by Sofia Grey
Suki. It didn’t use to be like this.
There was a time when her adoring looks were genuine. Our whirlwind romance could have come straight out of a trashy romance novel: handsome racing driver weds innocent girl. I’d already taken her virginity and her heart. I would have given her mine, but it’d been ripped out of my chest a year earlier.
I’d been seeing Elvira for almost two years. From the minute I first saw her, I knew she was going places. In her case, she was heading for cover-girl status with an eye on the glossiest of magazines. She was almost as ambitious as me and I couldn’t get enough of her. She was intoxicating. Her cool, groomed elegance was completely at odds with her passionate nature, inherited, so she claimed, from her Spanish family. My father laughed when I told him we’d marry. He thought she was only suitable for an affair and I was determined to prove him wrong. It took three proposals before she decided I was serious. Should I have realised then? It might have saved the pain of finding her in bed with her agent.
I made certain vows to myself: I’d never be put in that position again, I would marry, I’d live up to my father’s expectations and my wife would always look up to me.
Dad had told me to marry wisely and Suki was perfect. I’d moulded her, shaped her into the TV star she was now. Without me, she’d be nothing.
2.3 Josh
I waited in the hotel restaurant, dawdling over my coffee, my fingers playing absently with my Talisman. The slim leather band never left my wrist. I’d feel naked without it.
My newest target should be here any minute. Her fiancé had assured me she always ate breakfast and, with any luck, I’d get my first sight of her soon. Flicking through the newspaper, keeping an eye on the entrance, I almost missed the photograph in the TV section. Something jogged my brain and I backtracked, staring at the pretty face gazing up at me. It was her. The girl from the café.
Suki Bridgewater. Co-host of Time Out, the hottest show currently on daytime television. I scrutinised the picture carefully, unable to resist a smile. This was why she looked familiar, yet different. Her hair now fell in honey blonde waves to her shoulders and the freckles had vanished, probably blotted out with makeup. The sparkling eyes and broad, genuine smile were the same, though.
I’d heard of her—who hadn’t? I recalled her unsettled feelings: I don’t want to go home. The anxiety when I’d examined her hand.
A clatter of footsteps alerted me to a group of people walking up to the breakfast counter and I followed them with my eyes, my focus resting on the woman in the middle. Melanie. Even at 7:30 in the morning, she looked like a man-eater and I held back a shudder. If her fiancé didn’t trust her, why the hell did they stay engaged? She chattered in a loud voice to her colleagues. It sounded as though they were debating the merits of the two waiters. That was my cue.
Brushing against her as I sauntered towards the counter, I turned back and gave her a smile, my eyes raking her appearance. I watched her preen under my stare, stretching her neck, licking her lips and opening her eyes wide. I lingered, apparently unable to decide what I wanted to eat. As I’d anticipated, she moved to stand closer.
“Are you here for the conference?” I looked at her again, unable to miss the flash of interest in her eyes.
“Yes.” She held out one hand to me, confident, expecting me to take it. I didn’t disappoint. “Melanie Turpin, from the Bristol office. And you are?”
“Josh Delaney.” A miniscule pause, perfectly timed. “Not from the Bristol office.”
My instincts were correct. I held her hand a fraction too long, reading her easily. I like that he’s checking me out. Is he interested?
With a teasing smile playing across my face, I dropped my gaze to her generous cleavage, then back to her face. “I’m only here for today. Maybe we could catch up during the lunch break?”
It was that easy.
2.4 Suki
I’d spent the day at the studios catching up on fan mail, writing my gossip column and planning the minute details of the upcoming shows. I’d have loved to spend the evening sprawled on the sofa with a trashy paperback, but I’d promised to go out for drinks with the girls from the office. I arrived home to find Gabe in a sparkling mood.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He waylaid me as I climbed out of my car. Judging by the motorbike leathers he wore, and the helmet under his arm, I figured he was just on his way out. He wrapped his free hand around the nape of my neck and pulled me in close for a kiss. “There’s a bottle of Cloudy Bay chilling in the fridge, and I made tuna Nicoise for you. I know you’re going out tonight. I wanted you to have something to eat first.” My favourite wine and a salad I loved, but hated the time taken to prepare. Bang. Just like that, I remembered why I loved my husband.
* * * *
It was Tara’s birthday, and as always, we quickly started talking about men. I was seen as a target of envy for being married to Gabe, but it had started to grate on my nerves. I had a career, too. I’d worked equally hard to get where I was now, starting at the bottom and seizing opportunities as they came along.
I now co-presented a lively magazine show three mornings each week, pulling in some of the highest daytime ratings on a regular basis. It didn’t just happen by accident.
I lurked at the bar while I waited for our drinks to be served, and took the opportunity to send a quick text to Mum.
Thinking about you, hope you’re okay. Suki x
Today was the anniversary of my brother Antony’s cot death, the day my mother lost her mind.
