Her Best Worst Mistake

by Sarah Mayberry

  Her belly got tight as she thought about Martin taking some other woman to a fancy dinner. She wondered who amongst his acquaintances it would be. Someone from work, perhaps? Or maybe he had a female friend who could step in to help him out.

  He could always take you.

  The idea was so preposterous she scoffed out loud. She and Martin had had sex a handful of times, but they weren’t in a relationship. She wasn’t foolish or naive enough to indulge in that little fantasy. The dinner was in the middle of March, more than two months away. He’d have well and truly moved on by then.

  Besides, she was the last person he would want to take to the Savage Club. He’d want someone who would do him credit. Someone sleek and demure and suitable. He might enjoy fucking Violet, but she was about a million miles from the sort of woman he’d want on his arm at such an event.

  She set the invitation back on the mantle and returned to the kitchen.

  He was sautéing something on his impressive six burner stove top.

  “That smells good,” she said as she resumed her stool.

  “Potatoes Dauphinoise. We’ll have it with coq a vin and green beans in garlic. I’m afraid I only have ice-cream for dessert.”

  “I’ll try to choke it down.”

  He flashed a smile at her over his shoulder. She let her gaze slide down his back to his ass. Impossible to look at his body without remembering how it felt to have him on top of her, his welcome weight pressing her into the bed, his body moving inside hers...

  Martin returned to the counter to collect a bowl of chopped something, his gaze meeting hers. He stilled for a second, then a small, knowing smile curved his mouth.

  “Be patient,” he said, his voice a little rough.

  That he knew what she was thinking—what she wanted—simply from looking at her only turned her on more. Somehow she managed to make it through the main meal, but when he went into the kitchen to serve the ice-cream she followed him and lured him to the bedroom.

  She had her wicked way with him in the bed, then later in the shower. Afterward, she made noises about leaving because she didn’t want to overstay her welcome, but Martin took her clothes from her and ordered her back into bed. They slept curled together, and in the morning they made love again before he drove her home.

  That night set the tone for the next six weeks. If Martin was busy with work, she came to his place and lounged on his couch reading a book while he went over contracts or reviewed material. When she deemed he’d done enough for the day, she distracted him in the most mutually beneficial way. When they weren’t at his place they were at hers, doing much the same, minus the work. She introduced him to the joys of reality TV when she discovered that his idea of unwinding was a vigorous squash game. He introduced her to the joys of good meals, fine wine and an awesome stereo system.

  Every now and then she experienced a tiny jolt of shock when she realized that this was Martin St Clair she was doing all this with. Never in a million years did she think she would wind up lying on a couch alongside him, his hands doing wonderful things to the arch of her foot while they watched ‘Dancing With The Stars’. He made her laugh, he made her think, and, yes, sometimes he aggravated her with his high-handed, this-is-the-way-it-will-be pronouncements. She never let him get away with it, though, and they squabbled more than once. But they always made up spectacularly, so she figured it was well worth the aggravation.

  Because the days were short and it was still cold outside, it was easy to feel as though they were living in their own little bubble. There were precious few real world interruptions, and it made it deceptively easy for Violet to pretend that what was happening between her and Martin was contained and private. She spoke to Elizabeth at least once a week, and every time the conversation was focussed on Nathan and the plans he and Elizabeth had made for the future. The usual guilt and self-recrimination weighed on Violet after she put the phone down, but not telling Elizabeth about Martin had become it’s own problem now that so much time had passed. Once the cat was out of the bag, Elizabeth would be bound to ask questions and when Violet answered them honestly, Elizabeth would know that Violet had sat on her confession for nearly three months. Three months during which they had talked multiple times, with Elizabeth sharing all the important and unimportant details of her life, while Violet had withheld the most significant happening in her own. A happening that had very direct, personal resonance for Elizabeth.

  Because she was only human, Violet tried to justify her behavior and minimize her disloyalty to her friend. She told herself that Elizabeth had clearly moved on—she was deeply, head-over-heels in love with another man, after all, so much so that she planned to emigrate to be with him—and that Elizabeth herself had said many times that she had never loved Martin the way he deserved to be loved. Elizabeth had no claim over Martin. He was a free agent. As was Violet.

  When Violet was feeling very calm and rational, both those arguments almost convinced her that Elizabeth would be totally fine with the news that her best friend was getting it on with her ex-fiancé. Then she thought about how she would feel in Elizabeth’s shoes and she knew that even the most generous and open-minded of friends would have trouble accepting that bare weeks after Elizabeth had called off her engagement, Violet had jumped Martin’s bones.

  It was all too soon. Violet knew it in her gut, and Elizabeth would be totally justified in feeling hurt and betrayed and disrespected. It would be a miracle if the truth didn’t damage their friendship forever, or at least alter it irrevocably. The thought of Elizabeth being distant and wary with her was almost more crushing for Violet than the notion that her friend might repudiate her utterly once she knew what had been going on.

