"Bugger," she hissed, laying the blow dryer down and frantically grabbing the condoms and stuffing them back in the box.
"Getting ready for later?"
She let out a small shriek and fell backwards onto her ass as she looked up to see Patrick leaning against the door jamb. A lazy smile stretched his lips as he stared down at her.
"What? No!" Her voice was high and squeaky and she knew she looked like she'd been snooping. Her cheeks flamed. "I was looking for the hair dryer."
"Right."
Cheeky bugger! He walked closer and held out his hands, helping her up.
"I wasn't snooping!"
"Brina, it's okay, I believe you, sweets," he said, swatting her lightly on the ass. "C'mon, everyone is wondering if I've tied you up in here to wait for me until they all leave."
"Patrick!" Her blush spread down her neck and bloomed hotly across her chest at the thought of all those perfect people in the living room thinking that they were going to have sex later.
"Sabrina!" he mimicked in exactly the same tone, grinning down at her. "It's okay, love. I'm pretty sure they know we have sex, sweets. You are my girlfriend and I am a randy bastard."
"Is that why you have all those condoms?" She poked him in the stomach. "I don't think it'll be possible to have that much sex, Patrick."
"Not this weekend, no," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he led her out of the bathroom. "But there's many, many more weekends coming up and I like being prepared."
"I'd say." She laughed as they walked out of the bedroom and back into the living room.
Sabrina blinked, sitting up in the bed and reaching for the light switch. If only it'd been that simple, but life rarely was. Pushing aside the covers, she padded lightly to the bathroom and filled a glass with water, sipping it slowly as the rain continued its torrential downpour outside. She walked back over to the bank of windows and stared out at the street. A newspaper vendor battened up his stand, fighting against the rising wind. She shook her head and walked back to the bed, setting the glass down on the nightstand and slipping beneath the covers once more. Her mind refused to settle, thrusting her instead into the worst moment of the past six years, the day she and Patrick had broken up for good.
Sabrina glanced over her plate of eggs and toast to find Patrick staring back at her from a picture on the page of the paper she'd just opened. She leaned closer, reading the caption. It showed him together with the blonde woman she'd met six months prior when she'd surprised him by coming to London unexpectedly. "Patrick, why is there a picture of you and Cady looking like you're coming out of a hotel in the paper?"
He twitched the page he read aside and frowned at her. "What?"
She pointed to the paper she was reading. "Here, it's you and Cady; you're coming out of a hotel together."
He sighed and glanced over, studying the page. "Dunno, can't say I remember when it was. Does it matter?"
She frowned, reaching for the paper. "Yes, it matters, if you were coming out of a hotel with another woman."
"Brina, I get my picture taken constantly, you know that," Patrick said, shaking his head. "Can I read the sports section in peace, please?"
"Why are you avoiding the question?"
He flipped the paper down again. "Seriously?"
She narrowed her gaze. "Yeah."
He sighed and stood up, walking over to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice, drinking straight from the carton. "Brina," he said after he'd swallowed, "the tabloids want to sell papers, so they take pictures of me with different women because they know it'll send the fans into a tizzy." He walked back over to the table and sat down, setting the juice box on the table. "I'm with you, love. I don't want anyone else, I'm happy with my life. I'm not cheating on you, even though it's damn hard when you're all the way in Wales and I'm here."
She inhaled sharply. "So this is my fault now?"
He sighed again, frustration glinting in his eyes. "There's nothing going on. I love you. I tell you that all the time. I show you when we make love. Do I have to take an ad out in the ruddy
Times
for you to believe me?"
"I don't believe you. If there was nothing going on, you'd have an explanation for why you were coming out of a fucking hotel with another woman. You're trying to distract me with sappy bullshit, thinking I'll just let it go." She slammed her hand down on the table. "I'm not stupid, Patrick, please don't treat me as if I am!"
He clenched his fists tightly. "I know you're not stupid, Sabrina. I don't remember the picture being taken, so how can I explain it?"
