Page 48 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“You don’t even get to fight me for that one,” I inform him. “It’s mine. I don’t share maple bacon doughnuts.”
“Not even just a little bite?” He’s giving me those damn puppy eyes.
“Maybe just a little bite.” I press a playful kiss to his lips and drag myself onto my feet.
I catch Rachel’s eye, and she gives me a grin, half-approval, half-disgust. Even though she claims it’s not unexpected, I can see her finding us together like this is a surprise.
“Not another word,” I warn.
I’ll be a prisoner in the car with her on the way to the meeting. Plenty of time for her to interrogate me then, with no chance of my escape, unless I jump from a moving vehicle.
In the shower, I turn the water up as hot as I can bear. Standing under the flow, I slather on my new body wash, its delicious citrus scent with a subtle underlying dash of cinnamon drifting in the steamy air. It makes me think of Christian’s kisses, the taste of the spicy cookies I baked for him sweet on his lips. But there’s no time to linger. Rachel doesn’t tolerate lateness, and I owe her not to be, when she’s giving up her Saturday for us. I push those thoughts aside, squeeze out a blob of cleanser and massage the foam onto my face. It’s still sensitive, grazed from bearded kisses in the dark.
Twenty minutes and I’m unrecognisable from the dreamy, mussed up girl who woke up with Christian wrapped around her, flushed with the heat of his body; hair tangled from his twining fingers; lips swollen from his molten kisses. I need to be a different sort of girl for him today. Hair scraped up into a ponytail, make-up done, and dressed in navy pants, with a crisp white blouse underneath a smart jacket of muted navy and beige plaid, I feel almost business like. Not the sharp-edged lines of one of Rachel’s designer suits, or her expensive Jimmy Choo heels, that scream she’s a capable and well-paid lawyer; but smart enough to suggest I’m someone who might be able to afford a lawyer like her.
The voices from the kitchen sound reasonably civil. Maybe they’ve declared a truce. That would be good, given she’s one of my best friends and he’s the man I’ve spent the night with. The man I’ve let peek through a crack in that wall around my fragile heart. Although I dare not let myself consider whether this is anything more than my need for comfort meeting his unrequited longing.
But now my two best friends have both met Christian, I’d like to think they see some of what I see in him, the person he really is, behind the man the world sees. I’m not sure why, but I want them to like the idea of us together, even if it is only some temporary thing.
Hearing my name in the conversation, I pause outside, leaning against the wall.
“I promise you, if you hurt her…” Rachel’s voice is lethal. “I’ll kill you. I might be a corporate lawyer, but believe me, I have good friends in criminal law who would see me walk free.”
“I won’t.” His words are as adamant as Rachel’s threat. “There is no way. I’d never hurt Haley.”
“You better not. Not when she’s only just clawed her way back after that fuck-up broke her heart. If he ever shows his face anywhere near me, I swear—”
“What?” he asks. “Who?” This time, Christian’s voice is threatening. “Who hurt her?” he demands. There’s a pause, Rachel’s hesitation hanging between them. Christian doesn’t need her answer. “Oh, Jack. Of course,” he sneers.
“Yes,” she confirms. “None other than Jack fucking Maplethorpe.”
“I met the bastard down at Ollie’s country house one time.” Now it’s Christian’s words that threaten murder. “The way he treated her. Fuck, I wanted to smack him. But I figured it wasn’t my place. After all, she’s Ollie’s sister. But you know Ollie. Did nothing. Doesn’t like to make waves.”
“Yes, well, that douche-bag Jack happened to be shagging one of Haley’s friends behind her back. Paige Walker, the sneaky little bitch. She still has the audacity to claim she’s Haley’s friend after seducing her boyfriend.” Rachel lets out an angry huff. “Would you believe they even sent Haley an invitation to their wedding?”
“What the fuck?” Christian growls.
“Of course, Haley had the sense not to go. They got married last Saturday. Pissed down with rain all day, I hear.” There’s an ugly satisfaction in her voice. “It’s only a fraction of the shit those two deserve to rain down on them. They seem to think because they ended up married, it exonerates the pair of them from what they did to her.”
“She hasn’t said a word,” he says. “Ollie neither. Wish I’d known. Not that there’s much I can do.”
“Not really anything any of us can do.” Rachel lets out an exasperated sigh. “Apart from keeping her busy—and off socials. I don’t think she’s seen it, thank god, but they’ve been posting all over. Makes me want to puke seeing their smarmy faces. If I knew how to hack their fucking accounts, I would. Tear it all down.”
I slide my phone from the pocket of my pants. Why? I have no idea. I promised myself I wouldn’t. Not after it triggered my bender last Thursday. Told myself I was done. No more stalking Jack and Paige on socials. No more torturing myself.
But it’s too late. I stare at the little square on my phone, its sunset colours drawing my finger. With one tap, Instagram floods the screen. I search for Paige’s account and the universe punishes me for my weakness.
They’re in Venice. The secret honeymoon location Paige has been gushing about for weeks, now revealed in sickly sweet post after post. I can’t be happy for their happiness—posing on a bridge, cuddled up in a gondola, clasped together outside the towering church in San Marco square—especially not when it’s Venice. Jack’s walked those cobbled streets before, done all those romantic things before—with me. When I recognise they’re seated in the same little restaurant tucked beneath the Rialto Bridge, where he and I had dinner one night, it’s too much.
My hand drops, my arm useless, as I’m confronted with the reality of what they did to me. I crumple against the wall, paralysed by tears. I stuff a fist against my mouth, uncaring of the damage to my carefully applied lipstick, as I stifle a sob.
They’ve been married a whole week. And, for a week now, I’ve pushed back the pain. Christian’s arrival, Tully getting sick, my uncertain work situation, the drama of the show; these things haveconsumed my days, a convenient distraction. I’ve been proud of myself, not allowing Jack and Paige to enter my thoughts, at first for a few hours, but slowly longer, not thinking about them for days. Until overhearing Rachel giving Christian the sordid details; and now this, seeing their new happy life laid out for the world to see, brings it all tumbling back, sadness crushing my heart, while a cold rage floods my veins.
I don’t love Jack. I did, but I definitely don’t anymore. I don’t want him back. Paige is welcome to him. But the damage he did lingers. The parade of men I’ve worked my way through since has done nothing to repair it.
“Shit.” Christian’s voice is a low hiss.
I hear footsteps, and he appears in the hallway. His angry eyes sweep across my face, taking in my tears, narrowing at the sight of the phone in my hand. It’s not anger at me, but for me. And, in the tender brush of his hand, the arms that wrap around me, the whisper of my name, his breath on my hair, there’s a seed of hope. I can move on from Jack; and this man wants to be the one to help me.
