Bronwyn started to answer then paused. “Have you ever seen a reality show called Romance Island?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any reality show, but someone in the office next to mine at work is obsessed with it. I think she’s watched every single episode.”
“Everyone watches it. The latest season of it ended in August; it’s the number one show in Britain during the summer.” Bronwyn said. “Anyway, Dad is the producer for the show, and he left Mom last year for Catherine Flack, the host.”
“Ouch.” Jaq shook her head. “Let me guess. She’s about twenty-two?”
“No,” she said, laughing, “She’s actually in her early forties and surprisingly likable.”
Music and laughter started to float over the hedges. In a few more minutes, the gardens would be dark and walking out of them with someone other than Ian could make her life difficult if anyone noticed.
“I guess we’d better make an appearance at the reception?” Jaq said.
Bronwyn’s voice was heavy with dread. “Fine. But only because we’ll freeze if we stay here.”
“You can always use those self-defense moves I taught you.”
“Oh my God, I forgot all about that! That’s one of the first things we ever did together. I still remember them.”
“They were actually legit, but I only offered to teach you so I’d have an excuse to touch you.”
Jaq smiled and took her hand, squeezing it then letting her go when they emerged from the maze.
They strolled back to the great hall, which now looked gorgeous with the sparkling fairy lights strung from tree to tree surrounding it against the night sky. Large windows facing the gardens framed the golden chandeliers hanging high from the rafters.
They’d barely walked in the door before a very thin, very loud woman ran up and kissed Bronwyn, nearly splashing red wine on her suit in the process.
“Bronwyn, dear God, you look like an Italian model!” She kissed both her cheeks and paused, staring at Jaq. “I could swear Ian was not nearly this good-looking last time I saw him.”
Her eyes swept Jaq’s body, and she leaned in to whisper loudly into her ear.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there was a rumor in our school that Bronwyn here has been known to like the ladies.”
“Jaq,” Bronwyn said, the muscles in her jaw visibly tense, “This is Amber Norton; she was a few years behind you at Stratford, so you two may not have met.”
“No,” Jaq said, extending her hand, “I don’t believe we have.”
“Your reputation precedes you, but I hadn’t heard you were American,” Amber said, keeping her eyes locked on Jaq and ignoring her hand. “So that begs the question…however did you get into Stratford?” She tilted her head and waited for Jaq to answer.
Jaq paused, then turned to Bronwyn. “Drink?”
“God yes. Two, if possible.”
Jaq squeezed her hand as she walked away, and Bronwyn was left with Amber.
“So,” she said, as soon as Jaq was out of earshot. “Ian is suddenly out of the picture, and you’re fucking an American dyke. How the hell did that happen?”
Tact had never been one of Amber’s attributes, probably because she didn’t need to mince words in her social circle. After Stratford, she’d married very well and once told Bronwyn at a boozy Christmas party that her husband was richer than God.
“First of all, Ian is not out of the picture. And I’m not fucking Jaq Bailey.” Bronwyn fought to keep her voice even.
“Pumpkin!”
Bronwyn heard her dad behind her before she turned around, and as she kissed him hello, Catherine Flack walked up as well and hugged Bronwyn with genuine affection.
Finally, Bronwyn thought, someone else for Amber to focus on.
“Where’s Mum?” Bronwyn knew her Dad had offered her a ride to the wedding since Catherine had been filming and was going to meet him at the church.
“She got a migraine at the last minute and said she’d changed her mind.”
Jaq returned and handed Bronwyn a martini as Angus Charles extended his hand.
“Good to see you, Jaq,” he said, smiling. “A buddy of mine works at the Yard and told me they’d finally gotten you back to London.”
“Yes, sir,” Jaq said. “They seem to have finally gotten me locked down.”
“Well,” Bronwyn’s dad said, clinking his glass of whiskey to Jaq’s, “London is the better for it.”
Jaq smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
Bronwyn watched them. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the undercurrent there, but perhaps that’s because Amber was carrying on a conversation with Catherine at an ear-splitting pitch.
