by Lee, Corri
The corners of her mouth flickered with renewed amusement. “You’ll thank me for it.” I highly doubted that.
“Is my torture over now?” She linked her arm with mine and led me through to an open area of couches, buzzing therapists and rows upon rows of mirrors with what seemed to be reclining barbers chairs. Oh sweet baby Jesus, Sweeney Todd. The fear that I may not escape with my life was dispelled as a gaggle of therapists crowded around us, forcing champagne flutes into our hands and conferring with Bethany to discover how we so desired to be clipped, trimmed and smothered in face masks. I would never admit it out loud, but that kind of reception appealed to the repressed exhibitionist side of me that desperately craved to be centre of attention by ravenous crowds of adoring fans. They knew I was Nathaniel Alexander’s guest, and that made me special.
With a Carita facial under my belt, I had serious suspicions that I would find myself being asked for proof of age when I walked into the bar for my shift the next evening. I had an undeniable glow from both the luxurious spa treatments and the copious amounts of champagne handed to us without question or request. I felt guiltlessly divine and, for the first time in years, being idle didn’t provoke agitation.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Bethany raised an eyebrow at me as she sipped her champagne and nodded towards the handsome young Greek gentleman massaging the arches of my feet. “Deep down, you’re just like any other woman. This kind of thing makes you feel like a queen.”
“Shut up.” Again, I would never admit out loud that I would have liked to make this a regular habit, but I confirmed her suspicions with a wink and flexed my toes. Queen Cecelia had a certain ring to it.
I waited for Bethany in the spa’s reception area, having set a hard limit at spray tanning, and revelled in the warm wave of satisfaction that rippled through my body. I could count on one hand the number of separate occasions I had felt this way but they had always come at the expense of a sweaty idiot jack-knifing into my bed and grabbing at my feminine appendages. How depressing, I thought, to be able to compare my past sexual encounters to something as basic as a mud bath.
I brushed my self-pity from my thoughts and pulled my phone from the small inside pocket of the tote bag I’d taken with me for the day ahead. As promised, my laptop was still at home- most likely grateful for the reprieve, and I had packed nothing but a change of clothes and the silk chemise set. William Shakespeare was on standby to keep me company when my brain cells began their inevitable process of stagnation.
I had one text message. This was a novelty. I rarely received any kind of correspondence from anyone other than Bethany and she had her mouth so firmly set onto ‘ramble’ that it was easier and cheaper for her to call than to message me. I should have guessed that the message would be from Cole.
Presented with two options- hammering the basics of criminal law into stoned teenagers or read a Cecelia Douglas original, and listen to said stoned teens prattle on about how ‘sick’ modern rap music is- what would you choose?
I struggled to envision Cole stood at the front of a class asserting his authority- the man was so abnormally passive around me. A part of me couldn’t help thinking that maybe he wasn’t being entirely true to character and there was a definite possibility that I might actually prefer Cole the Intellectual to Cole the Lothario. I did, however, seek great solace in the fact that he composed grammatically correct text messages and didn’t abbreviate letters into numbers.
Of the two, the former, actually. Though I’d take anything over another armpit waxing at the hands of a large Austrian ‘lady’ named Wanda. Quite sure she had a penis.
His reply was almost instantaneous.
I didn’t know that my aunt worked in the Alexander Health Spa. Both options exhausted. Can’t teach through the apathy, can’t read through the sir-what-are-you-reading’s. Also can’t text through the sir-is-your-missus-fit’s. Enjoy your posh hotel tonight. I’ll drop by the bar tomorrow evening.
My gut wrenched at the notion of Cole announcing that he had a new love interest to his students. I was certainly in no rush to be labelled as ‘the missus’ and I wasn’t at all happy that Bethany had sent him a copy of my novel. Yes, I wanted that novel out in the public domain to be enjoyed, but for some reason, Cole reading it just felt too personal. He would see what could be expected from Nathaniel Alexander and something told me that he’d compete and grow sick with jealousy- reading the love scenes and thinking that Mr Alexander would be keen to replicate those moments. I wasn’t willing to face those accusations, I was a loyal woman who knew how to exercise self-restraint, but I sure as hell wouldn’t stand by and be second guessed. My involvement with Mr Alexander was strictly business and Cole would do well to remember that.