  And so Violet continued to bite her tongue, and guilt took up permanent residence in her belly, a hard, cold little pebble that never quite went away, flaring up to stomach-ache proportions when she spoke to Elizabeth and dying down to almost-nothing when she was with Martin.

  A part of her knew that the bubble had to burst sometime. There was only so long that she could stick her head in the sand and pretend that what was happening wasn’t happening and that it didn’t mean anything to either herself or Martin or Elizabeth.

  Things came to a head when she and Martin decided to eat out for a change one Wednesday night as February gave way to March. So far they’d limited their venues to his place or hers, mostly because it was much more convenient to have a closed door between them and the world when things got steamy—as they inevitably did, every time. But this particular Wednesday Martin was late home from the office, and Violet had to huddle in the doorway to his apartment building for nearly twenty minutes before his car pulled up at the curb.

  “I’m sorry. I had a phone call from one of the senior partners just as I was heading out the door...” He rushed up the stairs to where she was standing and took her hands, looking into her face with concern. “You look half frozen. Do I need to stick you under a hot shower?”

  “Only if you’re part of the deal,” she said, touched by his concern.

  She turned toward the entrance of his building, assuming they would be going inside now, but he held her back.

  “I thought we could eat out. I didn’t have a chance to get to the supermarket tonight.”

  She blinked, momentarily blind-sided by the suggestion. As though the notion of going out in public and eating together was a strange and new-fangled development that she needed to get her head around instead of something that people did every day.

  “You don’t want to eat out?” he asked, looking mildly puzzled by her reaction.

  “Sure. Of course. What did you have in mind?”

  “There’s a new Thai place over on High Street. I haven’t tried it yet but it’s supposed to be good.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  He led her to the car. She concentrated on putting on her seat-belt, all the while trying to work out why she felt off-balance all of a sudden. It took her a minute to understand that i
t was because going out for dinner together was the sort of thing that normal couples did. And she didn’t consider herself and Martin either normal, or a couple.

  After all, the bulk of their interactions to date had been driven by an almost compulsive sexual chemistry, a need to be naked that defeated both logic and willpower. That she’d discovered she actually liked him as well as loved fucking him had been a pleasant side benefit of it all, but there was no denying that sex was the thing that had brought them together.

  “How was your day?” Martin asked as he navigated his way through rush hour traffic.

  “A little slow. But it’s always like this early in the year. I’ve got new stock coming in at the end of the week and I’ll redo the window next Monday. That should generate a bit more foot traffic.”

  “What have you got planned? For the window, I mean?”

  She glanced at him, sure he was simply being polite, but he seemed genuinely interested. So she told him, describing the props she’d been collecting. They continued to talk through their meal, discussing his day and the big case he had coming up and the fact that he was hoping to attend an international symposium on tax fraud later in the year. Gradually she relaxed, feeling foolish for her earlier unease.

  At the end of the day, it was a meal. Food that they were sharing in a public setting. It wasn’t a big deal. Not even close to it.

  Martin insisted on paying and they were still arguing about it when they stepped out into the street.

  “Violet! What perfect timing—I’ve been meaning to call you all week to ask if you have any of those divine Cambodian silk scarves left.”

  Violet’s head whipped around as Melissa bore down on them, her husband Lewis in tow. Violet’s whole body tensed as Melissa’s gaze slid over her shoulder and found Martin. Violet launched into speech, panic surging inside her.

  “Wow, this is obviously the new hot spot. I just ran into Martin inside.” Violet could hear herself talking too fast but was powerless to stop it. All she could think about was that Melissa and Elizabeth had gone to school together and that she knew for a fact that they regularly exchanged emails. “Clearly we’ve all been reading the same foodie blogs. Which is probably why it’s full to bursting in there.”

  Her smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Martin frown. Then he stepped forward to shake Lewis’s hand.

  “I was just telling Violet to avoid the red curry unless she has an ironclad stomach,” he said easily.

  Violet directed all her attention to Melissa, moving subtly away from Martin. “To answer your question, sadly all those scarves are gone. But I’m getting a new shipment this weekend, along with a bunch of other stuff. You should drop by. I’ve sourced some Italian cashmere shawls that I think you’d love.”

  She continued to talk fashion with Melissa while Lewis and Martin talked football. After five minutes Lewis caught Melissa’s eye.

  “We’re going to lose our table if we don’t make a move,” he said.

  “I need to get going, too,” Violet said. “Lovely to see you all. Have a great night.”

  She lifted a hand in farewell and started walking. She could hear Martin taking his leave, too. She didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder as she walked straight past his car, only stopping when she was safely around the corner.

  She let her breath out in a rush, closing her eyes. That had been close. Too close. The idea of Elizabeth learning what had been going on between her and Martin from a third party made her feel dizzy with anxiety. She opened her eyes again just as Martin’s car cruised around the corner.

  He stopped beside her and she met his eyes, unsurprised to see that he had his lawyer face on, utterly expressionless. She walked to the passenger side and got in. He pulled out into traffic. Neither of them said a word for a few seconds.

  “I take it you still haven’t told Elizabeth about us?” His voice was carefully neutral.