The barman slid a glass of wine to me. “You’re Suki Bridgewater.” I dragged my attention away from my phone and conjured a polite smile. “Your drinks are on the house.” He beamed at me and leaned forward, one elbow resting on the bar. “Ever since Marco Vittori was on your show, my sex life has been fabulous. My girlfriend has this thing about Italians, and all I have to do is speak Italian to her.” His grin was infectious and I laughed in delight.
He winked at me. “It’s like a freakin’ miracle. She’s never been so hot for me, and it’s all down to you. Thanks.”
God, I wish I could rejuvenate my own sex life so easily. I knew Gabe wanted more, things I wasn’t prepared to do, needs I had no idea how to fulfil. It left me feeling inadequate most of the time. Everyone I knew had a better sex life than me, with the possible exception of my parents. I really didn’t want to know if they still did it.
My team looked up to me as their guru in all matters pertaining to love, and I even wrote a weekly agony column on relationship issues. If I stopped to think about it, I’d probably laugh hysterically.
Gabe, sex on legs, pin up for a sporting generation. My only lover. How was I in any way qualified to advise other women on their sex lives?
I fixed a cheerful smile in place and took the drinks to our table to join the conversation.
Recently married, Tara seemed permanently happy judging by the ever-present good mood. “So, Suki. Do you tell Gabe everything?”
“Everything? I guess it depends on your definition of everything.”
“I tell Martin every little detail about my day.” Julia looked smug, but then, she wasn’t actually married. “He says he likes to know what’s happening in my life.”
“Every detail?” Tara looked disbelieving. “What about when you ogle a cute guy at the water cooler?”
Julia shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”
We all hooted with amazement. “Okay then, is there anything you wouldn’t tell him?” Tara had taken the role of interrogator tonight.
Julia paused, screwed up her lips while she thought. Then her face cleared. “Nope, I’d tell him anything. Nothing is secret.”
I grimaced, trying to cover it up with a sip of wine. Eagle-eyed Tara had spotted it though. “Suki, your turn. What wouldn’t you tell Gabe?”
Well, there was a question. How many orgasms I faked? No, that was definitely not something to share with the girls. “I guess… I wouldn’t tell him—or anyone—my greatest fear.”
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Three sets of wide eyes greeted this statement. I mentally kicked myself. Trying to recover, I turned the question back. “Well go on, which of you would tell your nearest and dearest?”
“I would.” Julia of course.
“I might,” Tara was more thoughtful.
Katy was the quiet one as usual. “I wouldn’t.” She flicked a conspiratorial smile towards me. “If you tell someone what you fear most, there’s always a chance they might use it against you.”
“Precisely.” I took a sip of my drink to calm my nerves. “For instance, I met a guy who did just that. His girlfriend cheated on him and he wanted revenge. He knew she’d been in a car crash as a child and been traumatized by it, so he used his car to push hers off the road one night. She wasn’t hurt—he just nudged her onto the grass verge—but she was terrified. He described it as ‘leaving her in a gibbering heap’.” I shrugged as I looked at the shocked faces of my friends.
“Oh, no.” Tara was the first to recover. “This comes down to trust, plain and simple. What you really mean, is how much do you trust your partner? Am I right?” There was a chorus of nods around the table, and then Tara turned back to me.
“Suki. How much do you trust Gabe?”
“Implicitly. I was only joking, you know.” God, when did I become such a good liar? I summoned a grin and beamed at her, breathing an inward sigh of relief when the conversation moved on to Julia.
It was Gabe who pulled that stunt on his ex. He told me not long after we were married and I knew then, that if he was on my side, I couldn’t ask for a stronger ally. At the time, it never occurred to me that the reverse was also true. He would make a lethal enemy.
2.5 Gabe
Suki had gone to work, leaving me at loose ends at home. I hated August. The Grand Prix schedule was on hold for most of the month and I felt lost without my normal routine. It gave me more time to go out on my motorbikes, but that was the only benefit. Suki hated my bike collection and flat out refused to go pillion with me, even if she had the time. The schools were all on holiday and Suki’s show climbed even higher in the ratings. Feeling bored, I wandered into her office to flick through her calendar and check that she’d blocked out my races for the rest of the season. I’d been exceedingly pissed off when she didn’t come with me to Montreal and I was sure that’s why I only came in third. There were a few dates that had other things pencilled in beside them: a fashion show, a charity concert, an awards ceremony. There was a time when she came to every race track with me, kissed me good luck before every race, and celebrated with me afterwards. What happened to that?
I sat in her swivel chair and tried to pinpoint when I first noticed something was wrong. She was hiding something, I was sure. She’d been distant, a little distracted, for months. We used to be able to talk about anything. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
Her job was increasingly busy, but the increase in publicity worked in my favour and brought us even more opportunities. When she finally got pregnant, I’d persuade her to stop working and get her used to being at home more, ready for when I quit racing.
