Authors: Elise Alden
I slipped the shoe onto my right foot and then sighed in mock regret. “I’ll have to give up my porn-star dreams.”
James smirked. “Either that or start a whole new trend.”
“Bouncing Bombshells Do Hunky Heroes?”
“Who’s the bouncing bombshell? All I saw was a hopping horror,” he teased.
Yeah, horror was the right genre for me. My silly mood trickled away and I touched my cheek and winced. My face felt just as torn and sore as I did on the inside. I stood up and aimed for lightness but my voice came out broken and hoarse.
“You’re right about that, James. You’re the hero—I’m more like Frankenstein’s monster’s girlfriend.”
His teasing smile faded. “I was joking.”
Oh God, he sounded
kind
, as if he felt sorry for me. No fucking way. I spotted the Harrods bag my mother wanted and limped over to it. I needed to leave and I needed more booze. Or some rage. Something that erased the bleakness threatening to overwhelm me; something that wasn’t the sort of kindness that cuts you to pieces.
“Sure thing, mate, no biggie,” I managed, heading towards the door.
His quiet voice stopped me. “You are beautiful, Paisley.”
If only he knew.
My eyes welled up and I bowed my head. “No, I’m not.”
I reached for the doorknob and then James was behind me, only inches from my back. Slowly, he turned me around by the shoulders. I didn’t want to see his pity so I focused on his crisp white collar.
“I beg to differ,” he said.
Oh God, there was more of that kindness again! Unmerited and unwanted. I didn’t want to drop my barriers but James’s voice was undoing me. A traitorous tear rolled down my cheek and I didn’t even know why I was crying. Was it for my past or for my future? Or was it for the sadness that had been following me around for weeks? I flinched away but his hand wrapped around the back of my neck to stop me. A warm, tender finger traced the ugly gash on my cheek.
“You are beautiful,” he repeated firmly. “Gorgeous.”
I shook my head because I didn’t trust my voice. My uncle had destroyed anything of beauty inside me years ago. Sure, plenty of men panted after me, but nobody had ever told me I was beautiful and meant it, sincerely and with no other purpose than to make me feel good.
James tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes, and I saw nothing of pity in his glittering green depths. Kindness, yes, and compassion, but no pity. I gulped, and another tear slid down my cheek. He looked pained.
<<
Don’t cry
,
baby
.>>
He caught the tear at the corner of my mouth and rubbed it gently across my bottom lip, tracing the sadness into my flesh like indelible ink. My mouth parted and he edged its contours slowly. My lips tingled, aching for his. Hell, my whole body was aching but I kept still, trembling with the effort. I wasn’t going to take advantage of Caroline’s high heels to get closer even if it meant I got the shakes. I turned my face and pressed my lips into his palm instead, kissing it softly.
A thank you.
Like a child, I shut my eyes and wished with all my heart that James would hold me. Just hold me. Let me absorb some of his strength, because I was running out and I needed every ounce I could get for the nightmare ahead.
Stupid girl
, my mind jeered.
I stepped away from him before I proved myself right. James immediately pulled me back. One of his arms circled my waist and the other pressed gently into my back to hold me close. I sank into his solid strength, breathing in his musky scent and listening to the steady beat of his heart.
James rubbed my back soothingly and our bodies adjusted and relaxed as we embraced. I wanted to see his face but I kept my eyes shut, sure that if I opened them I would find that wine-coloured roses and a crown of thorns were bleeding my fantasy away.
James and Paisley
,
Paisley and James
. My mind sang it like a nursery rhyme.
“Shh,” James soothed, as if I really were a baby.
I might as well have been because there was nothing sexual in James’s touch. The heat at my hips was just that: the hot bulge of a man’s package, not the insistent prod of a raging hard-on. I felt his nearness all the same. Being caressed so tenderly was erotic in a way I’d never thought possible. I couldn’t help wanting to return the favour. My mind filled with the memory of how I’d raked him with my nails, of how I had kissed and straddled him. I forced my hands to rest lightly on his lower back.
We swayed together almost imperceptibly, as if we were slow-dancing to a whispered melody. A low hum vibrated over my skin as we moved but I don’t think James heard it. My body tightened, my nipples taut and tingling, chafing against the thin linen sundress.
James angled his hips away from mine. His breath was warm on my cheek.
“Still crying?”
I nodded and he stroked the nape of my neck. My hair unravelled and strong, lean fingers massaged the base of my scalp. His caress made my bones feel as languorous as my brain. All I could think of was how
right
it felt to be in his arms—and how painful. He rocked me slowly as the tears slid down my cheeks, wetting his neck and the collar of his shirt.
I knew he must be thinking of getting back to the reception and I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to move but it was time to let go.
“Thanks,” I said, speaking into his jaw.
He dropped his chin. “Are you okay now?”