  “I didn’t see the point.” Not strictly the truth, but she was hardly going to give him a detailed rundown of her mixed up, guilt-laden thought processes where he and Elizabeth were concerned.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Be honest. How long do you think this thing between us is going to last? A couple of months?”

  “It’s already been more than two months, Violet.”

  “You know what I mean. We’re oil and water, Martin. The only thing we have in common is great sex.”

  He was slower to respond this time. “I was under the impression that there was a little more going on than that. But if that’s how you see things, then I was obviously mistaken.”

  His face was still carefully blank, but a muscle flickered in his jaw and Violet knew that she’d hurt him with her reductive assessment of their relationship.

  “How do you see things, then?” The words slipped out without her permission. Her stomach did a slow, nervous roll as she waited for him to respond.

  “Does it matter?”

  There was a tightness to his expression and she remembered that not so long ago the woman he’d asked to marry him had rejected him in no uncertain terms. Suddenly the way she’d denied him—denied them—back at the restaurant took on a new light.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” she said.

  He glanced across at her as they turned the corner, his gray eyes very direct. “Yes, you do.”

  She swallowed. Deep inside, she’d known this conversation was coming, and it scared the shit out of her. She felt as though her insides were shaking, as though she might lose her dinner.

  “Not so long ago, you despised me,” she said. “You could barely stand to look at me.”

  “And now I can’t keep my hands off you or get you out of my head. Which one of those reactions is the more accurate reflection of my true feelings, do you think, Violet? Let me give you a clue here—even though we’re arguing, even though I’m almost one hundred percent certain that you’re about to walk out on me, I have a hard-on with your name on it. That’s how much I can barely stand to look at you.”

  The rawness of his confession brought tears to her eyes. He was so much braver than her.

  “How could I possibly walk out on you, Martin? In what universe do you think I would be able to do that?” she said, her voice breaking.

  He swerved the car to the curb and the next thing she knew she was in his arms, being crushed to his chest as he kissed her with a savage, overpowering intensity. She gripped his shoulders so tightly her fingers ached, straining to get closer to him. After a handful of desperate seconds they eased apart, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “It’s not just the sex, is it?” she said.

  “It was never just sex.” He leaned forward and kissed her again, a gentle, tender promise of a kiss.

  “Does that mean you want me to go to the Savage Club dinner with you?” The words slipped out of their own volition. She’d been thinking about that invitation and what it meant to him and how much she wanted him to ask her to be his partner ever since she’d seen the damn thing on his mantle.

  “Of course.”

  To his credit, he said it without hesitation, but she knew he must have reservations. It was one thing to acknowledge that they’d somehow stumbled into a relationship, but she wasn’t exactly cast from the same mold as Elizabeth.

  Far from it.

  “I won’t embarrass you, don’t worry.”

  “I know you won’t.”

  “Believe it or not, I know how to play the game. I can even be quite good at it. If you’re worried, you can—”

  He kissed the words from her lips. “I’m not worried. We’ll go. We’ll have a good night, or not. It’s not a deal breaker.”

  “I know how much getting into that club means to you.”

  He lifted a shoulder casually. “It would be nice. But I’m not prepared to sell my soul for it.”

  There was hard won self-knowledge in his eyes as they met hers and she understood that he’d been reas
sessing his life in the wake of his broken engagement.

  “Is that why we drank the Chateau Margaux on Christmas Day?”

  “That’s exactly why.”

  He looked very solemn and a little chagrined, as though he was angry with himself for some of the decisions he’d made and the paths he’d chosen. She reached out and smoothed away the small frown between his eyebrows with her index finger.

  “Take me home, Martin,” she said simply.

  Martin felt buoyant, maybe even a little euphoric, as he walked into work the following morning. He’d just left Violet naked in his bed and he planned on carrying the image of her sated, sultry smile with him through the day.

  A weight had lifted from his chest after their conversation last night. Over the past weeks he’d come to realise that what was happening between them had the potential to redefine his life. Violet was vibrant and bold and passionate and impulsive and so sexy she could make him hard without batting an eyelid. She made him laugh, and she made him look at his world with new eyes.

  And, yes, she was about as different from Elizabeth as it was possible to get.

  Thank. God.

  His mood dimmed momentarily as he remembered the earlier part of last night, the part where Violet had distanced herself from him outside the restaurant and lied through her teeth to convince Melissa and Lewis they’d accidentally run into one another.

  Even though he’d suspected that she still hadn’t come clean with Elizabeth about what was going on with them, he hadn’t known for sure. The confirmation of his suspicion combined with her denial had knocked him well and truly off balance.

  He knew he was probably a million miles from the kind of men she usually dated. He wasn’t wild, he wasn’t Bohemian. He didn’t come from the right sort of family, he didn’t rub shoulders with the right sort of people. But he also knew that he rocked her world in the bedroom and that she appreciated his dry, acerbic sense of humor and that she seemed as eager to spend time with him as he was with her, both in and out of the bedroom.