by Shel Stone
“I suggested we should break up because I was clearly distracted elsewhere. She said no.”
“What do you mean she said no?”
The itch to talk was strong now. He didn’t ever talk about private things, but he was in need of help with his bearings here. “Just that. No. Said I should have my little slags on the side if I must, only that I be discreet.”
Aggie blinked. “Are you serious? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?”
“Yes. Turns out this is the perfect excuse for her to berate me whenever I’m doing something she doesn’t like.”
“That’s not right. Are you sure?”
“She’s of mind that Esme is some kind of gold digger who’s after my title.”
“That cow could look in the mirror, really.” It felt nice to confirm that his instincts weren’t entirely off base. “What about Esme?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t plan any of this. She was crying and I... It just happened.”
“You can’t lead Esme on.”
“That is what I have been trying to not do all along, trying not to hurt her. I just... I can’t fucking win with her.”
“Seriously, Inns. Grow some balls.”
“Would everyone please stop telling me what to do,” he said, losing his temper.
“And get rid of that bitch whatever you do, or she’s going to be carrying your balls in her handbag for the rest of your life.”
Was there a point in highlighting again that she refused to go? But it was also good to have confirmation of his assessment. Annabel was unreasonable. “Fuck it,” he said and got up. He had to get out of there. He'd tried to do the honourable thing with Annabel. Had owned up to what he’d done, had stated that the shape of their relationship was probably not what it should be. Everything he could have done to make this easier, he had tried. Annabel refused.
Grabbing a set of car keys, he didn’t know which until the lights flashed when he clicked it. It might have been Aggie’s car, but right now he didn’t care. He just needed to get away.
Chapter 38
A GLASS OF CHAMPAGNE SAT in front of Samara as she waited for Persephone to arrive. They hadn’t spoken since Switzerland.
Samara hadn’t told anyone what had happened between her and Tristan. It wasn’t a deeply hidden secret. It was probably noted that two of the party had disappeared during the first night’s dinner. But she wasn’t one to discuss the details of anything, particularly with something so new. But it was exciting.
It had been a few days since she’d spoken to him, being as he’d had to rush off to Istanbul for a meeting.
It was just so thrilling to be seeing a man she was attracted to, and a man she felt had potential. Strictly, she didn’t need anything from a man. There were plenty of things she wanted from a man, primarily someone who thought she was the sexiest woman alive. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? And that Tristan found her sexy was something they had established, and that made her feel sexy.
There really was no better way of getting over a man than getting under another, when it came down to it. Right now, Hassan was an unpleasant past, and Tristan was the exciting and sexy future. She could imagine them going on trips together, nice dinners, maybe the odd event. Right now, that was what she wanted, a companion, and someone to flirt and enjoy herself with.
Her phone rang and she saw it was Viola, so she ignored it. Viola would be subtly enquiring if anything had happened, and Samara just wasn’t willing to speak about it right now. Their weekly tennis game was coming up, and no doubt, there would be some questions cropping up.
The one person she should perhaps have some words with was Persephone. What Tristan had told her, Samara had no idea, but she had the feeling Tristan kept things close to his chest.
“Samara, darling. How are you?" Persephone said, making her way through the tables and taking the seat opposite. “You look wonderful. Truly.”
“Thank you. And you. How is your business?”
“Good. I am in the thick of working on the autumn season. I’m quite excited about it. It’s always a good season for me.”
Samara didn’t really follow the trends on the catwalk. They changed for the sake of it, and she prescribed to style more than trend. And really, the effort to keep up with trends was too much to bother with. There were professionals one could hire for that kind of thing if she was interested. Better to know what worked for one’s body and stick to that.
“Of course, my brother is being utterly beastly,” Persephone said lightly.
Samara’s eyebrows drew together. “What about?” Was this to do with her? About their relationship?
“He’s set his solicitors on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just the business about the will, and inheritance. These things are never simple, and Tristan has insisted on making things complicated.”
“Oh,” Samara said, losing interest, and relieved that it wasn’t about her. Why would it be? Well, there was that little niggle of concern that she was seen as less than for being Hassan’s castoff. Or someone to be warned against in case Hassan took offence. The Barensteens really were too strong to worry about upsetting people. They could stand their own ground against someone like Hassan. In fact, Hassan would fear their contacts. The Barensteens had what Hassan never would, centuries old legitimacy.
“There is no need for these things to get nasty, but I suppose he isn’t used to doing things any other way.”
Was Persephone trying to warn her off in a roundabout way? Was her lack of centuries old legitimacy a problem for the family? That was the one thing money couldn’t buy. Not the only thing. Happiness was something one couldn’t buy either, but money certainly consoled well. For a while, Samara had believed she was happy, and in some way, she probably had been—when she’d believed she was special enough to Hassan that he couldn’t discard her like old clothes.
Reality had been brutal when she’d learned exactly how little she meant to him. It had come as an utter surprise. A position she didn’t want to be in again, but how could one guard against it? She also didn’t want to be one of those desperate women searching for some hint that she was regarded less than she wanted to be. The answer was not there. The answer was with her.