She glared at him as she stood up. "So, it's such a common occurrence, coming out of hotel rooms with women that you aren't sleeping with, that you can't remember why you did it?"
"I'm not fucking Cady," he snarled. "We're mates; you know that because I introduced you to her. We went to school together for fuck's sake!"
"I know you introduced me to her, but I don't know you're not fucking her! I know she's been nothing but a snide bitch to me from the second I walked into your flat that night."
"What? You're barmy!"
Sabrina looked heavenward and took a deep breath, her temper barely leashed. Her hands were shaking and it felt like her entire world would come crashing down around her ears. Didn't he realize? Of course not, he only saw what he wanted to see!
"Patrick," she said icily. "You may not recognize the fact that Cadence Stanton wants to be more than"—she held up her hands and made air quotes—"mates, but I certainly do! That woman has wanted you to dump me from the second she met me!"
Patrick gaped at her as if she'd grown two heads. "I don't know where this is coming from, honestly." He grasped her arms lightly. "Sabrina, I love you, I'm with
you.
I don't know how else to convince you I'm telling you the truth, other than asking you to believe me when I tell you it. I've got to get to practice and I hope like hell by the time I get back, you've got your head screwed on straight again. I'm not with anyone but you, and if you'd like that to continue, you'll stop throwing out accusations!"
"Fuck you, Patrick!" Sabrina screamed.
He slammed his chair back and stomped out of the kitchen.
After he'd gone, she'd walked down to the newsstand to get some fresh air and found a magazine with his picture in it, this time with a tall, willowy brunette. They had their arms around each other and were laughing uproariously. Blood boiling, she stomped over to the register and handed over the money for it and five others, fury resonating from every pore as she strode back to the flat. Of course, she'd been stupid to think that he'd keep his promise about being exclusive. He was a bloody footballer, for fuck's sake! He had groupies hanging off him left and right, she'd seen it with her own eyes when she'd sat in the stands for the games. Women would throw their knickers at him as he ran down the tube to the field. He could probably open up his own shop with the amount of underthings that had been tossed at him.
Her anger enveloped her like a crimson cloak, coating everything with an oily haze. When she got back upstairs, she sat on the couch, fuming. She should've known better! What man needed twelve boxes of condoms? The tiny bit left of her rational brain thanked whatever ruled the universe that if he did fuck around with other women, at least he used protection.
She snarled incoherently, nails digging into the soft leather beneath her. Her trust shattered, her heart felt like it'd been ripped in two. She got up and paced the living area, muttering under her breath. Every turn brought her face to face with the new picture and it only increased her fury until she'd heard his key in the lock.
They'd fought for hours after that, screaming insults at each other, as if they were trying to top each other for who could be the most awful. The final straw though had been when she'd thrown down the other magazines she'd discovered, each one of them with a new picture of him with gorgeous women coming out of parties and other venues. Perhaps if Cady hadn't been so miserable to her, or if she'd been more confident in their relationship, it might not have mattered, but neither of those things happened, so her mind had automatically leapt to the only conclusion she could accept. Patrick had cheated on her, not once but several times, with a woman she not only couldn't stand, but one who had actively encouraged their relationship to falter—as well as several others she knew nothing about. It didn't help, of course, that the very next weekend, he'd been featured prominently on the entertainment pages, escorting Cady to yet another fabulous party, dressed to the nines and arm wrapped tightly around her waist as they'd dodged the paparazzi. Ronnie had bought out the liquor store and they spent the weekend getting blitzed and crying. No, that was a lie, she'd spent the weekend crying and getting drunk, Ronnie had just gotten drunk.
Sabrina sighed, rolling over and pushing the covers down, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well work. Padding over to the desk, she grabbed her laptop and plugged it in, waiting for it to boot up. Once it did, she pulled out the chair and sat down, opening up a new doc and beginning her article.