I nodded and the action brushed my mouth against the corner of his. “Sorry,” I whispered.
A low noise came from James’s throat and he pressed his lips to mine, a touch so light and gentle, so fleeting I wondered if I’d imagined it. But I didn’t imagine the soft kiss that followed or the kiss after that. Or the way our bodies melded together as our mouths dipped and scooped in a longer, lingering kiss that was both tender and arousing.
When we broke apart we were both trembling.
“Kissing me better, James?” I said shakily.
He cleared his throat. “Apologising. My behaviour in the maze was abominable.”
“Too late. I hate you now.”
His eyes lit up with little golden flames. <<
Liar
,
liar.
>>
<<
My pants are on fire.
>>
James’s breath caught and we froze in a silence so charged I wondered if breathing would ignite the molecules between us. His thoughts zinged into my mind like rockets.
Bed
and
sex
and
Paisley
and
now!
He wanted me naked against him, wanted to thrust inside me before we even got to the bed. And his desire was more powerful than the fact that he had just married Caroline. His hands were on my back and in his mind he was pulling my zipper down, pushing the dress off my shoulders and taking my breasts into his mouth. Losing himself as he entered me.
I bit my lip. He looked at my mouth and then at my cleavage, swallowed, and released me. We stepped apart and faced each other awkwardly. In his troubled eyes I read the decision to never embrace me again.
Friends!
my mind screamed.
“Thanks mate,” I said, forcing a jovial tone. “There’s nothing like a friendly hug to cure the weepies. Red-eyed and blotchy is hardly a good look when you’re on the prowl.”
James looked relieved at my tone and then put out at my words. Ah well, it was the best I could come up with. At least he wasn’t scowling at me and I wasn’t taunting him. A definite improvement. Even so, I had to get out of there. I picked the Harrods bag up from where I’d dropped it and grabbed the doorknob.
“I can’t wait to see the first dance. I hear you’re a pro,” I said, dragging on a smile.
James grimaced. “Prepare to experience something unforgettable.”
Chapter Eight
I Did It Because It Felt Good
I dropped the gift bag in front of my mother and went back to my seat. What the hell was taking so long? As soon as the speeches were finished I would find Father Martin and beg him to help me. Then I would go to my room and try to sleep. Maybe I would wake up in fifty years and find that James and Caroline were only distant memories.
I took another sip of the dark yellow wine that had appeared during my trip to the bridal suite. It was disgusting: sickly sweet and cloying. All the same it went down my throat and I was soon back to feeling pleasantly numb. I poured myself another.
What’s-his-name on my right wasn’t happy. He picked up the bottle and pointed at the cursive writing on the label.
“This is
Chateau d’Yquem
,” he said snobbishly.
“It sucks.”
“It’s a dessert wine,” he said. “You’re not supposed to drink it like water.”
My foggy brain struggled to remember his name. Waldorf or Walter or—
“Whatever.”
I should have listened to Wanker because downing a third glass of Chateau d’Yuck proved too much for me. I rushed to the ladies’ and hugged the porcelain but nothing came out. I felt terrible, unused to drinking after three months of abstinence. Pregnancy didn’t help either. Shit, I thought about the baby and felt guilty about my binge.
No more booze
, I told myself sternly, washing my face in one of the sinks.
Caroline walked in, her lips going to thin red slashes when she saw me. Teeth bared with the promise of blood. She was getting ready to give me a slice of bitch but I wasn’t going to stick around to hear it. It was time to find Father Martin and play the repentant sinner. Caroline grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving.
“I had a lovely chat with Father Martin before he left,” she said, and I wrenched my arm away. “Despite your licentious behaviour he wanted to help clean up your life while you dirtied ours with your bastard. Can you imagine? I convinced him otherwise and he’s just advised Mum and Dad to kick you out. ‘Tough love,’ I think he called it.”
I must not have been very good at hiding my horror because Caroline beamed, delighted. She checked her hair and mascara as if she hadn’t just destroyed my only hope of coping with pregnancy and addiction.
“James wants me,” I spluttered.
Her eyes went wide and she burst into laughter. Her elegant tinkles of mirth made me crazy to slap her mouth shut, but I clutched my roiling stomach instead. She patted her heart a few times to get her breath back and looked at me sideways, still grinning.
“James
pities
you. He thinks you’re a useless addict who needs guidance. An ignorant, slutty little drunk.”
“No, he doesn’t!” My sluggish tongue tripped over the words. “I kissed him and he wants me.”
She smirked into the mirror, pressing her lips together to even out her lipstick. “You can take my clothes and you can even steal a kiss from James—pathetic, by the way. And you can tell yourself all the lies you want, but you’ll never be me. You’ll always be a cheap reject, used by so many scroungers you can’t remember their faces. Untouched by a man of James’s quality and position.”
