Page 4 of Something Borrowed
“Are you okay, honey?” Mac’s mom, Tina, asks, taking the seat next to me. “You look at little lost. Macaulay said you’d recently split from a girlfriend.”
I almost spit out my coffee at the thought of Jenna being my girlfriend. I made it very clear that was never going to be what we were. Sadly, no matter how many times I repeated it over the months we were sleeping together, she didn’t take it seriously, because when I told her I was done a few weeks ago, she turned into a clinger. Now I can barely go anywhere without her turning up or phoning me just to be a pain in the ass. I’m surprised I didn’t turn up here and find her waiting for me.
“Oh, she wasn’t my…uh…girlfriend.” Having lost my mom when I was a kid, I always saw Tina as a kind of adopted mother, seeing as I spent most of my time at her house with Mac, so the disappointed look I’m getting from her right now makes me squirm. She doesn’t need to know about this stuff. “So…Mac getting married. Who’d have thought it?” I say, changing the subject.
“I know. My baby, walking down the aisle. I can’t wait.” Excitement sparkles in her eyes. “I need to make the most of it because Lord knows if Bryony will ever give me another to look forward to.”
Nowthatgets my attention. “Why’s that? She loves weddings.”
“No idea. She’s been telling us for years that she doesn’t ever want to get married. She lived for it as a kid. It was all she talked about, and then something changed almost overnight.” Dread twists in my stomach that this could have something to do with me. “Are you okay? You’ve gone a little pale.”
“I think I just need some fresh air.”
I smile politely at Tina, and she returns it, but her concern is clear in her eyes.
Heading over to the huge doors at the other end of the room, I take two glasses of champagne that are sitting on the bar before quickly pulling a flower from a huge arrangement sitting by the door. I suck in a deep breath, push the solid wood and slip out into the summer evening. I’ve no idea what to expect, I’m just hoping I can prove to her how serious I am.
She’s standing, leaning against the railing looking out over the hotel grounds. Making my way over, I soon see something else has her attention.
Glancing over her shoulder, my blood boils.
“He looks like a douche.”
Her body stills at my words. The air around us seems to evaporate and I struggle to catch my breath.
Slowly, she locks the screen, hiding the dating profile of the guy she was looking at and lowers her cellphone.
“What do you want, Freddie?” Her voice is colder than I anticipated. I know I hurt her, but I hoped time might have allowed her to forget a little. Her tone makes me think it could have just been yesterday.
“Peace offering.”
Hesitantly, she turns. She always was too nosey for her own good. It’s how we ended up in this situation after she came out of her room that night to find out what was going on. I’d wanted her for a long time, but it had been even longer when Mac first warned me off her. That night, though, with alcohol buzzing through my system, I did something I never should have.
I kissed my best friend’s little sister. And from that moment, I was addicted.
Her eyes hold mine for a moment. They’re dark and clouded with the pain I caused, before they drop to the two glasses I have in one hand and then to the other.
“Please do not tell me they’re from the arrangements. Tessa will kill you if she finds out.”
“I’m not scared of Tessa.”
“You should be. You’ve not been here to experience her new level of craziness.”
“I’ve heard all about it,” I mutter, thinking of the things Mac’s told me on the phone over the past few months.
“Here.” Her hand tentatively reaches out for the single rose I plucked from the arrangement as I left the room. She keeps her eyes focused on the flower, but that soon changes when I rub my finger over hers as she takes it from me.
The spark I remember all too well crackles between us. Her chocolate eyes fly to mine. They darken for a second before they harden. She pulls her hand away. She runs her finger over the thorns, and I’m transfixed.
“Please don’t ruin anything else I meticulously planned,” she snaps, going to turn away from me. But I’m faster, and my fingers circle her wrist and stop any further movement.
“I didn’t ruin anything, I just borrowed it.” A couple of silent seconds pass, the atmosphere suffocating. “Bryony?”
“What?” Her shoulder’s square and her muscles tense.
“Look at me, please.”
“Freddie, I don’t have the time or energy for—” Her words are cut off when my palm gently cups her cheek. I’m not sure if she’s aware, but the moment we connect she leans into my touch. It’s the only sign I need that she’s still mine. She can fight all she likes—shout, scream, and deny what she feels—but I know it’s still there.
