Page 54 of Arrogant Heir

It’s only Thursday, but I’m all set for the ball. Last night I did a rehearsal dress-up to pass the time and help the clock tick faster. The green revenge dress looked even better on than I remembered, and the pair of black velvet stilettos, courtesy of Damian, complement it perfectly. I’m excited about Saturday and can’t wait to see mycursed prince.

My phone rings, and my heart thuds as I see his name. I breathe deeply, brace myself and then click accept on my phone. He never phones me, so I’m nervous. Has he thought better of us going to the ball together and wants to cancel?

‘Hello?’

‘Morning Jackson.’ He asks if I’m well and I say that I am, but I can barely breathe. I notice he’s reverted to his formal manner of addressing me.

‘I just heard from the publisher. They’re requesting some minor changes to the manuscript and asked if we can finalise them this weekend, so we don’t miss the deadline.’

‘Shall we do it now?’ I suggest.

He says his schedule is crammed for the rest of the week and the only window he has is Saturday afternoon before the ball.

‘I’ll send the car for you on Saturday morning, and we can work here at my apartment in the afternoon and then go on to the ball together.’

I don’t see how I can refuse without sounding uncooperative, and besides, I’m desperate to see him. My mind says it’s not a good idea to be alone with him, but my body disagrees. The thought of spending the afternoon with him at his Chelsea penthouse sends shivers of delight rocketing through me.

The wicked thought enters my head that perhaps the best thing is to sleep together to quell this fire between us and then we can part as friends. He’s single and so am I. Neither of us owes anyone anything—we’re free agents. In that second, I decide to give myself permission to live fearlessly this Saturday.

I’ve been a loyal girlfriend for five years and look where it’s got me. Simon says he wants to get back together, or more accurately, that he wants me to go back to my flat, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s been seeing someone else in the time we’ve been apart. And I don’t blame him. This confuses me more because if we’re supposed to end up together, shouldn’t I be consumed by jealousy at the thought of him with another woman?

I’m not.

For the rest of the day, I’m buzzing with anticipation and on Friday I drive into Winchester to get my hair done at a salon Marian recommended.

If things had gone according to plan, I would be a married woman by now and would be living with Simon in his boojie Shoreditch apartment. But instead, my chest is bursting with joy at the certain knowledge I will see Damian tomorrow.

I’ve run through various scenarios in between writing my novel and dancing around the cottage in my long emerald-green thigh-slit dress. I’m feeling free in a dangerous way. If he still wants me, I’m going to make love to him like I’ve never made love to anyone.

I’m not kidding myself that this will turn into a happy ever after. He’s a playboy, and he fucks about. But it’s time I had some fun and let myself live a little. I pop into a pharmacy and when I pay for the condoms; I feel a wild thrill surge right through me. Call it our last rodeo, if you will. I want him sexually, like I’ve never wanted any man, so I’m going for it.

I’m sitting in the chair and my eyes glitter as I explain what I want to the hairdresser. While she’s trimming the ends of my wet hair, we get chatting in the usual way and I tell her I’ve been staying at Greystone for the past few months.

The hairdresser pauses, silver scissors in hand, and examines me closely in the mirror. ‘Oh my God, it’s you from the papers. Damian Rochester’s mystery girlfriend!’

My cheeks grow hot and I’m not sure whether it’s best to deny it or go along with it. In the end I mercifully don’t need to say anything because she’s a chatterbox and doesn’t come up for air.

She asks if there’s a special occasion for having my hair done and I go all in and tell her about the ball. Her eyes light up and she says, ‘Lucky you. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I bet you’re the envy of most women in Winchester. Damian has always been my favourite,’ she adds.

‘Your favourite?’

‘Yes, of the brothers, you know. They’re all seriously hot, aren’t they? I grew up in Greystone Village and have seen the family about since I was a kid. Of course, they didn’t go to the local schools, so we never got close to them. Me and my friends would make up fairy stories about marrying our favourite brother and living happily ever after at Greystone Manor. Mine was always Damian.’ She laughs and rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t mind me and my nonsense. I’m happily married with three kids now—that was when we were teenagers.’

I wonder how many other women recognise me as his mystery girlfriend. He’s obviously an infamous catch locally, not just in London.

Later that afternoon, when I’m having a coffee in the city, I’m feeling bold and flirty like I have nothing to lose now the work is almost done, so on impulse I text Damian.

Did you know how famous you are in Winchester? My hairdresser has been fantasising about you since she was a teenager! You are her favourite Rochester brother, she says.

My heart is in an uproar when I hit send. I’ve never flirted with him on text, and that’s definitely a mildly flirty message. Will he just ignore it or will he take the bait?

Damian responds almost instantly:Being famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know, Jackson.

I reply:Yes, I’m beginning to see that. I wonder what the press will make of me attending the ball with you.

Damian:I’m sure you’ll blow them away. May as well give them something to write about. Are you all set with a dress, btw? I’m sorry, I forgot to say you can order anything from the store (or anywhere else) that you want. Call it a business expense. My assistant will take care of it.

For a minute, his reply is jarring and punctures my happy bubble. He sees me as a business expense. But what did I expect? I’m his fake date solely required to help protect his reputation as the Rochester heir, so of course, I’m a business expense.

---