by Nina Levine
“I love how you assume I’m going to do this,” I mutter.
“I love you, Mace. See you soon.”
She ends the call, and a moment later, a text comes through from her telling me where she is.
Fucking hell. How the hell do I get roped into this shit?
“Everything okay?” J asks, coming outside.
“I have to head down the coast. Can you let Scott know I won’t be back? I’m just gonna go home after I’m finished.” I feel like Wilder today, not in the mood for people.
J nods. “Yeah, brother.”
An hour and a half later, I walk into the hotel Alexa’s at and pull out my phone to text her.
“What the fuck?” I mutter when I see a stack of Facebook notifications on my phone.
I don’t do Facebook much and never get this many fucking notifications. Opening the app, I see that Harlow has posted a heap of photos from the barbecue and tagged me in her post. The first photo I see is of Louise and me. Harlow caught us while we were grinning over something. I’m about to tap on the post when I see the next post in my feed. It’s from Alexa and features a photo of her and Chelsea.
Fuck.
Chelsea’s here.
How the hell did I not figure that would be the case?
Alexa mentioned the day spa, and she pretty much never goes to one without Chelsea these days.
I tap on the photo of them and blow the image up to zoom in on Chelsea, a sure fucking sign I’ve lost any sanity I thought I still had. She’s wearing a red bikini, and I’m helpless but to get my fill of her body.
A text flashes up at the top of my screen.
Alexa: Are you here yet?
Me: Yeah, just arrived. You at the spa?
Alexa: Yes. Just ask for me at their reception. I told them to expect you. I love you!
Me: Yeah, and you fucking owe me.
I head in the direction of the day spa and ask for Alexa when I get there. The redhead behind the counter smiles and leads me down a long hallway to where my sister is. This place is fucking fancy with its high ceilings, gold trims, and flowers everywhere. Soft music floats through the space with a backdrop of trickling water. It’d put me the fuck to sleep coming here.
Alexa appears at the door in a massive white robe. Taking her emergency card from me, she says, “Thank you!”
“Who are you here with?”
“The girls.”
“Who?” I demand, feeling agitated that she’s not giving me the answer I’m looking for.
She gives a quick shake of her head. “You need to go, Mason. Do not go looking for her.”
I don’t know why the fuck I asked her when I already knew the answer, but I had to hear it.
“Fuck,” Alexa says softly, her eyes shifting to something behind me.
I turn at the same time Samantha says, “Mason. How are you?”
My head swings back to my sister and I whistle low. “Fuck, I’m surprised you invited her.” Not that I give a fuck, but I’m surprised Chelsea is okay with this.
Alexa snaps her hand around my wrist and pulls me into the room with her, closing the door to Samantha. She looks at the lady waiting inside for her. “Sorry about this. I won’t be a minute.” Then to me, she says, “Of course I didn’t invite her. I invited Toni, who brought her. They just arrived. Chelsea doesn’t know they’re here, and I told them they need to leave before she sees them.”
I shrug. “I don’t care, Alexa.”
She hits me with a dirty look. “You should. You love that girl and I fucking know it.”
“No, I loved that girl. Past fucking tense.” I reach for the door handle. “Don’t lose that fucking card. I’m not coming back to bail you out if you do.”
I exit the room and stalk down the hallway, running into Samantha halfway along it.
Fuck.
She smiles at me, moving closer as I come to a stop a good distance away. “Long time no see, Mason. How have you been?”
This is the woman I fucked after I discovered Chelsea was engaged. I chose her intentionally in a moment of hurt because she was close to Chelsea. We slept together once, but I’m fairly sure Chelsea thought it was an ongoing thing. I sure as fuck let her think that at the time because it gave me some satisfaction seeing the same jealousy and hurt in her eyes that she’d put in mine. Samantha called me for weeks straight trying to see me again, but I was never interested in her. I used her, and right now, I feel bad for being a complete fucking asshole for doing that.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “I’m good. You?” I need to apologise to her and then get the fuck out of here.
“I’m great. Super happy to see you here.”
“Yeah, about that, I’m sorry I never returned your calls.”
“It’s all good. I knew it was just sex.”
The door to a room just down the hall from where we’re standing opens and Chelsea walks out. She comes to a halt when her eyes meet mine.
“Oh, wow,” Samantha says softly. “Maybe we should get out of here.”
Chelsea’s lips pull together in a harsh line as she stares at me. The fact she’s not happy makes my fucking day, but the fact I’m having another fucking encounter with her doesn’t. I’m fucking wrecked from all the run-ins we’ve had this week.
When Samantha takes hold of my arm, Chelsea zeroes in on that before continuing on her way across the hall to what appear to be lockers. My feet are glued to the floor as I track her movements, not hearing a word of what Samantha’s saying.
Chelsea retrieves something from the locker and then goes back into the room she came from.
“Mason, are you listening to me?” Samantha says.
I look at her. “I’ve gotta go.”
Without waiting for her response, I leave the day spa and head to the hotel bar. I need a fucking drink. A strong one.
I order a whisky double and am almost finished it when a text hits my phone.
Chelsea: I don’t believe you, Mason. Have you fucked us all this week?