“I’m sure you know my husband; he’s an executive at ITV2.” She paused to wave at someone over Catherine’s shoulder. “Isn’t that the television network that owns your little reality show?”
Catherine started to respond, but Amber’s attention had already drifted.
“I hate to interrupt, dear,” she said, interrupting Bronwyn’s conversation with her father, “But where the hell is Ian?” Amber was starting to slur her words ever so slightly.
Bronwyn took a deep breath. “Unfortunately he couldn’t attend; he had other commitments.”
“Well,” Amber said, shaking her head, “I wouldn’t let my Martin get away with that. But mind you, it takes some work; they don’t come out of the box that way. If you want them to behave, you have to train them. ” She drained the last of the wine in her glass. “Treat them mean, keep them keen.” She raised her eyebrow at Bronwyn and started to go on.
Catherine cut her off. “Amber,” she said, “Isn’t that Martin over there?”
Amber followed Catherine’s gaze across the reception hall.
“He’s to the left of the bar,” Catherine said. “I believe he’s the one with his hand on that bridesmaid’s ass.”
Amber finally spotted him and scurried away, her face a flaming red.
“Thank Christ,” Bronwyn said, rubbing her temple with the pads of her fingers as Catherine put her arm around her shoulder and squeezed her. “Cheers, I love you for that.”
The bell announcing dinner sounded, and everyone was directed first toward the board showing the seating arrangements, and then on towards the dining room. Jaq and Bronwyn were seated together, along with her father and Catherine, Moira and her husband James, and Amber and Martin Norton. Of course.
Moira and James were already at the table, and she jumped up to hug Bronwyn the second she saw her; they’d been friends since primary school. Before she let her go, she whispered, “Oh my God, is that who I think it is?”
“Yes,” Bronwyn whispered, glancing over at Jaq. “I might be losing my mind. I’ll fill you in later.”
Bronwyn introduced her to Jaq briefly, then Moira moved on to hug Bronwyn’s father. She tried her best not to seem star struck when he then introduced her to Catherine.
“I just want you to know,” she said, leaning in and touching her arm, “I watched Romance Island every night this season.”
Moira was from Liverpool in Northern England, but even seven years at a posh school in London hadn’t put a dent in that sharp Scouse accent.
“I’m flattered, thank you,” Catherine said, clinking her glass to Moira’s. “I’ll have to catch you up later on what’s going on behind the scenes.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “All is not as it seems; I’ll give you the scoop.”
The speeches commenced, and after what seemed to be a thousand lengthy toasts to the happy couple, dinner was served. Amber had made a noisy entrance at some point between the speeches and was now picking at the prime rib and Yorkshire pudding on her plate. Martin was still nowhere to be seen.
“So, Jacqueline,” Amber said finally, sitting back in her chair with her wineglass dangling precariously from two fingers. “We all know what Bronwyn’s Ian does for a living.” She paused for effect. “What is it that you do?”
“Well, I’ve always worke
d with numbers in some capacity,” Jaq said. “I was back in the States for a few months after school, but it looks like I’m settled now in London.”
“Ah,” Amber said, peering over her glass at Jaq and nodding slowly as if all was becoming clear. “You’re looking for work.”
“Not at the moment, no,” Jaq said, glancing at Bronwyn.
“Well, not that it’s my place to say it,” Amber ignored the sharp elbow Moira was nudging her with, “But I’d imagine that your look has a little something to do with you being unable to progress in a career.”
That was enough for Jaq. She set her scotch down and held Amber’s eyes. The table fell silent, and Bronwyn caught her dad smiling out of the corner of her eye.
“Actually,” Jaq said, “I have a Ph.D. in Linear Analysis and Numerical Theory from Oxford. I was recruited last year by Scotland Yard as a Detective Sergeant to head up their forensic accounting division in London.”
Amber launched into a shrill laugh, then stopped and dropped her voice when she realized Jaq was serious. “Really?”
Jaq held her eyes, unflinching. “Yes, really.”