Bethany flounced out into the reception looking despicably radiant. What remained of my glow quickly ebbed away at the sight of her gleaming locks and flawless skin. Women like her shouldn’t be allowed to coexist with lowly mortals like me.
She flung her arms around my neck and squeezed me with unexpected gusto. “This couldn’t have come at a better time, Cici. I’m prepped and sexy for my date with Adam tonight and you don’t have to worry about listening to us going at it.” And suddenly it all made sense. The gratuitous display of affection was something of a mating dance for Bethany. Before every first date she would work herself up into a tightly wound ball of exaggerated expectations and he’s-the-one optimism- mentally planning out her wedding music and picturing my ghastly bridesmaid dress. I could guarantee that in a matter of days she would be listening to Dido and sobbing into a tub of Carte D’or ice cream, and I had to wonder how much of this was down to Cole’s theory that she didn’t look like the settling down type. Part of me felt sad for her. Part of me wanted to throw a box of Nice ‘N Easy Light Brown at her and buy her a nice modest cardigan. But the rest of me knew that she liked living this way and, like myself, she wouldn’t compromise on her looks to find a partner. They had to accept her for who she was, and for that, I was proud.
“Just remember the house rule, Bethy. If you must take it to the lounge, put a towel down first.” She stuck her tongue out at me and raised an eyebrow towards the large black Chrysler that had pulled up outside.
“Your chariot awaits, Cici. Send me pictures of the hotel.” Before I could answer, she pushed me forward through the glass doors of the spa and pulled me back to a halt as the driver’s door swung open.
To our mutual surprise, out stepped an attractive young blonde woman in a perfectly fitted black double breasted chauffeur’s uniform, complete with hat and leather driving gloves.
She smiled warmly and stepped forward to offer a hand. “Miss Douglas, Miss Marshall- I’m Lobke.” I shook her hand warily and was met with a smirk. “I get that look all the time. You were expecting an old greying guy right?” I flushed crimson with guilt, but she laughed softly and reached over to open the door to the passenger seats. “Don’t feel bad about it. Nate doesn’t conform to stereotypes and women are safer drivers.” She shrugged and waved a hand. “Just sayin’.” I instantly liked this woman.
Bethany pulled me into another embrace and buried her head in my hair. “I am pea green with envy right now,” this was unheard of, “think of me while you’re drinking Cristal in your fancy silk pants.” I rolled my eyes and clambered into the back of the Chrysler.
“In you get then, Miss Marshall.” Bethany was stunned into silence. The day was full of surprises and it was barely past lunch time. “I have orders to take you home after I’ve taken Miss Douglas to the hotel.” I grabbed Bethany’s wrist and dragged her in next to me as she was clearly too dumbstruck to move herself. Lobke gave a quiet chuckle and closed the door behind us before climbing behind the steering wheel. “Music, ladies?”
“Do you have any Mickey Avalon?” Bethany sprung back into life like a wound up clockwork clown and in full I-have-a-date swing.
“Oh Jesus,” I groaned, “if for some reason you do have Mickey Avalon, please don�
�t play it. That’s her ready-to-fuck music.” Lobke glanced up into the rear view mirror and shook her head severely.
“Majority rules, Miss Douglas.” I shrank down in my seat and hoped dearly that the blaring music couldn’t be heard from the outside of the vehicle.
I winced as I stepped into the Infinity Suite of The Langham Hotel. It was all just so outrageously expensive and high class. I slunk down onto a large soft armchair in a sitting room section of the suite and shook my head in bewilderment. What the hell was I supposed to do here? Be slovenly, stupid. I rolled my eyes and strolled through the master bedroom, throwing my bag down on the bed, and tiptoed towards the magnificent rectangular bathtub. I felt so wrong being in that suite- like an intruder. I was terrified to touch anything, paralysed by my own feelings of insignificance.