What the fuck?
I stare at her text. It’s the first one she’s sent me in months, and it makes no fucking sense.
I should ignore it, put my phone away, and go home, but I’ve never been able to help myself when it comes to Chelsea.
Me: What the fuck are you talking about?
Chelsea: You fucked me on Monday. You were with some other woman earlier today according to Facebook, and now you’re with Samantha. Were you even faithful to me while we were together?
It’s that last question that does it. That causes me to shove my stool backwards, throw the rest of my drink down my throat, and stalk back to the fucking day spa. That causes me to push my way into the room Chelsea disappeared into after she saw me. That causes me to tell the staff member with her to fuck off and leave us alone.
Chelsea’s eyes go wide as the woman exits the room. She jerks up out of the spa she’s sitting in. I catch a glimpse of her body before she covers it with a towel, and fuck if that doesn’t make me crave another taste of her.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demands, looking as livid as I feel.
My fucking chest might explode with the anger she’s caused. “Was I even fucking faithful to you? Where the hell do you get off on asking me that shit?”
“For all I know, you weren’t,” she yells. “I mean, if you were happy enough to fuck me this week and then be with two women today, it makes me wonder—”
“What the fuck makes you think I was with two women today?”
“I fucking saw the photo of you and that woman on Facebook! And then there you were with the woman you slept with right after we broke up.”
“So automatically that makes me a fucking cheater, does it?”
“I don’t know, Mason! But it sure makes me wonder.”
I close the distance between us, gripping her arm. “I never once fucking cheated on you.” The words breathe out of me like fucking fire. “Don’t ever fucking say that to me again.”
> She rips her arm out of my hold. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t need any more of your marks on me.”
My eyes go to her neck, and I feel immense fucking pleasure to see the faint bite marks of mine still there. It makes no sense, but I do. It also makes no sense that I move into her and take hold of her neck as I growl, “They look good on you, princess.”
Heat flares in her eyes and her breathing speeds up. Her hands move to my chest as she says, “They don’t belong there.”
“That might be the fucking case,” I say, running my tongue down her neck, getting that taste of her I want, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t suit you.”
She grips my T-shirt as a moan falls from her lips. “Mason, no.”
“No?” I bite her. “You’re gonna have to try harder to sound convincing.”
She brings a hand to my neck, curling her fingers around it, digging them the fuck in, exactly how I fucking like. I lift my head and our eyes meet as she drops her hand and says, “I don’t want you anymore.”
Fuck that. She’s still full of shit.
I snap my hand out and grab hers, yanking her back to me roughly. Her gasp makes its way to my dick, as does the way her body arches into mine. “You want me more than you want your fucking husband. Tell me that’s not true.” It’s a demand, and it rages out of me with every beat of the anger rolling through me.
She stares at me, another lie about to leave her tongue. “I don’t w—”
My lips smash down onto hers.
I need to silence that fucking lie.
My kiss is unforgiving. It’s filled with every shitty emotion she made me feel by accusing me of not being faithful. If there’s one fucking thing I was, it was fucking loyal.
By the time I’m finished with her lips, her hands are all over me. They’re under my shirt. They’re in my pants. They’re desperate for more. But fuck if I’m giving her that this time.
I let her go and step back.
Running my eyes over her, I spit out, “You want me, Mayfair, but you’re not fucking having me. I was faithful to you every second we were together, but you took that and fucking trashed it. Now I don’t even want to look at you, let alone fuck you.”
I turn to leave, absolutely fucking ravaged by this encounter.
“I deserve the hurt you’re hurling at me, Mason, but I don’t deserve the hate,” she says as I walk away. “We’re done now. I won’t do this with you again.”
I stop, but I don’t turn back to face her.
I process what she says and then I keep going.
Yeah, we’re fucking done.
12
Chelsea
I apply sunscreen to my legs as I watch my husband dive into our pool. The November heat has been almost as unbearable as Joe the last few weeks. Between pressuring me to quit my job, signing me up for interview after interview, forcing me to attend political events, and insisting on having more control over my wardrobe and calendar than I prefer, I’m unsure how I’ve made it through without stabbing him in the eyes. The only answer I have for that is wine, and that’s just one more point of contention between us. That, and our sex life. Joe’s need for me is increasing at an alarming rate. That doesn’t thrill me. But if there’s one thing I’m learning about my husband, it’s that fighting back does actually work at times. He doesn’t win every battle, and that’s the way I’m going to keep it.
After that last awful encounter with Mason at the day spa a month ago, I’ve tried to find a way to settle into my marriage, to make the most of a bad situation, but Joe has made that impossible. His possessiveness and need for control are suffocating. Somehow, though, I’ve managed to keep up the façade of a happy marriage when we’re in the public eye, and while my father’s approval ratings have taken a hit thanks to those shitty policies I told him about, the public can’t get enough of my marriage. And of Joe. He already had a public presence because of his family; his ties to my father have magnified that presence. The only good thing about this is the fact my father is extremely happy with me at the moment. It seems my marriage has helped him more than he thought it would. Go me.
