All We Have (Thirty-Eight #4)

by Len Webster

  Alex’s eyes fell to the table. “Probably not. Just like he still hasn’t told me that Sarah cheated on me with him. It’s been seven years.”

  “Does it matter now?”

  His best friend chuckled. “Honestly? I couldn’t give two fucks. Not then. Not now. I’m in love with Keira. I’m gonna marry her someday. Sarah and I, we were at that rough patch where we weren’t really together. She slept with God knows how many men when she was with me. When Sarah told me, I knew it was to hurt me. She had me choose, and well, I chose Max. The kid’s been in love with her since he was eight. I shouldn’t have gone after her. But I know it would hurt Noel if he found out. He loved Andrea.”

  “He loves your sister more. Look at him,” Rob pointed out. They both watched Noel throw back his whiskey the moment he saw Liam and Clara kiss. “I don’t think Max and Andrea would ever hurt him the way watching Liam and Clara together does.”

  “I never thought he’d fall in love with her. When I realised something had happened between them, I thought it was just sex, but it never was. I don’t know if our friendship will survive if she marries Liam. I’m scared for Noel,” Alex admitted.

  “I am, too,” Rob agreed.

  Alex’s hand settled on his shoulder. “Hey, so I heard about you and Stevie. How’s that going?”

  Stevie.

  Rob flinched. He wasn’t sure what to say. Since coming back from New York, things between them had shifted. And after Stevie had helped Clara pick out her wedding dress, she was more reluctant than ever before. He knew she was still not over an ex, and he wasn’t sure how to get her to move on. He had decided that he’d give her time. He’d give her the space she had asked for last week. But the more space he gave her, the more disconnected Rob felt from Stevie.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled as he tapped his right index finger on the white-clothed covered table. The only time he’d ever lied to Alex Lawrence was when he’d kept the secret of Noel and Clara from him. Rob hadn’t wanted to but Alex had to see their love for himself.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Alex said as he squeezed his shoulder.

  “Yeah, we—” Rob’s phone vibrated in his jacket interrupting him. He dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved it to find his younger brother, Julian, calling. “Hey, Alex, I better take this. It’s Julian.”

  Alex dropped his hand from Rob’s shoulder and nodded. “Make sure you grill his ass for missing my sister’s wedding. Milan or not, he’s family. He should be here.”

  Rob had stood up from his chair and pressed his lips together before he confessed, “He doesn’t think the wedding’s happening. That’s why he didn’t come.”

  Alex raised a brow as he folded his arms over his chest. “Bastard’s pretty confident.”

  Sliding his thumb across his screen, Rob brought the phone to his ear. “Alex reckons you’re a confident bastard for not being here,” he said to his brother.

  “Tell Alex to shut his trap or I’ll tell Keira about the time I made him cry! The wedding isn’t happening,” Julian said with conviction. “So I’m bored and I’m guessing you’d be, too. Wanna chat? Update me on your last race. Tell them it’s a family emergency.”

  Rob rolled his eyes. “Alex, I’ll be back. Julian’s bored.”

  “Go,” Alex said with a chuckle. “Can’t leave Julian bored. What a terrible brother you are.”

  “Tell Alex I heard that!” Julian retorted.

  Rob raised his chin at Alex as he listened to Julian mumble on about being in Italy for work. Then he turned and made his way towards the exit of the hotel’s ballroom. As he made his way into the hallway, he bumped into Stevie, spilling her drink all over her.

  “Shit! Stevie, are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

  Julian made a gagging sound into the phone.

  She wiped the champagne off her black dress. “It’s fine, Rob. I’ll see you later.”

  He grasped her wrist to stop her. “Promise? I really need to talk to you.”

  “Jesus, Rob! You sound pathetic. Rob and Steven sitting in a tree—”

  “Enough!” Rob barked.

  Stevie flinched and then pulled her wrist free. “Okay. Enough, then.”

  “No, Stevie. I was talking to my brother, J—”

  She shook her head at him. “It’s fine.” And before he could even explain, Stevie had left him alone in the empty hallway.

  “Thanks a lot, Julian,” he muttered into the speaker.