Catherine tried not to laugh but the situation was just too delicious to ignore, and the laugh came out anyway as more of a stifled snort.
“Well,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “That cleared it up nicely. Wouldn’t you say, Amber?”
Mr. Charles stood up. “Well, on that note, I’m headed outside for some air.” He pushed his chair away from the table and dug his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. “Jaq, care to join me?”
When they left, it was suddenly all too much for Moira.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” she said, turning to Amber. “Why in the world would you say that?”
“All I’m saying is that obviously Ian is the perfect man for Bronwyn.” She cleared her throat. “Emphasis on man.”
She was too drunk to argue with. Catherine rolled her eyes, scooted her chair closer to Bronwyn and Moira, and launched into all the juicy details on what happened with the cast on Romance Island. Moira was delighted, and even Bronwyn was drawn in after a few minutes. Jaq and Mr. Charles reappeared while the band was testing the sound system for the dancing to come.
“Okay,” Amber slurred with a look in Jaq’s direction as they sat down. “Just one more question.”
Bronwyn glared at her and started to say something, but Jaq stopped her.
“No, it’s fine,” she said, her hand touching Bronwyn’s briefly. “Let her go ahead.”
“What I want to know is,” Amber shifted her gaze to Bronwyn, “Which one of you is the man in the bedroom?”
Catherine didn’t give Jaq time to answer, just leaned forward over the table to Amber. “Isn’t that funny?” She said. “We were just wondering the same thing about you and Martin.”
****
It was late by the time Bronwyn and Jaq finally escaped the reception and returned to the pub, and the bar was locked up tight. They climbed the steps to the room, and Bronwyn turned suddenly to Jaq.
“I just assumed you’d let me stay the night again,” she said, suddenly hesitant. “I should have asked.”
“Oh,” Jaq said, taking her hand and leading her to the door. “That’s cute. You thought I’d let you stay somewhere else?” She smiled down at Bronwyn, far shorter than she was again now that she was carrying her stilettos. “Not a chance.”
Bronwyn smiled and started unbuttoning her jacket the second she got through the door, digging a pair of silk pajama bottoms out of her suitcase.
“Ah, now I see,” Jaq said, looking at the navy blue silk pile in her hand. “So you were torturing me last night. You didn’t have to wear tiny lace shorts to bed. You just wanted to make me suffer.”
Bronwyn stepped closer to her, fingers holding the last button on her suit jacket. The silence fell dense between them.
“If I wanted to torture you, Jaq…you’d know it.”
She released the last button on the jacket, and it fell open to the waist, barely covering her breasts.
“Christ, Bronwyn,” Jaq said, the words coming out in a rough whisper.
Her eyes touched every inch of Bronwyn’s skin. Finally, she reached out and touched a finger to Bronwyn’s bottom lip, then slid it slowly down between her breasts to her waistband.
“You have to put some clothes on, Bella,” Jaq said, using her nickname for Bronwyn when they were at school. “I can’t be trusted when you’re naked like this.”
Bronwyn stepped away and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She sat on the tub, thinking, trying to remember the last time she felt like this. In truth, she’d forgotten what it even felt like. Most nights, she went home alone, and on the rare nights Ian slept over, she’d tried to get into making love with him, but really just counted the minutes until he finished. It wasn’t that he was a bad lover, not really, but sometimes she wasn’t sure it even mattered to him that it was her there, and not someone else.
She took her suit off and hung it up on the back of the door, slipping on her pajama bottoms and a white tank top. She brushed out her hair and took off her makeup, then opened the door. Jaq was sitting on the hearth, coaxing flames up from tinder to the logs. Her hair looked like she’d just run her hands through it, standing it on end, and she’d changed into jeans and a wool sweater.
Bronwyn sank down on the sofa across from the fire, tucking her feet underneath her. “So, Detective Sargent,” she said, her eyes teasing. “Why didn’t you tell me about Scotland Yard?”
Jaq smiled and put another log on the fire, sending a spray of red and gold sparks up the chimney. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. I just don’t really bring it up unless I have to.”