I tried to steady myself against a wave of nausea. “Shut up.”
Caroline adjusted her veil, a gleaming swan I ached to tear apart until all her pretty feathers were soaked in red. But I didn’t lunge at her; I lunged at the sink and vomited to the sound of her fading laughter.
Once I’d righted myself I swiped a bottle of red from table 14 and wandered up the spiral staircase to the DJ’s booth. It had enough room for a chair, the music deck and standing space at the minstrels’ gallery overlooking the guests. Perfect for trying to drown my desperation unnoticed.
The speeches droned on for almost an hour of pure torture. I drank the bottle thirstily and then leaned against the elegant balcony railings to survey the diners. Watching the smiling guests I felt as forgotten as the tiny lights above my head and about as connected to the glamorous world below me as they were. Invisible. I was filled with hatred but I didn’t know who I hated more: my parents, Caroline or myself.
My father stood up for a final toast. The more he talked, the angrier I got. How could he be such a hypocrite about my pregnancy? And why did he treat me so differently than Caroline? He embraced her and wiped the little tears from her face before he sat down. James shook his hand and the bride and groom kissed to loud applause. My mother smiled proudly.
Before I knew it I’d grabbed the microphone from the DJ’s deck and was tapping it, clearing my throat and telling people to shut the hell up and listen. It did the trick, but I didn’t thank them. I concentrated on Caroline. Her mouth looked as though invisible pins were holding it closed, pinching her as she struggled to keep a social face.
“I’m Caroline’s sister, Paisley Benton, the little secret nobody talks about because of AA—y’know Abuse and Addiction.” I waved the wine bottle in the air. “Booze. Uppers. Whatever works to forget the family God gave me.”
I put the bottle to my lips, swore because it was empty and dropped it at my feet.
“Sober, stoned or drunk, John and María Benton are the shittiest parents on earth. They didn’t even notice I was gone when social services sent me to the juvenile drug centre, but in case you’re all wondering, rehab was a bitch.” I cocked my head at Caroline. “Just like the happy bride.”
I darted my eyes around the room, anticipating raised brows and shaking heads as people tut-tutted over the bride’s unfortunate, low-class origins. But no, the guests weren’t looking at Caroline, the top table or even at me. They’d bowed their heads in collective embarrassment. Even table 23. Like a bad radio station, they simply tuned me out.
Caroline’s posture was identical to when she’d lied about Manuel and just like back then she was gaining sympathy, a poor, defenceless victim suffering from having such a detestable sister.
I knew then that it was Caroline I hated the most. Cultured, sophisticated Caroline and her pure, unblemished future. Caroline and her cruelties and lies. The angry surge inside my gut swelled into a wave of rage intent on annihilating her. I didn’t think about James and I didn’t think about consequences. My only thought was to sweep Caroline away and to do it with exactly the kind of vulgarity she despised.
“Congratulations Caroline,” I said, so close to the microphone it screeched. “James is a real catch. He’s handsome and rich...and he can fuck all night. Hell, I was sore for three days.”
My father jumped up, his face so red I hoped he’d burst a vein. “Get down from there this instant,” he shouted.
I shouted back. He was down there and I, for once, stood over him. “Don’t tell me to shut up and don’t tell me I’m a liar. James screwed me on Caroline’s bed the night before he left for Australia. He knows it and so do I.”
A huge gasp came from Caroline, and then she forgot she was supposed to be refined. She banged her fist on the table and got to her feet, sending her chair tumbling onto the floor. “Shut up you bloody little bitch!”
Her hatred knocked me off balance and I swayed, reaching for the balcony to steady myself. “Sticks and stones, but your husband jumped my bones,” I sang drunkenly.
Caroline stretched out her hand to James. “Tell me she’s lying.”
His face was ashen. He was at Caroline’s side but his eyes roamed my body as if trying to match his memory of that glorious night to my every inch. Caroline grabbed his arm and shook it, and his mouth opened. Not a sound emerged.
My laughter was as full of triumph as Caroline’s had been. “James can’t tell you what you want to hear, Caro. He can’t tell you lies. While you were sulking at Veronica’s, he was in your bed with me, the slutty little sister, taking my virginity. He might have been drunk but he called my name so many times I thought he knew it was me he was screwing.”
I tsked into the microphone. “If a man really loves you he should
know
when he’s having sex with somebody else, don’t you think? James couldn’t tell the difference between us, drunk or sober. Not the first time, the second, the third... In fact, he said he couldn’t imagine fucking any other woman after he’d had a taste of me, but don’t let that bother you on your honeymoon.”
Caroline looked at our mother, the guests and then at her new husband. Her voice was a whisper, loud in the silence. “James?”
“Fuck,” he mouthed, tearing his eyes away from me to look at Caroline.