My phone rang and provided a welcome distraction. Sort of.
“Are you relaxing?” Nathaniel Alexander’s voice nipped at my ears and sent a wave of relief through my body. Why the hell are you so pleased?
“I’m in the hotel and I’m not working, if that’s what you mean.” The sound of crackling wood and soft classical music lingered across the line. “You certainly sound like you’re somewhere nice though.”
“I’m in the office actually. Don’t you have a thinking space?” I frowned at my phone for a moment and wandered over to the window.
“Pardon me?”
“Where do you write?”
I stammered over my words, at a loss for answers. “In my bedroom, the lounge. Anywhere with seating and coffee.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat and sighed. “Anyway. Take a bath, Miss Douglas- it’s delightful. Order lunch, take a nap, watch bad daytime television and drink expensive wine. The walls won’t collapse if you touch anything.” I pursed my lips and paced back into the bathroom, twisting the taps of the bath with a sigh. “That’s better. Enjoy the suite, Miss Douglas, I’ll be wasting around six grand if you don’t.” I cringed and threw my phone onto the bed. Money was no object for Mr Alexander, but I knew that he’d given me the price tag on this hotel suite so I’d feel an obligation to use it appropriately.
One multi-coloured illuminated spa bath later, I was back in the queenly state I felt at the Alexander Health Spa. I dozed in the four poster bed while music channels hummed on the television, snacked on my requested junk food and got tipsy on complimentary wine. If this is what I’d missed by excluding sloth from my life, I was a foolish woman.
Draped in my silken finery, I spread myself out across a large white couch and engrossed myself in Romeo and Juliet. Staff came and went as they pleased, ensuring that my needs were catered to. Not for a moment did I find myself conscious of my state of undress when I was so finely groomed. I barely noticed the atmosphere shift around me and the shadow in the doorway. “Miss Douglas.”
I waved a hand and nodded. “That’s me.” I stopped in my tracks and grabbed a large cushion to shield myself at the instant that the owner of that shadow registered in my mind. “Oh god, Mr Alexander!”
He scoffed at me and strode across the sitting room to a nearby armchair, laying his briefcase down on the table. “Come now, Miss Douglas, it’s not like I haven’t seen that underwear before.”
I hid my reddened face behind my book and kept a firm lid on my gut reaction to scream ‘what are you doing here?’ “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” He cocked his head at me and tugged at the Windsor knot of his white tie.
“I thought you might be getting a little agitated and have Miss Marshall smuggle in your laptop. I’m protecting my investment.” I snorted and resisted the urge to smile.
“Bethany wouldn’t come if I asked anyway. She’s ‘entertaining’ tonight.” The look on his face told me that he looked at Bethany in the same way that Cole did, and while I desperately wanted to jump to her defence, I couldn’t help but think that they were right.
“Well, if you don’t mind,” Mr Alexander toed off his shoes and slung his feet up onto the table next to his briefcase, “I’m rather keen on this suite and there are two bedrooms.” I raised an eyebrow and swallowed a lump in my throat to prevent my voice coming out as a squeak.
“You’re staying?”
“Unless you have any objections? I could order dinner and work while you relax. You won’t even know I’m here.” It sounded suspiciously like he was asking for my permission to stay. I breathed through my confusion and spread my legs back out across the couch.
“Knock yourself out. You are paying for this.”
That night we ate dinner together and talked endlessly about surprisingly ‘normal’ things- music, movies, friends. The more we spoke, the more I felt like I was reacquainting myself with an old friend, like we’d known each other for years but just lost touch somewhere along the way. He liked to drink in seedy nightclubs and watch the old originals of films, deeply detesting Hollywood remakes. He streaked through London in his college days and did too many drugs in university. Behind the suit and the bulky wallet, he was just a carefree twenty-something trying his best to help his friend because he could. I knew that I had found a firm friend in Nathaniel Alexander, and I was sure that he knew that he’d found a friend in me too.