Chapter Four
The rest of the week flew by; her days spent researching Solstice traditions and her evenings typing up her results. By Friday night, she had the beginnings of a really good article stored on her hard drive. Ronnie had driven up earlier in the day, blowing into her hotel room like a hurricane.
"C'mon, it's Solstice eve," Ronnie said, giving Sabrina a licentious wink. "You absolutely cannot lock yourself up in this room on Solstice! The longest day of the year, celebrations everywhere. Sabrina, this is what you came here for!"
Sabrina's brow arched and she stared at her best friend. "You may have come here for the party, but I came here to work, so that means no drinking and carousing. Marv didn't send me over here to play. I have things to get done, Ronnie, and you know that. I'm going out tonight to the party, but it's for work."
Ronnie put on her best pout and walked closer, leaning over Sabrina's shoulder. "Bri, you surely won't get the sack if you live just a little tiny bit and actually enjoy the things you're writing about" she said, grinning.
"You know, you're damn lucky I like you," Sabrina cried in exasperation.
"I'm positive Marv wouldn't be very happy to know his best writer is sitting all alone in a hotel room every night instead of experiencing the local flavor, especially since you're writing an article about the traditions of Solstice," Ronnie said, changing tack skillfully.
She flounced over to the bed and flopped down, leaning her head on her hands. "Besides, I know there's going to be some hot men there."
Sabrina laughed, shaking her head. "Honestly, Waterston, if you took half as much time to concentrate on your golf game as you do on men, you'd have a better average than I do!"
Ronnie shrugged. "That's a game; I'm talking hot men, Bri!"
Sabrina rolled her eyes, turning back to the pile of books on the table in front of her. Thick and with covers that had almost unpronounceable names, Ronnie had told her repeatedly that she couldn't understand what Sabrina found so interesting in them.
Ronnie let her stew for a few moments longer before swiping the sheaf of papers out of her hands and tossing it neatly onto the table. "That's just about enough of that," she said, standing up and brushing nonexistent lint off of her jeans. "As your best friend, I'm ordering you to go out and experience the Solstice celebrations firsthand." Ronnie's expression turned coy. "Besides, I told Lorelei and Ivy we'd meet them downstairs in an hour, so get your ass in gear because you are not going dressed like that."
Sabrina glared, rising from the chair and planting her hands firmly on her hips. "First of all, there's nothing wrong with the way I dress"—she gestured towards her loose white t-shirt and baggy jeans, indicative of the outfits she wore most of the time—"and secondly, I already told you I have to work, so you didn't have any right to accept on my behalf. We were going to go out in London, not here where I have to work."
Ronnie's words made her self-conscious and she glanced towards the mirror behind the other woman. Not fat or skinny, just a normal looking, American woman with long dark auburn hair and sea green eyes staring out of a pretty but not beautiful face devoid of make-up.
"Stop looking at yourself like that," Ronnie said, shaking her head in disgust. "You're pretty and smart and for whatever reason, you can't seem to get that through your head. I meant your outfit." Ronnie suddenly shook her head. "Do you know who you remind me of? My Aunt Mona, who is eighty years old by the way, whining because someone wants to make her leave her house and actually meet people."
A soft flush spread across Sabrina's cheeks and she narrowed her eyes at her best friend before stomping over to the closet. "Fine! I'll go, but I probably won't enjoy it!"
Ronnie smiled widely. "Oh, yes, you will," she said smugly, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm certain of it."
* * * *
"You're meddling, again, aren't you?"
The goddess glanced over at her shoulder at her lover, an irritated grimace on her lips. "I have to, she is
so
stubborn! It was so easy the other times, her soul recognized his but this one, she can't see what's right in front of her!" She flicked her fingers and images filled the room, each one depicting the pair of lovers she wanted to nudge together—an Army officer and a nurse from World War I, a ship's captain and his stowaway bride from the time of the great whalers, a puritan and a cavalier, a factory girl and a coal miner, a mercenary and a village girl. Time after time, they'd found their way back to each other, completing the cycle.