She clutched at her heart and her rings caught the light, flashing as she darted her eyes between James and me. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that the culmination of her romantic dreams would end in hearing the sordid truth from her despised sister. Anguish drained her face of all colour except her blood-red lipstick.
I
did it because it felt good.
Well, this felt amazing! I wanted to beat Caroline into the ground, rub her face in it and gloat like she had for so many years. But I had to do it before my father reached me. He’d stalked out of the banqueting hall and that could only mean he was heading my way. Quickly, I slammed shut the balcony door and locked it from the inside.
“Here’s another truth, Caro,” I called down as his heavy trod hit the wooden stairs. “Earlier today James was jealous at the thought of me screwing anybody else but him and he didn’t even know we’d slept together. And when we were kissing in the bridal suite just now he wanted sex—barely a few hours after vowing to love you and forsake all others. And—”
“That’s enough,” James said sharply, fists clenched at his sides. “You’ve had your fun.”
The door to the balcony rattled, and it would be only a matter of minutes before my father managed to wrench it open. My adrenaline rush was trickling away and I didn’t feel so powerful anymore. Caroline was still Mrs James Scott-Thomas with her whole life ahead of her, and I was still homeless, pregnant Paisley. My future would be just like Caroline had said.
Or would it?
Truth.
Lies.
The solution to my problem was staring me in the face, tall, dark and shell-shocked. I didn’t think about James and I didn’t think about consequences. All I wanted was a way to make sure I wasn’t abandoned to my fate. My twitchy finger flicked a little button on the mic, making my voice boom so loud the entire hotel probably heard me.
“James,” I said, putting my hand on my stomach. “I’m three months pregnant and you’re the father. You were up and in my pussy so fast there was nothing between us, remember?”
The air in the banqueting hall thinned, sucked in by the gasps of over three hundred guests. Time seemed to stand still while James and I looked at each other. The shocked murmurs receded, the guests ceased to exist and it was just him and me. The moment stretched between us, charged with possibilities. His thoughts raced around like ricocheting bullets, one stronger than all others.
<<
Why did you pretend you were Caroline?
>>
<<
Why did you kiss me in the bridal suite?
>>
<<
Answer me!
>>
I hated moments like this. You have to expose yourself, lay your vulnerabilities on the line. Open up. I couldn’t do that, but James wanted an answer and he would come up and wrench one from me if I didn’t say something. I could see it in his eyes. I didn’t want to give him the petty, selfish reasons I’d deceived him or tell him how confused I felt. How much I regretted tricking him into bed and how I wished things were different. He would laugh in my face and that I couldn’t bear.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. <<
Why do you care if we screwed?
It was just sex
,
right?
>>
James blinked
.
<<
Right.
>>
He stared at me, posture rigid, and I had the certainty our conversation had taken a wrong turn, that it had somehow shot off course, but I couldn’t think of how to put the brakes on and take it back. I felt like crying and I hated myself for it. Gone from James’s face was the kindness from the bridal suite and in its place was revulsion; friendship had been substituted with enmity. There was nothing beautiful about me now, nothing worth his compassion or gentleness. His rage felt like a physical blow, as did his thoughts.
<<
Deceitful bitch!
>>
<<
And you enjoyed every second!
>>
There was no answer to that except a look that imprisoned me—a shackle, squeezing my mind, my throat and my heart. Harder. Tighter. Right up to the moment an impregnable shutter lowered over his eyes and I was released, left staring into empty green holes that told me nothing of his thoughts. Our mental connection was severed and I floundered.
Alone and bereft.
My heart jolted into free fall, the pain so sharp I clutched at my chest.
The other occupants in the room faded back in. They looked shocked and uncomfortable, like they’d paid for expensive theatre tickets and been ushered into a Jeremy Kyle studio instead. Caroline’s mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear her. Whatever James said to her, whatever she saw in his face convinced her that I was telling the truth. She let out a pitiful wail and disintegrated before my eyes, swaying like she was going to faint before falling to her knees in gut-wrenching sobs.
James reached for her but she pushed him away with an animalistic snarl. My mother and Francesca helped her up, holding her on either side as she stumbled out of the room. James followed behind.
The banqueting hall felt funereal, as if the guests were laying to rest Caroline’s happy dreams as they watched her sob her way from the room. My elation had drained away. I wanted to recapture it but it was no use. I felt like a monster, my ugliness exposed to the world and to myself.
I had destroyed James and Caroline’s happiness, twisted it into something as scarred and tainted as I was. And in the process I had made James my enemy and told the biggest lie of my life. I grasped my forehead.
What the fuck had I just done?
The microphone slipped from my fingers and the door burst open. My father got into my face, shouting and gesticulating. I flinched away, my tears turning him into a watery distortion that couldn’t reach me. His gibberish followed me into the hotel lobby.