The Grayson Trilogy

by Georgia Rose

  The days passed in a blur of activity, and the wedding plans fell into place thanks to those who were doing the organising. When I was needed, I popped into the Manor for Grace and the others to run things by me, and it was on one of those occasions that I bumped into Sophia and Reuben. I knew they’d been away for a week staying with some cousins, and because of that hadn’t, in fact, been to the stables to ride since “the incident”, which was how I now referred to it. I wasn’t sure what else to call it.

  I’d walked into the kitchen and there they were, perched on high stools up against the worktop, eating some sort of chocolate sundae, digging long-handled spoons into tall glasses of chocolate ice cream streaked with darker sauce. They turned when I entered, grinning which was good to see. They both appeared to have benefited from their week away, which I guessed was the plan, and looked healthy and bright-eyed. I would have loved to have had a little of whatever it was that was making them glow like that.

  Plopping myself on to a stool next to them, but refusing the kind offers of a lick of their spoons, I was wondering if they’d heard the news and if I should broach the subject when Reuben jumped right in.

  “Getting married then,” he said, cramming another creamy mouthful in.

  “Yes,” I replied, a little taken aback at his abruptness. “How did you know?”

  “Been asked to be best man...along with my Dad,” he said indistinctly through the ice cream.

  “Have you now?” That was news to me, though I liked the idea and the fact that Trent was including him. Then I frowned, saying, “Well now that’s a shame – I was about to ask you to be a pageboy.” I was winding him up and knew he wouldn’t let me down. His expression turned to one of disgust at the thought.

  “You don’t fancy wearing some sort of frilly knickerbocker outfit, then?” I teased.

  He shook his head, rolling his eyes at me. “No I don’t, you’ll have to find someone else for that job. I’m getting a suit to wear as best man.”

  I doubted they made suits durable enough to last a day without getting trashed by some of the stunts Reuben got up to. “Oh well,” I sighed, “I guess I’ll just have to manage without a pageboy then.”

  “What do they do then, at a wedding?” he asked.

  I shrugged “Absolutely no idea” and he laughed. I turned my attention to Sophia who had been quietly eating throughout our exchange.

  “Are you okay, Sophia?”

  “Yes.” But she wouldn’t look at me preferring to concentrate on her ice cream instead.

  I was suddenly concerned that maybe she didn’t like the thought of Trent and I getting married. I knew how close she was to him and it made me feel uncomfortable, especially with what I wanted to speak to her about.

  “Okay...” I thought I’d better ask. “Sophia, are you all right with Trent and I getting married?”

  Her brief nod accompanied by a not-bothered lifting of the shoulders was not exactly the enthusiastic response I was hoping for, but I thought I’d plough on with my request.

  “Oh, well...I was wondering if you would like to be my bridesmaid,” I asked, not sure what reaction I was going to get.

  She squealed as she leapt off her stool, scooted round to me and threw her arms round my neck, crying “Oh yes, yes please!” into my hair, before leaping back down, bouncing a couple of times and running from the room, yelling for her mother as she went. I was left with a lingering scent of chocolate and a sticky smear across my cheek.

  “That seemed to make her happy,” taken aback at such a turn-around in her mood.

  “Yup...it’s all she’s been talking about: the wedding, the dress, would she get asked, what would her dress be like, what would she do if she didn’t get asked, what would she wear then, and on, and on, and on...” Reuben said dramatically. I laughed and thought how easy it was to make a little girl’s dreams come true. And, having made my first decision of the wedding, I thought I’d better go and find Grace to see if there was anything else I should be doing. At least she wouldn’t have minded me having gone off script with this decision.

  I was working out at the gym the following week and deep in thought. Whatever I did I couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling that at some point Orlov and the others were going to return, and with these thoughts and those of the wedding my mind buzzed with the overload. Physical work was good for giving me the head space to focus on these issues, but with my day job I was finding I had too much time to think, too much time to dwell on the endless possibilities of what might happen. Trent was keen for me to move on and wanted to put “the incident” behind us so I didn’t want to keep bringing it up, but irrespective of my current problems, and I knew I was stronger now, the worries were mounting, and the more I thought about them the more I knew they needed confronting.