  “What’s so special about this Steven anyway?”

  Shaking his head, Rob made his way towards the lobby of the Hotel Windsor. “If you’d have come home, you’d know.”

  Julian let out an unbelievable laugh. “Sorry, Rob. No Steven will bring me home. Now catch me up on rowing. Still on track for that gold in Rio?”

  The corner of Rob’s mouth curved upwards. “Yeah, still on track. Can’t let Mum down. I won’t miss another Olympics. I’m winning that gold.”

  “A girl with such a family, you can really go so far. Have you thought about attending…” The moment she heard ‘attending,’ Ally tuned out the Environmental Minister. She was sure her brother’s upcoming wedding had every politician, businessman, and anyone with seven figures sitting in their bank account invited. Ally had recognised the names filling the wedding guest list as opportunists. Men and women who wanted in on the O’Connor circuit. Being linked with anything O’Connor-related got you opportunities; thus, the people who had surrounded her all her life had been opportunists.

  She was used to it. She was able to spot an opportunist a mile away. However, as she tilted her head and focused on Clara, surrounded by two young women, she knew she was lucky. Being born into the lifestyle made Ally immune to all the fakes. Her soon-to-be sister-in-law was marrying into it, completely unaware that becoming an O’Connor meant never being your true self ever again. And leaving Clara to fend for herself made her feel guilty. As much as she wanted Clara to be her sister, she would much rather see her happy. And that meant staying away from the O’Connor name. Sacrifices had to be made in order to make sure her friend never saw the tainted lives they all lived. Money was poison. Reputation was power. And Ally knew Clara wasn’t the kind of person to really accept this life.

  “Excuse me, Minister,” Ally said, not even giving him another glance. He could have been the politician version of Hugh Jackman and she couldn’t care less. What attracted men to her was her surname and her easy reputation. Well, supposed easy reputation. Only a few knew that her public image was a complete fabrication.

  “Oh, come on, Clara. We can show you all the places in Sydney where you can go shopping. There’s this exclusive strip that we know you can get in. We’ve never been but you marrying Liam will definitely get you on that list,” a woman in her early twenties said as she twirled her fake blonde hair around her finger.

  Bitches.

  “I’m not interested. Thanks. But I won’t be living in Sydney after the wedding,” Clara explained.

  “But you have to,” fake blonde’s shorter brunette friend quipped.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Ally interrupted once she had approached the group. “Clara isn’t a social whore like you lot. She’s not a socialite. Don’t even bother trying to get her to become your plus one. Unlike us, Clara here doesn’t want Hermès. So leave.”

  The fake blonde laughed. It sounded more like a high-pitch screech that had both Ally and Clara wincing. “That’s rich coming from social whore number one. You even have articles explaining why you’re a whore.”

  She must have those articles on notifications.

  Great burn, though.

  Ally squared her shoulders and took a step closer to the fake blonde. As she took in her fat, Botox lips, she recognised who it was behind all the cosmetic surgeries. Behind all the fake was Lynette Hunt; her father made nowhere near Ally’s, but the Hunts had money. “Lynette, I suggest you stay away from Clara.”

  Lynette glanced at her friend and smirked. “Or wha
t?”

  Ally leant in close. “I can destroy you, Lynette. You name it. It won’t take much for me to ruin you.”

  Bile rose up Ally’s throat. This wasn’t her. But she had to demonstrate to Clara that this was what the O’Connors dealt with. And if Ally was going to appease her father and her image, then she had to take Lynette Hunt down. No matter how much she felt like a piece of her had been sold to the devil.

  Lynette flinched. “What could you possibly do?”

  For a moment, Ally felt sorry for Lynette. But she messed with the wrong socialite. No one attacked the people she loved. And if it meant becoming exactly what she didn’t want to be, then so be it. Ally opened her black Chanel clutch and pulled out her phone. She unlocked it and brought up Serge, her Serbian bodyguard’s number.

  “Do you remember Sylvia Den?” Ally asked as she glanced up from her phone to see the fear flash in Lynette’s aqua eyes.

  “Ally.” Clara clutched her arm.