By around ten o’clock, he had found his way to the opposite end of the couch I was sprawled across and was reading my manuscript quietly while I watched mind numbing television, twisting a strand of hair around my fingers.
“Can I ask you something, Miss Douglas?” I smirked and shook my head.
“You’ve been sat next to me while I’m wearing nothing but my underwear for the past four hours- I think we’re past formalities now, don’t you?”
“Does that mean you’ll start calling me Nate?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You were asking a question.”
“That was a question.” I turned to him for a moment and stuck my tongue out before setting my eyes back to the television. Our light-hearted chides took the ‘business’ from our ‘business arrangement’ and chinked away steadily at my armour. I felt his weight shift slightly before he spoke again. “Why do you revere romance?”
Something clenched at my chest for a moment with the arrival of his entirely too personal question. “Pardon me?”
“You write about romance like it’s as essential as oxygen.” I turned the television off and turned to him awkwardly. His arm spread out across the top of the couch and one foot was curled underneath him, the other reaching down to the ground. His body language suggested that he was a safe confidante, but I could never be sure. “It’s a sore subject, I’m sorry.”
“No,” I sighed and pulled my feet up underneath me, “not a sore subject. It’s just not often broached.” I ran my teeth across my lip and found something- anything to look at other than him. “I grew up around romance- it’s all I know. My parents were the most sickeningly perfect couple you could ever imagine, you only had to walk into a room to feel how much they loved each other. They were all about impulsive al fresco lunches, unexpected kisses, dancing in the kitchen while dinner burnt- that kind of thing. They were together for thirty years and their lust for each other never died.”
I felt the tears burning the backs of my eyes and tried to fight them back through pronounced blinking and deep breathing. “When I was eighteen, my dad got really ill really quickly. He needed a kidney transplant, and fast. None of his family were a tissue match, not even me. But my parents were so fucking perfect for each other that my mum was a match. She loved him so much that the risks didn’t matter to her.
“My dad’s body rejected transplant and he went downhill really quickly, too quickly. The doctors worked so tirelessly on helping him that they missed my mum getting ill too. They completely missed her developing sepsis and as soon as my dad realised that she was too far gone, he refused further treatment. I went to see them and their beds had been pushed together so they could hold hands.” I paused for a moment to compose myself- the painful images of that hospital room haunting me again
after I’d done so much to repress them. “They knew that they were dying but they just smiled at me. They didn’t care because they were dying together. The way he looked at her for trying to save his life, and the way she looked at him for being willing to die with her- it was the most romantic thing you could ever imagine seeing. When I asked how they could look so happy, my mum said ‘never compromise your happiness, and definitely never compromise on love’. Neither one of them could stand to be without the other in either life or death.” I glanced up at Mr Alexander- Nathaniel- through my tears and was quietly mortified by my display of emotion.
He leaned across and gripped my hand in his. “So why, if you grew up around so much love and romance, do you write about heartbreak?”
“Because their love killed them!” I gasped, “if ever there was proof that there are no happily ever afters, my parents would be it. Even a perfect love story ended in tragedy.”
“So why do you crave what they had if you think it’s going to make you miserable in the long run?”
I sighed and dashed my tears away. “Is it so wrong to just want to be loved?”
His hand tightened around mine for a moment before he pulled me towards him and entombed me in his arms. “I ask myself that question every day, Cecelia. And for what it’s worth, I think your parents probably did think they had a happily ever after. You just can’t see it through your own hurt. If your reluctance to accept love comes from a fear that you’re going to end up lost and broken in unchartered territory- stop. That kind of undying love is out there for you.” I wiped my eyes and took comfort in the fact that this apparently unfeeling billionaire was offering me comfort and revealing that he craved love as deeply as anyone else.
“It’s out there for you too, you know.” I caught him rolling his eyes at me and pinched him. “One day, someone is going to storm into your life and catch you off guard.”