  Though distracted by these concerns, at least all this activity was keeping my body in good shape, I thought. “I can feel her body against mine, firm as I like it but soft in all the right places”. I shuddered, pushing the memory back into the dark recesses of my mind, startled as I looked up to find Trent standing in front of the cross-trainer I was pounding, his arms crossed as he studied me. My thoughts interrupted, I came straight out with it.

  “How do we know they’re not going to come back – Orlov...and the others?” He didn’t hesitate.

  “We don’t. In fact, if we do nothing it’s inevitable that they will.”

  “What are we going to do then?” I fired back.

  “Regardless of what happened here, we were given a job to do and we shall be redoubling our efforts with that after the wedding.” This was news. He realised that from the look on my face as he continued, “Sorry, I probably should have told you that before.” I ignored the apology – it wasn’t unusual for him to keep stuff from me. At least now I knew some action was going to be taken, that we weren’t going to sit here defensively – proactivity I could deal with – not that I liked the thought of him going, putting himself in danger. He frowned.

  “We’ll be keeping this place fully covered in our absence, Em,” he said, as if trying to reassure. I was glad he didn’t add “Just in case” and nodded, not slowing my pace.

  He looked concerned as he asked, “Are you okay? You seem to be as intent as Turner on working out every moment there is. Sure you’re not overdoing it?”

  The truth was that I was overdoing it; my body was tired, but unable to shake the unsettled feeling that haunted me nowadays at least if I worked out hard I slept well. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling like this all the time, but had put it down to being hypersensitive to everything around me, and the subsequent overactive adrenaline production was sending me into fight or flight mode too often and making me twitchy.

  “I’m fine, Trent, a little out of sorts that’s all.”

  “Hmm, I was wondering if you were up for a little sparring with Turner. I’ve watched you putting in some time with him, and if there’s anyone getting through to him at the moment it’s you. Thought it might do you both a little good...something different. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, I’m up for that.” I was willing to try anything to improve my frame of mind.

  “Right. Well, to brief you, we’re concerned that with all the work he’s putting in he thinks he’s better than he is, and we’re worried he’s going to take on more than he can handle. We need you to show him, as gently as you can, how much he doesn’t know yet.”

  Oh, so it was not about trying something different, more about sending a message then, I thought.

  “Okay,” I said. “If you could get some mats out we can get ready.” I called to Turner and suggested the sparring. Even without Trent’s intervention it was about time Turner was exposed to the different discipline that was needed for this type of training, though it had been a while since I’d done anything like this and I hoped I wasn’t too rusty.

  I’d taken up kick-boxing a couple of years before coming to the estate. I’d found the exercise good for my mental health, and I
’d frequently trained with sparring partners, ending up competing for my club a couple of times.

  While Turner and I donned head guards, gloves and protective pads, the others laid out a square of mats. Then I introduced Turner to the art of defence and attack. We each tucked the ends of a shoelace into our waistbands, and the winner would be the first to snatch the other’s shoelace. As well as learning about facing an opponent, keeping light on your feet ready to defend or attack, it was an exercise that taught the blocking skills needed to defend, which Turner had never learnt, and also taking on a live target in attack rather than an inanimate punch-bag. It was, however, mostly about moving fast and blocking defensively, and it was frustrating for Turner: I did not go easy on him. It was his twentieth attempt before he had his first win, and by then he’d had to work seriously hard and definitely deserved it. He’d done well, learnt fast, but rather than take the well-deserved applause from our small audience, he handed me back my shoelace, checking his was still securely in position, then muttered, “Again.” He turned his back to me and walked to his start position.

  “Enough,” I replied firmly to his back.

  “I want to go again.” He turned to face me.