  She turned and smiled at her. “See, Sylvia Den threatened my family. And well, the next day, she was completely and utterly socially ruined. Do you know how, Lynette?”

  Lynette shook her head.

  “It’s called the Black List. Specifically, my Black List. See, all it takes is one call and you no longer matter. Not in any social sense at all. Forget Kings Cross, you’d be lucky to walk into a Starbucks without an instant refusal,” Ally threatened.

  The knot in her stomach tightened and the bile threatened to breach. She was becoming exactly what she didn’t want to be. But she had hoped this was an eye opener for Clara.

  “Do you understand how much power I have?” Ally asked.

  Lynette nodded. “I’m sorry, I-I …”

  “You’re leaving,” she answered for Lynette. “You both are.”

  “Yes,” Lynette said and pulled at her friend’s arm. “Please don’t black—”

  Ally took a deep breath. “I won’t. But come near Clara again, and trust me, I will.”

  Lynette nodded and dragged her friend towards the exit of the ballroom, leaving Ally alone with Clara. Ally’s shoulders sagged. The layer of shame thickened around her. She had been everything she hadn’t wanted to be in a matter of minutes. That high-society bitch the papers had described her as; she had performed it without a second thought.

  Maybe this is who I really am.

  Maybe I’m supposed to be Ally O’Connor, Sydney’s societal princess.

  “I’m no better than my father is,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Ally? What was that?” Clara asked.

  The horror in Clara’s voice was evident and had Ally shifting to face her. Then she let out a heavy exhale. “That, Clara … that was what being an O’Connor is really about. You have to be prepared for when someone tries to take you down. The moment you marry my brother, all the secrets you think you have will no longer be your secrets. They will, instead, be society’s entertainment.”

  Clara flinched. “M-my secrets?”

  Ally was sure that Clara understood deep down that she had meant Noel. That she loved him more than Ally’s brother. But she couldn’t fault Clara. Everyone had secrets. Some more shameful than others. And if she were selfless, Ally would tell Clara that if she wanted to be happy, then she should leave her brother. Life as an O’Connor was far from being joyful and smooth.

  “Clara, don’t ever let girls like Lynette Hunt into your life. In fact, if you weren’t marrying my brother, I’d tell you to stay away from me, too. If you want to be happy, then I suggest you make sure you never move to Sydney with Liam. Stay in Melbourne,” Ally urged.

  Not allowing Clara to have another say, Ally gave her a tight smile and took several steps back. Then she spun around and straightened her spine as she walked towards the food tables. Confidence was the only way to earn her ‘whore’ title. If she stood tall, no one could use it against her. She’d never let it show. Not publicly. Privately, she cringed at her name being slut-shamed. Every event she went to would result in her standing under the scorching shower water in an attempt to cleanse the façade from her skin.

  The moment her eyes found the server cutting the cake, Ally sighed in relief. Cake would do. If money didn’t fix a problem, desserts surely did. Just as she reached the table, a hand wrapped around her arm, halting her. As she was about to pull free, the fingers tightened their hold on her and she swung her gaze to find her father’s tensed jaw. She stilled. Then she met his menacing hazel eyes and swallowed hard.

  Her father’s nostrils had flared before he said in a hoarse voice, “That there, your takedown of Lynette Hunt, that is why you can’t ever leave the company.”

  Ally clenched her jaw and snatched her arm free. “So I’m stuck being your whore for the rest of my life?” The snicker in her tone was clear enough that her father flinched.

  “Allison, I told you—”

  She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Just because you say it, doesn’t mean it’ll leave my skin any time soon, Dad. The more people who believe that I am, the more I feel like I’m one.” Her face felt hot and her heart raced. “I may not be sleeping with these men, but I sure as hell use my body as a service to get them to sign deals with you. So if you have to tell yourself that I’m not a whore to sleep better at night, then you are sicker than I thought.”

  The rage flashed in her father’s eyes and the vein in his neck protruded. “Allison—”

  She shook her head. “I’m not having this argument with you because I’ll never win. So go and be the high-society businessman you are. Be proud of the whore of a daughter that you have.”