She was loveable, she was beautiful and she was sexy. It wouldn’t do for others to try to convince her otherwise. And if that was sheer delusion in some people’s eyes, then they weren’t people worth having. What kind of person would try to convince her she was less than she was anyway?
No, everyone didn’t have to conform to her view of the world—only the people she surrounded herself with. The rest could go to hell. Equally, she wasn’t a girl in her early twenties, and it was ludicrous to try to chase that.
These things about herself she’d never questioned before, but it was hard not to feel fundamentally challenged with the end of a relationship, particularly such a brutal end. But perhaps it was a compliment that Hassan had tried so very hard to destroy her. If she had been a pitiable mess, he wouldn’t have bothered. He’d tried because she was strong, and he knew it.
“... and the petition went ahead. It was simple advice. Tristan is just being overly sensitive.”
Hearing Tristan’s name drew Samara out of her reverie. Not surprising, because her thoughts always fleeted when legal matters were discussed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Families should support each other.” Then again, with the amount of wealth involved in the Barensteen family, it was hardly surprising that solicitors would become involved.
“It just means that everything will take longer. Not that I am in any particular rush. Things will just have to take as long as they do. On the positive side, it means spending more time here, and it’s hardly onerous. I simply have to travel back to Milan whenever I’m needed.”
For some reason, Samara found it difficult to bring up her interest in Tristan. “I have learned to leave solicitors to do what they must, and to think about it as little as possible. Especial
ly in regards to family.”
“Do you have any contact with Hassan’s children?” Persephone asked.
“No, not really.” Darius had been the only one she’d felt close to, but he’d acted atrociously the last time she’d seen him, and he hadn’t been in touch since. Another blow to learn that she’d meant little to him either. Perhaps it was better to cut herself out of the Azmer family all together. Unfortunately it would be too complicated to change her name as this point as everyone knew her as Samara Azmer. Although if she married, that would happen. “They are busy with their lives. Well, I do hear from Tae every once in a while.” Tae really was the most considerate and personable out of the lot of them, and that was more or less a condemnation of the whole family. Tae was exactly as cordial and aloof as he’d always been. There was no malice with him, but there was no particular interest either. His actions were done out of politeness.
“Families can disappoint you,” Persephone said. “Tristan and I were always on each other’s side.” There was real concern in her eyes now.
“And you still are. You simply have to get through this. Let the lawyers do what they do, but treat it as completely separate from your relationship with your brother.”
“You always have good advice,” Persephone said with a smile.
Now if there was some way she could broach the subject of Tristan in relation to her. “I had dinner with Tristan one night in Switzerland.”
Persephone was still for a moment. “I had wondered where he’d snuck off to.”
“I enjoy his company.” What was the point of beating around the bush, or making it seem insignificant? Let the chips fall where they may. Although she hoped this did not threaten her friendship with Persephone. With some, that would be a distinct possibility, but Samara had had enough of catering to other people’s notions. “He’s an interesting man.”
“I suppose I don’t need to warn you about life with a ruthless, career-focused man. If anyone would know, it would be you.”
It wasn’t resounding support.
“That is an interesting man that Cheyenne has aligned herself with.” The shift in subject didn’t go unnoticed, and Samara feared it meant disapproval. Would that matter to her? Would she sacrifice her friendship for a man? A man who was worth it, yes, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Besides, what was a friendship if it stood in the way of love? Obviously it was too early for any such considerations.
Chapter 39
“MR. INNS TO SEE YOU,” Maria said, appearing in Esme’s doorway. Esme froze. Why was he here? Probably here to tell her in yet another way how he should never have gone near her. It hadn’t been hard to see that he hadn’t been happy with what they’d done. It wasn’t entirely unusual for him.
“Fine, I'll come downstairs.” Perhaps downstairs was better for whatever this was. She checked herself in the mirror before leaving her room, wondering if she should change into something better than her shorts and tank top, but why? Fuck it, she thought. If he was going to have a go at her, she wasn’t going to get dressed up for it.
Inns was sitting in one of the chairs looking out the window. She adored seeing him like that, distracted. It gave her a moment to look at him unobserved. Why did things always have to be so complicated with him? Because he didn’t want to be with her. He’d made that clear on a number of occasions. Even so, she was quite content at just staring at him. Not everyone saw how beautiful he was. He was to her. “Hi, Inns,” she said and he looked up at her. Was that resentment she saw in his eyes?
“Esme,” he said in reply.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
Now would be when the accusation would come, whatever it was he’d come here to tell her. She’d just wished he’d be gentle with it. Her heart was a little worn these days. Maybe this was the: I’m leaving and I’ll never see you again spiel. She’d been expecting that. In fact, she’d expected to never see him again the last time he’d left.
“Can you come down?”
