Page 12 of Wretched Heart
Reid slips a couple of bills to the waiter as he leaves, and steps into the room to take the glass of champagne I offer. “To your good health and future happiness,” he says with a wry smile.
I tip my glass to him. “Yeah, well, at least I have my health,” I reply before taking a gulp of champagne to swallow my bitterness. Retrieving the bottle from the cooler, my stomach rumbles at the sight of all the food the waiter uncovered. There’s a juicy steak, a towering burger, a mountain of crispy French fries, and a selection of desserts that will be my undoing. “Are you hungry, Reid?”
“I shouldn’t,” he says, not resisting when I refill his champagne glass.
I step to one side so he can see the trolley. “What would you like?”
His gaze stays on me and the bastard smirks when I blush. I swear I’ve never been hit on so many times in one day.
I’m eyeing Reid carefully as he grabs the burger and a handful of fries. It’s not just the custom-made suit that reminds me of Hunter. “Are you another relative?”
“Of Hunter’s?” he asks, and I nod. “I’m his… brother.”
My eyes narrow. “Why the hesitation?”
He swallows a mouthful of burger. “Technically, I’m his half-brother.”
“Which half?” I ask, trailing my gaze down his body. He’s not the only one who can murder a double entendre.
Reid almost chokes. He takes a swig of champagne, and when he drains the glass, I fill it up again. “Same father,” he explains when he can.
“And you have twobrothers?”
“Three. All older,” Reid explains. “There’s Mace. He’s the one youbumpedinto outside the chapel,” Reid explains, his smile widening into a grin. If he knows I elbowed his brother, he seems quite pleased about it. “He was the youngest until I came along. And obviously there’s Hunter, he’s the middle son. And finally, there’s Ash.”
“And where’s Ash?”
“In Scotland on business.”
Reid halts the conversation by filling his mouth with more food. The break in my interrogation allows him to shuffle back towards the door. He remains on this side of the threshold as he finishes his burger and drains his champagne.
When he’s done, he hands me his plate and glass before stepping out. “Thanks for the food.”
“Don’t thank me, it’s on your brother’s tab.”
Reid rubs the back of his neck as if he can feel unseen eyes boring into him. He’s not so relaxed now that he’s in the corridor. “Anyway. I’ll let you go.”
“I take it you don’t want to be seen consorting with me,” I say, tipping my head upwards as if I have any clue where the security cameras might be. When Reid shrugs, I ask, “And who exactly is watching us, Reid? One of your brothers?”
“Maybe.”
“How can they access the cameras? Do you own the hotel?”
Reid straightens his jacket. “I’m sure Hunter can fill in all the gaps,” he replies, looking flushed and increasingly uncomfortable.
I stalk out into the hallway, making him step back until he’s up against the opposite wall. I hand him the half-emptychampagne bottle. “You might as well finish it off. I have plenty to spare. But thanks for all the info,” I say loudly.
Reid sighs deeply, confirming the camera must have audio. If I’m meant to feel sorry for landing him in trouble, I don’t. Why should I be the only one to suffer today?
When I’m sealed back in my room, I make a half-hearted attempt to untie the cord keeping my bodice in place before I give in to my gnawing hunger. I eat the steak before it gets cold and pick at the remaining French fries while I uncork the second bottle of champagne. The flutes provided are too small so I take a tumbler from the bathroom and fill it. It goes down too well, but by the time I’m ready for dessert and the final bottle of champagne, my stomach is cramping beneath the tight bodice.
Standing with my back to the mirror, I glance over my shoulder and try to figure out how to loosen the cord that I thought was tied in a simple bow. The champagne must have done something to my vision because I can’t make sense of the two ends, and it doesn’t help that I keep swaying.
Frustration quickly takes over and I pull the cord this way and that until I’m left in no doubt that I’ve managed to tie myself into impossible knots. My shoulders ache with the effort of twisting, and my patience is non-existent. Grabbing the steak knife, I give up being delicate and try to cut my ties. And all the while, the room spins.
“Shit!” I cry out when I feel a sharp stab of pain. I squint at the mirror and see a crimson stain blooming on my white dress. “Fine! I won’t eat dessert then!”
And that’s when another problem presents itself. I need to pee, and the more aware of it I become, the more urgent is my need. I press my thighs together as I hurry to the bathroom, but no matter how much I wrestle with my stupiddress, I can’t find my legs, let alone reach my panties or clear enough of the fabric to be able to sit down on the toilet. This is not the day to wet myself on top of everything else. I need help.