  “I said, that’s enough...for today. Bring your game face for tomorrow though, Turner, because it’s not going to be any easier.” I grinned as I walked towards him, offering my gloved hands in as near a high five as can be done in gloves, and he reluctantly brought his hands to mine in salute. I knew we were done for the time being. I knew I was done for the day anyway, and wasn’t sure I would be in any state for a rematch anytime soon, knowing all I was currently good for was going home to soak in a hot bath.

  The next day I thought that now he’d learnt about facing an opponent we’d have a proper match to practise the attacking moves. Wearing body protectors this time, I set out the rules of engagement which are important in this type of arena. Less so when you’re fighting for your life in a back alley somewhere, I imagined.

  I was planning on using this as a coaching session – stopping and starting to emphasise good and bad technique, the idea being not to kick the crap out of each other, but to do reined-back versions of the moves so that we would both still be standing at the end. Turner was young, fit and keen, and although I was worried about his desire for achievement at the moment, I felt that most importantly he wanted to learn.

  The gym was empty, the boys having been called to the Manor to help Grace out. We started off easily enough, joking and laughing if the other miskicked, encouraging and congratulating each other if a blow landed satisfactorily. I knew Turner was holding back, though, knew he could do better and, driven as he was, I wanted him to work harder. I started attacking more aggressively, making him have to defend as I pushed him, hoping he’d start attacking back. The atmosphere changed between us as I laid it on, wanting him to come back at me, wanting him to put up the fight I knew he had in him.

  “Come on, Turner, you can do better than this,” I pushed as my foot collided with his comfortably padded ribs, receiving barely a grunt in response. Backing off again, I bounced on my toes, expecting him to retaliate and come for me. Nothing.

  “You’re overthinking this, Turner. Come on, here I am, an open target. Come and show me what you’ve got Turner.” Goading now, I wound him up as he took on an attacking stance, primed, ready to go. I didn’t let up. “Imagine I’m the enemy, Turner, imagine your worst enemy standing right here in front of you. Standing here open and waiting for you – what would you want to do to him if he were here now Turner? If Anatoly were here now...”

  Big mistake. At the mention of Anatoly’s name, Turner’s fury erupted. I could almost see the red mist descend as he let out a primeval roar and unleashed a full attack on me.

  Crap, what the fuck had I been thinking? As he launched himself across the mats at me, the realisation dawned that the gym was empty and Turner was about to kill me. I moved quickly, ducking and blocking as well as I could against the blows that rained down on me. I could do nothing other than defend, the blows coming too quickly to let me retaliate. I did the best I could, but realised I was no match for his strength now that it was at full force.

  A movement in the corner of my eye. The door opening, distracting me for a fractional moment. All that was needed. His foot catching me hard under my chin, throwing me into the air. I heard Trent’s yell as I flew backwards, landing hard on the corner of the mats, skidding off and coming to rest against the base of the cross-trainer. Winded, I struggled to rise, needing to see where my opponent was. I knew he would be coming for me again, and I couldn’t protect myself on the floor. Trent reached me, shielding me as he grabbed me to him protectively. Over his shoulder I saw Hayes and Carlton take hold of Turner. They took him down, pinning him to the floor until he was calmer, until all we could hear were his sobs of frustration and pain.

  Struggling out of Trent’s arms, I crawled across the mat to Turner as the boys began to loosen their hold. I knew the fight had gone out of him, and I put my arms around him, holding him tight as he cried “Sorry, sorry, sorry” over and over into my neck until it was wet with his tears.

  Eventually he calmed enough for me to let him go, and we both sat silent and shocked on the mats. Taking my headguard off, feeling the tenderness along my jawline with my fingers I heard Trent behind me.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “It was my fault,” I muttered, embarrassed at what I’d done, “I wanted him to do better, I pushed him, I goaded him.” And looking up, I met the pain in Turner’s eyes.

  “What were you thinking?” Trent cried. “He could have killed you.”

  “I know.” My voice rose. “I wanted him to bring his best and...he wasn’t...so I...” I gave up my feeble attempt at explanation.