It occurred to her that she’d been hesitant to. It felt a little like being led to her own execution. At least with Inns, it was a swift, clean blow. It was what made him a much better person than Darius. Inns never meant to inflict pain. At least not on her. He was an impossible snob to other people. Maybe that was what attracted her to him, because to him, she was special. He didn’t want her, but she was special to him.
Reluctantly, she walked downstairs to where he was sitting. “Why are you here, Inns?” she asked, sitting down on the armrest of the opposing sofa.
He looked down for a moment. Why did she always want to kiss his eyelashes? She forever wanted to make him feel better, because he seemed to carry so much. “What do you want from me?”
The question surprised her. Obviously she wanted to kiss his eyelashes, but that probably sounded insane. In fact, the question was utterly defeating her, and she slid down the armrest into the sofa itself. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” he said with a snort as if she’d insulted him. He looked her in the eyes and she felt that energy that always ran between them. When he’d left, she’d forgotten about it. “I just click with you. We click. You don’t like it, or don’t want it, but we do.”
“What else?”
“Do you want me to show you?”
“No.”
No, he didn’t. He had a girlfriend and the fact that they were insanely attracted to each other didn’t mean anything to him. Tucking her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them.
With his fingernail, he traced one of the seams in the leather of the chair. “I told Annabel about what happened. And she said that I shouldn’t be so stupid as to fall for the tricks of a gold-digging slag.”
The reference was icky. “I suppose she would see it that way.” Esme wasn’t interested in how Annabel saw it—she was interested in how Inns saw it. In a way, and perhaps childishly, she felt she’d been there first and there was unfinished business, no matter what was going on with Annabel. That unfinished business wasn’t something she’d generated, to be contrary.
Inns spoke carefully. “She will not concede to breaking up.”
Inns had tried to break up with her. That was all Esme heard. In fact, she wanted to get up and go to him, but it would likely result in rejection. How had she gotten herself in this position again, where her heart was so completely tied up in a guy? Why did things have to be so shitty? Why was it so hard to meet a guy who was just as into her as she was into him? Well, she’d thought she’d had that with Darius, before he’d turned completely toxic. “Oh,” was all she said.
“So now I’m questioning everything about her.”
Esme didn’t want to hear about his girlfriend, but she was in this, and also the cause of this, so she needed to take some responsibility. “Isn’t she the type you’ve always said you should be with?”
“Would you just sweep it under the carpet if your boyfriend cheated on you?”
“No,” Esme said, actually listening this time. Could it be that Annabel was so hurt that she was willing to forgive him? Darius came charging back into her mind, with cloying badness. That urge just to soothe things over to ensure he wasn’t upset. Was that what was going on between Inns and Annabel?
“What kind of person would do that? She actually suggested I should have a bit on the side if I needed to.”
That was insane levels of submissiveness, unless this wasn’t submission at all. Dealing with Darius made her see such things in everything now, but this was too extreme. “That’s not right.” Unless that was how things were. She had no idea with his set. The rules were completely different. Not the kind of rules she would like to live her life by.
People cheating wasn’t exactly unheard of in Marbella, but they still tried to hide it. There was something very uncomfortable about downright acceptance of it. Truthfully, she didn’t really want to hear about this. Then again, inns had tried to break up with her. “Yeah, I'm not going to be your bit on the side.” Which was a
little hypocritical, because technically she had been. It wasn’t her proudest moment.
“I wasn’t suggesting that.”
“Good.” So they were on the same level in that regard at least. “So why are you here?”
Inns sighed and dropped his head back. “I just had to leave. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.”
“Oh, wonderful.” That made her feel so much better, being the last resort.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Esme froze. He wasn’t looking at her when he said it, and it wasn’t something he would say frivolously. It also wasn’t something he would say to get his way. If he said it, it was because it was true. “I’m sorry.” If there was anything she knew, it was that he didn’t want to be. “That must be quite distressing for you.”
Could this please end now?
“So there’s that, and I find myself in a rather fucked up situation right now.”
Chapter 40
OPENING HIS EYES, Ricky groaned. The sun was so damn bright. English weather suited hangovers. Here it was all brightness and sunshine. Almost as if it was accusing him for drawing the blankets up and ignoring the day. Fuck, his head hurt.
Normally when he had any aftereffects from the night before, he went to the gym. The cure for when he was hungover, or bored--or happy, sad, angry. It was the elixir for everything, but it wasn’t working today. Solraya was pregnant. He had not seen that coming.
In his life, pregnancy was the worst thing that could happen. Literally game over. All the fun had to stop and your life would be drudgery and misery. Practically on par with a prison sentence. And Solraya had just been sentenced. She was done for the next eighteen years. No fun, no partying, no spontaneity. And not just that, she was heading back to Australia.
Obviously, he should write her off. And he’d tried. He’d even gone out last night, looking for a girl to spend the night with, but all he saw was more bother than he could make himself deal with. Some girl he would have to deal with right now, being considerate while trying to urge her out the door. Girls on holiday weren’t in a hurry.
