppliers and my landlord directly. I may have accepted, but hey, why look a gift horse in the mouth?” Aria takes a fearless step towards me. “You told me that your fiancée was only in your life for the sake of your family. You begged me not to leave you when I found out, remember that? You told me that you would only ever love me.”
Aria points an accusatory finger at my chest. “You lied. It was only ever about you. And I was stupid, because I love you. Tyler is here tonight as my friend. Who is paying me to ink him. I never gave you the right to question my friendships. I suggest, unless you want to be arrested for trespassing, you get the hell out of my shop. And lose the address!”
Aria glares at me furiously. “And by the way, I actually did care about you. It’s a shame that you had so much dick anxiety that you thought you had to buy me to keep me around.”
Fuck her, and fuck Tyler. At least without her, I can focus on Emily. The woman who really truly loves me.
“Fuck both of you,” I spit and walk out. My jaw aches. My shirt is a bloody mess. How the fuck am I going to explain this to Emily?
Tyler. Tyler will tell Emily. I drive back to the apartment building, my anxiety rising, causing my heart to race unnaturally. He’ll destroy everything. He’s already destroyed my relationship with Aria. He’ll do it with Emily, too. He hates me. He wants everything I have; Emily, Aria, our mother’s love, her money. I’m the one that sticks around here and upholds the Carson family name while he flies off into the sunset, running away at the first sign of a problem.
I watch and wait. An hour later, Tyler’s motorbike pulls into the underground parking garage. I start my car and follow him in. As he dismounts, I open the door and walk over. He hears footsteps and turns, registering a surprised look as he sees me approach. He stands, poised for a fight, fists clenched tightly at his sides.
“I’m warning you,” I say lowly, standing face to face with my brother. “If you dare mess with my relationship with Emily or Aria again, I will fucking kill you.”
“Threats,” Tyler laughs. “Empty threats. Aria bolted when she saw the real you. Emily will do the same. And as always, Eliza will help you bathe your wounds. And then redirect you to your next path in life. Blake the fucking puppet.”
I glare at him menacingly. “Jealousy is a real bitch, isn’t it, Tyler?”
“Jealous? Of you?” Tyler shakes his head. I want to wipe the sarcastic smile from his lips with a fucking bullet right now. “You are so self-righteous, you know that? Paying your mistress off so that she won’t dump your ass? Lying to Emily, playing Mr. Nice Guy so that she won’t ever see this side of you, and probably leave you, too. And as for Eliza, don’t even get me started. You can keep her controlling ways. I have zero problems with you being the favorite son. Hell, you’re doing me a favor, distracting her away from meddling in my life.” Tyler points a finger threateningly at me. “I swear to God Blake, if you hurt Emily, I will fucking tear you apart. Don’t even consider that a threat. Take it as a motherfucking promise!”
I stand, unsure how to reply. There’s some truth in every lie. “Stay. Away. From. Emily. And from Aria. Or I’ll end you before those promises can be kept.” I say through gritted teeth, before turning and walking away.
Chapter 16:
Emily
Resolving to give myself some much-needed space from Tyler, I dress and leave early for work, knowing that he would probably still be out on his morning run. To my surprise, Blake had already left for work. And he took his own laundry to the Laundromat. I frown as I speculate as to why. Blake is a creature of habit. And that’s definitely not one of his habits. The morning air is fresh as I walk through the scores of people already out on the sidewalk.
The birds chirp, happy that springtime is upon us, and that summer will soon arrive. The trees and shrubs that line the parks and streets are all beginning to bloom. Cherry blossoms are my favorite, and every year I wait for that one week when they all awaken at once. When the normally bare branches explode in small pink flowers of varying shades. Just before the wind blows the
flowers mercilessly to the ground, and they carpet the bases of their trees so beautifully.
Today, none of that matters. Not the rising sun, nor the clear blue sky. It may as well be overcast and grey outside. My actions last night were reprehensible. Tyler is Blake’s brother. The true weight of my betrayal had settled in this morning. Tyler was right. In fact, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Blake had already left. I wasn’t sure that I could face him. Look him in the eye. Kiss him.
The worst part about it all was that I felt like I was now cheating on Tyler with Blake. It was all so fucked up. Tyler is all I can think about. I truly felt like being with Blake is wronging Tyler in so many ways. The beauty salon is not yet open when I arrive, and there’s no sign of Janie anywhere, so I make my way around to the side entrance and up the set of stairs that flank it to Mac’s apartment. He lives above the salon, a perk that he had insisted Janie throw in on account of the fact that she pays us minimum wage.
Mac answers the door groggily, looking ridiculous in a teal satin robe, his chest hair peeking through the crossed fabric. If I weren’t so miserable, I’d have laughed.
“What the hell, Emily?” he says with a scowl. Mac loves his sleep.
“I was early,” I say without much gusto, before pushing past him into the apartment.
Mac makes coffee and we sit at the counter, watching the morning news.
“Spill it,” Mac says with a sigh.
“What?” I reply.
“Whatever it is that ails you so,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The least you can do is fill me in, given that you woke me up!”
“It’s just, I—” I have to tell someone. And I trust Mac with my life. I breathe in deeply, and expel my breath, along with the painful admission. “I slept with Tyler.”
Mac plonks his cup down unceremoniously onto the countertop. His mouth hangs open in an exaggerated, slack-jawed way. He ponders on the statement for a minute before responding.
Scared of Forever (Scared #2) Page 11