  Trent sat for a moment pensively, his arms encircling his knees. He said to Turner, “We need to get you some help. You do see that now, don’t you? We can’t risk something like this happening again if you lose it. I’ll have a word at the station, see what they’ve got set up there that we could tap into.”

  Turner nodded mutely. I held out my hand to him and said, “I’m so sorry” before helping him to his feet. Stripping off the rest of our protective gear, we left the gym, all dejected by the way things had turned sour so quickly.

  The next day Trent returned from the Manor carrying a huge bouquet of flowers, which was a first.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, a little mystified at what I’d done to deserve these.

  “They’re not from me,” he explained, “they’re from your new admirer.” Then, seeing my raised eyebrows, he added, “Turner. Seems he feels the need to keep saying sorry to you because you made him nearly beat you to death.”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” I replied uncomfortably.

  “Oh, you think so? It was just as well we walked back in when we did, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry you’re annoyed with me, Trent.”

  I heard the frustration in his voice as he said, “You make it so damned difficult to look after you, you know that?” Pulling me into his arms he held me close.

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t need looking after.” He didn’t respond to that directly; he knew I had needed him, he knew he had protected me from Turner and things could have turned out very badly if he hadn’t. But he didn’t rub it in.

  “Humour me, will you? It’s what I need to do.”

  Chapter 13

  Our wedding day, “the big day” as we’d come to refer to it, had arrived, and apart from my stomach that felt as though it was filled with butterflies, and my bruised jaw from Turners kick, that was now only uncomfortable if I talked, ate or moved it, I felt good. Buoyant even. It had been strange to wake up on my own that morning as Trent, being the traditionalist he was, had insisted we should spend our last night apart. He had returned to his apartment only to find his proposed quiet night in invaded by the boys and Cavendish, who’d decided to have an impromptu stag night.
I imagined there’d be a few sore heads this morning, and from the slurred phone conversation I’d had with Trent in the early hours I hoped his wasn’t one of them.

  Trent had left the night before in his new, though temporary, toy. There wasn’t much for me to do towards the wedding arrangements, so as a little gift for Trent, and with Cavendish’s help, I’d hired a classic convertible Jaguar for a few days as a surprise for him. It had been delivered the previous day, when the first I’d known of it had been the roar of the engine as it approached the stables when he came to show me. It was deep red, and I had to admit he did look good in it. Since then there’d barely been time for the engine to go cold. Laps had been taken round and round the estate, Trent feeling the need to take everyone out for a ride as he enjoyed every moment racing it around irresponsibly. It was good to see him so happy and to know I’d played a part in that, both short term and, I was hoping, the longer term.

  I got the horses ridden early and, now the heatwave was over, turned them out in the field and prepared the stables ready for the evening, when someone else would be coming to put them away. I went back to the cottage, and knowing Grace, Sophia and Greene would be arriving soon so we could get ready together, I went up to shower and wash my hair, hearing them noisy in the kitchen as I turned off my hair dryer. I joined them downstairs and opened the day’s first bottle of champagne, with lemonade and just a splash of the bubbles for Sophia, and we raised our glasses to each other as my nerves kicked up a notch with the realisation that this was actually happening. I didn’t know why I was nervous. I knew Trent and I were right together, I had no doubts there. But then I’d known Alex and I were right together too, and look how that had turned out. We chatted while I got out the smoked salmon nibbles I’d made to help soak up the alcohol, then we started to get ready.

  Grace had brought my bouquet with her, containing only lily of the valley, simple and small. Greene did my makeup and hair, then it was time for the dresses. Greene and Grace had become my unofficial people for this event, but none of us wanted them to look like bridesmaids so they’d bought different dresses in complementary colours. Greenes’ was of deepest burgundy for the garnets I wore in my ears and at my throat. Grace’s was midnight blue and Sophia’s silvery white, sparkling and glittering with tiny crystals, the pair of them matching the sapphires and diamonds that alternated around the plain band of white gold that Trent was going to put on my finger today. He’d already tried to give me the ring, left to him by his mother, shortly after asking me, but it was so beautiful and meant so much to him I’d wanted to save it for my wedding ring.