  Her father had set a hand on her shoulder before his fingers dug into her skin. Her breathing heaved as his fingers pressed into her shoulder blade. The pressured pain caused her to grit her teeth. “You will not talk that way about yourself again. And you will continue to work for the family company. Your brother has, so you will, too.”

  Ally looked her father in the eye then nodded her head. She had to concede defeat. She would never win against her father. There was no way she could. Her father stood straight, giving off his ‘I’m the one with the power’ expression, and then he left.

  She spun around to see the male server holding a plate in his hand with shock-filled eyes. “Are you all right, Miss?”

  He was young and about her age. His brown hair slicked back behind his ears and he had a mole just above his lip. He was cute. Not as stunning or as beautiful as the man she had met eyes with earlier in the evening, but he was a looker.

  Ally smiled. “Family drama,” she brushed off. “Mind slicing me some cake, please?”

  He grinned at her, the sympathy in his brown eyes shone. The frown he had made had disappeared. “Sure,” the server said as he picked up the knife and lowered it to the white cake.

  “Umm,” Ally interrupted. The server paused and glanced up at her with a slack smile on his lips. “I’m having a terrible night. Do you mind cutting me a slice that doesn’t offend me? I’m not on a diet if that’s what you think.”

  His mouth made an ‘O’ and he quickly shook his head. Then he repositioned the knife and sliced her a large piece of cake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … You don’t need to … You’re beautiful the way … Uhh … Are.”

  Ally laughed. “I was kidding. And thank you. That’s very kind of you to say,” she said once he had passed her the plate. To her left, she noticed bottles of Krug Clos du Mesnil Blanc de Blancs Brut Vintage. She rolled her eyes at the line-up of expensive champagne. Sixteen hundred dollars a bottle, to be exact. Luxury sickened her. But what made it worse was that her hand had wrapped around the neck of the champagne bottle.

  She knew she shouldn’t drink.

  “Small amounts, Miss O’Connor.”

  Ally clenched her eyes shut. If there was one thing she would be happy about, it was the fact that her bodyguard was in Sydney. Had he known her intentions, he’d have stopped her. When Ally opened her eyes, she glanced down at the bottle
in her hand and decided that she was already living her own prolonged death. What was a little alcohol?

  She squinted at the server. “You won’t tell, will you?”

  He smirked then shook his head.

  “Good. Thank you for the cake,” Ally said in her sweet, and utterly fake, voice. The same voice that was capable of drawing out the blushes on grown men. And the server in front of her was no exception. He’d fallen victim to her façade.

  And for Ally, that was a damn shame.

  Ally sighed and tilted her head back against the pillar. Her warming skin and the light-headedness that came complimentary of the alcohol was one she hadn’t missed since her ‘detox.’ The truth was, Ally was a lightweight when it came to drinking. She’d learnt a trick during her earlier days attending events. She had called it the sip, spin, spit, and Serge manoeuvre. First, she’d sip the shot; when no one saw, she’d spin, spit it back into the glass, and hand it to her bodyguard, Serge, to dispose of. It wasn’t particularly classy, but it was the only way to ensure she didn’t get drunk.

  She knew what she needed and it was air. Serge would not be particularly pleased if he found out that she had gotten drunk without him close by. But no big bad monsters would get her here in Melbourne. Though, one particular monster had dug his fingers into her shoulder, hard enough to undoubtedly leave fingerprint-shaped bruises. Ally picked up her plate and cuddled the bottle of champagne close to her as she stumbled towards the exit of the Hotel Windsor.

  Upon reaching the double doors, the doorman opened it and tipped his head at her. Ally nodded at him. It wasn’t a quick nod like her brain had told her to make. Instead, her entire body had leant forward before she quickly corrected herself. A giggle filled her ears, and she knew she must have made that sound. With a long step, Ally was outside, and instantly, she felt the cool air sweep across her, providing relief against her burning skin. Several strides later, she found herself alone and in front of a black Jaguar. She scowled at it. It was her parents’ rental car. The same car her father had scolded her in for cancelling an appearance at a new club that had opened in Sydney last week.