“Well, you picked the perfect moment; I’ve been waiting for someone to shut Amber up since Stratford.” Bronwyn beamed, leaning back and basking in the memory. “And that was beautifully done.”
“I never thought about what you had to come back to the next year after I graduated.” Jaq looked up from the fire. “Did everyone know?”
Bronwyn nodded. “Everyone knew. And some of the parents even pulled their daughters out of my dorm, like I was going to convert them or something,” she said, pulling at a thread on the hem of her shirt. “It was a huge scandal.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jaq said. “I had no idea.”
“It’s not your fault. We did nothing wrong. They just saw an opportunity to freeze me out, and they did. I heard myself called ‘that dyke’ so many times I forgot I had a name.”
Jaq looked up and saw tears she was trying to hide. She walked over and pulled Bronwyn into her arms.
“It was a long time ago,” Bronwyn said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying about it now.”
“Because it was shitty.” Jaq pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “And you had to deal with it all by yourself.”
“But it wasn’t all bad,” Bronwyn said, catching a tear on her chin with her hand. “Moira heard what was happening and convinced the dean to let her transfer to my dorm, then switched rooms with my neighbor, so she had the room next to mine. The first thing she did was march into Amber’s room and call her an evil cow.”
Jaq laughed, and Bronwyn caught the last tear on her cheek and wiped it away.
“We were friends before, but I’ve never forgotten how she defended me when it wasn’t easy and she didn’t have to do it. We’ve been close ever since.”
“I knew she was a badass when I met her at the wedding.” Jaq smiled. “Those Essex girls don’t take any shit.”
They watched a log crumble into glowing red pieces in the coals, Jaq slowly trailing her fingertips back and forth across Bronwyn’s back.
“Did you ever tell your parents about it?”
Bronwyn looked up at Jaq as she said it but she just stared into the fire. Bronwyn knew enough to wait until she spoke.
“After school, I went home to Texas for a month before I started Oxford. I hadn’t h
ad the money to fly home for years, and Mom didn’t have any other family, so there was no one to keep me updated on anything.”
Jaq paused for a long moment, then cleared her throat and went on.
“When I finally got back to Austin, her trailer was there but strangers were living in it. I asked at the bar and they told me she’d died the year before. Drank herself to death, apparently.”
Bronwyn turned around, pulled Jaq into her arms, and hugged her hard.
Sometimes there’s just nothing to say.
“It’s okay,” Jaq said after a minute, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “It was a long time ago.”
Bronwyn got up after a few minutes and poured her a scotch from the bar.
“I definitely should not drink that,” Jaq said when she came back to the sofa and tried to hand it to her.
“Why?”
“You’ve looked in the mirror tonight, right?” Jaq kept her eyes on Bronwyn. When she spoke again, her voice was low and ragged around the edges. “It’s taking everything I’ve got not to pick you up right now and lay you down on that bed.”
Bronwyn didn’t speak, just sat down next to her and slowly handed her the glass.
Jaq closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice sounded like the raw scrape of metal against rock. “Fuck, Bronwyn.” The muscles in her jaw tensed as she spoke. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Bronwyn took the drink out of her hand, took a long sip, then handed it back to her. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
The fire sparked and flared as the last log collapsed into the coals. Jaq got up and put another log on top of it, waiting until it caught and the flames threw shadows onto the walls before she came back to the couch. When she did, she drank half of the scotch, then put the glass down and took an ice cube out of her mouth. Bronwyn watched, holding her breath as Jaq reached out and touched her with it. Her shirt clung to her skin where Jaq held it against her, her nipple tight and hard under the rough edge of the ice. Jaq’s voice startled her.
“Close your eyes.”
Jaq moved the ice slowly around her other nipple. Bronwyn’s breath deepened and her hand found Jaq’s thigh. She felt Jaq lean in, then the slow warmth of her breath on wet skin, and finally the lightest scrape of Jaq’s teeth against her nipple. As she opened her eyes, Jaq tossed the ice into the fire where it hissed and steamed in the flames.
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