I finish with the sunscreen and relax into the sunlounger while Joe swims laps. He’s a machine when it comes to physical activity, swimming and running every day as well as working out in our home gym. If I actually liked him, I’d acknowledge his muscles are impressive. Instead, all I see is the kind of strength that is beginning to scare me.
Trying to take my mind off him, I scroll Facebook. I’m not really paying attention, though, and am quickly bored by memes and photos of food.
I’m saved by a text from Alexa.
Alexa: Wanna have a girls’ day next week? We could get our hair done and then go for cocktails.
Me: I’m free Tuesday afternoon.
Alexa: Perfect! I’ll take the afternoon off. I’m gonna send you a hairstyle I think would look amazing on you.
An image comes through and I check it out. It’s a shorter, more layered style than I have now.
Me: Ooh, I really like this.
Alexa: Right?! Your hair’s so long now and it’s been ages since you had a change. I was thinking if you cut this to just below your shoulders it’d look amazing.
Me: Book it in!
Alexa: OK, what’s happened to my friend? And who are you?
Me: What?
Alexa: You never make spontaneous decisions like this.
Me: A girl can change. I’m doing it. God knows I need a change in my life.
Alexa: Gah. I’m excited!
Me: Are you changing yours too or just getting a cut?
Alexa: IDK. Still looking for inspo.
Me: OK, I’ll look too.
Alexa: Perfect. Lock in Tuesday. I’ll try to get appointments for us at 2:00 p.m.
Me: Sounds good. I’ve gotta go, Joe’s just come back.
Alexa: Hope you guys are having a great weekend xx
“Are you going in?” Joe asks as he joins me and dries off.
I shake my head. “I don’t feel like swimming today.”
Sitting on the sunlounger next to me, he faces me and runs his gaze over my body before eyeing the photo on my phone. “What’s that?”
I glance at it. “Oh, a new hairstyle I’m going to get on Tuesday.”
He reaches for the phone and looks at the image before passing it back to me. “I don’t want you to cut your hair.”
“What?” I heard what he said, but it stunned me into shock. Surely he doesn’t think he gets a say in my hairstyle. I should know by now, though, that he thinks he gets a say in everything to do with me.
“I like your hair the way it is. Don’t cut it.” He says this so finally, like he’s done with the conversation and expects no argument from me.
I stare at him. I want to punch him. I’ve never felt the kind of wild energy that’s pumping through my muscles right now. Not even when I had my angriest fights with Mason did I feel this intensity of desire to lash out.
I’m about to let loose on him when he receives a call.
Keeping his eyes on me, he answers it. “I’m around the back of the house. Come down the side gate.”
My lips press together. So much for getting into it with him.
He ends the call and moves off his sun-lounger to sit on the edge of mine. Leaning over me so he can rest one hand on the other edge, he traces a finger along the top of my bikini bottom. The shiver that runs through me is not from desire.
“That glare you’re giving me leads me to believe we’re going to have a problem with your hair.” His finger dips under the edge of my bikini. “Are we?”
I curl my fingers around his wrist, stopping his progress. “I’m not fucking you now, Joe.”
“We don’t have anything else on this afternoon.”
“You’ve got someone here to see you.”
“That won’t take long.”
The sound of someone approaching draws my attention, and I almost jump at the sight of Griff and Mason. M
y heart speeds up as I lock eyes with Mason. I hate that he’s walked in on us while Joe has his hand in my bikini.
I attempt to push Joe’s hand away, but he fights me, keeping it right where it is as he looks up at them. “Give me a minute.”
Griff nods while Mason turns and walks back towards the gate they came through.
Joe finally removes his hand and leans his face to mine. “I’ll be back in a minute. I expect you to have come to your senses by then.”
With that, he stands and leaves me to speak with Griff.
I risk a glance in Mason’s direction. He’s standing near the gate with his back to us. He’s tense; I can tell by the way his shoulders look like they’re carved from stone.
We haven’t spoken since the day spa. I’ve seen him a few times when he’s shown up at the house to see Joe, but I do my best not to run into him. It kills me not to see him, but we both need this. That last encounter proved that to me. The hurtful things we said to each other were awful.
I can’t sit here a second longer. Not with Joe determined to come back and force his demands on me, and not with Mason’s thunder rolling in over me.
Moving off the lounger, I grab my phone and cut across the lawn to slip inside the house. I run up to the bedroom and change out of my bikini into a dress before grabbing my car keys and bag, and heading out to the garage.
Five minutes later, I’m on my way to my office when Joe calls.
“Where are you?” he says, sounding less than impressed with me.
“I remembered I have some work to catch up on. I’m going into the office.”
Silence for a beat. And then— “How long will you be?”
“I don’t know. A few hours maybe.”
Silence again, before he says, “Don’t forget we have that dinner to attend tonight.”
“I remember.” Does he think I don’t know how to use the fucking brain I was born with?
“We’ll leave at six thirty.”
The line goes dead and I exhale a long breath.
I wish weekends didn’t exist. They used to be my favourite part of the week; now I want to cut them from my calendar.
I work in peace for a few hours, not hearing one peep out of Joe. I pack up my work and head home at four thirty, surprised to find two cars at our house that I don’t recognise. I wasn’t aware Joe was expecting visitors.