Motor racing was a young man’s game and the trick was to get out when you were at your peak. I needed the championship this year. Failure wasn’t an option.
I idly flicked through a loose stack of magazine clippings on the side of her desk and watched them spill across the surface. That must be her ‘ideas file’. Yep, they definitely looked like the subjects she covered in her phone-ins. One particularly interesting bundle of pages near the top caught my eye and I took it back to my den to read in more detail.
Twelve Ways To Spot A Cheat—How To Tell When Your Man Is Playing Away
It was amusing, full of handy hints such as the classic lipstick on his collar and unexplained credit card bills for flowers and hotel rooms. Pu-lease. I found it difficult to believe that anyone would be so stupid, but I could see how Suki would make this into a fun piece. The next two pages made me pause and stare. They were printouts from the Internet. Suki, or one of her team, had done some research.
Signs Of A Cheating Wife—Thirty Things To Look For
I probably wouldn’t have paid it any attention if it hadn’t been for Suki’s scrawled note in the margin. Would he notice this? And then, another note at the bottom: How many?
Smiling, amused at first, I read through all thirty items… and realised too many of them could be applied to my wife.
2.6 Josh
I took a discreet seat at the back of the conference hall, one where I could observe Melanie’s behaviour. She flirted with every man that came close, but that wasn’t damning in itself. For some women, that was enough. I smiled at her as we broke for coffee, falling in beside her, waiting to see how she reacted.
Favourably.
When the group made its way back, I slipped upstairs and spent half an hour setting up my equipment. By the looks of it, I might be able to finish this job today.
Sure enough, she came to find me. “Hey Josh, what are you doing for lunch?”
The crowd surged past, ignoring us leaning against the wall. Melanie sidled a little closer. I could smell her perfume, heavy and musky. I shrugged as I replied. “I think there’s a buffet, Melanie-from-Bristol. Do you eat buffets?”
Smiling up at me, she twirled a lock of hair around one finger. “I don’t normally eat lunch. Maybe we could go get a drink instead?”
I moved close, and blocked her path. Time to call her bluff. “I know where I’d like to go with you.” I kept my voice low, husky, my eyes locked on hers. I couldn’t miss the flash of excitement on her face.
“And where would that be?” No more than a whisper.
I dipped my head, my lips inches from her mouth. “Somewhere more… private.”
She licked her lips, pupils dilating as she devoured me with her eyes. Her emotions were clear. I want him and I want him now. Is he just playing with me?
Raising my right hand, I curled a stray lock of her hair into my palm, releasing it and watching as it sprang back into place. “You’re gorgeous. Is it just me, or is it too crowded in here?”
“Your room or mine?” She breathed the words, her heart racing; I could see the vein banging furiously in her throat. I fisted my hand gently in her hair, tugged her head back, and licked the wild pulse. I felt her tremble, heard the groan.
“Oh, mine I think.” I lifted my head briefly, nipped her lower lip, and drew another groan. By now, the room had emptied behind us, and I closed the distance, pressing my lips against hers. Oh God, he’s so hot, oh my God…
As soon as I kissed her, I knew what she craved from me, what in all probability her fiancé was not providing. Danger—made clear by her desire to have sex with a stranger. Fast and dirty. And, despite her outward show of confidence, a longing to be submissive, for her lover to be almost aggressive. It was a part I could play with ease.
Danielle’s rejection still gnawed at me and for once, I didn’t stop when I had my evidence. Melanie wanted a stud to service her, no strings. And for one afternoon, that suited me just fine.
2.7 Suki
I averted my eyes from the headline screaming at me. I’d read the story earlier but could do without the constant reminders. Severely depressed ex-soldier murdered his two small children and then committed suicide. Apparently he was afraid they’d inherit his condition. It was hard not to be sympathetic.
Mum had skirted along the edge of a bi-polar disorder and fallen straight into psychotic depression. According to everything I’d read, the condition was hereditary. I stood at least a twenty-five percent chance of losing my sanity, and I battled this fear on a daily basis. Little incidents, like the guy in the café, would be the first signs. Forgetfulness. Mood swings. It had become my best-kept secret.
Dad and I maintained the illusion that Mum was fine, just shy and retiring. Antony was never mentioned. It all weighed heavily on me and there were times I needed to unload, to let out some of the tension in my head before I screamed.
I dar
en’t see a counsellor; Gabe would have found out. So I hunted around online for a therapist, and found one I could contact purely by email. She didn’t need my name; she was paid anonymously through PayPal. She’d become my lifeline. I’d emailed her earlier and, before long, she confirmed a time to meet in our private chat room. I was careful to pick a time when I was alone in the studio, ostensibly doing research. I should have at least half an hour before I was disturbed.
I was first in the chat room, logging in with my usual ID.
Obsession27: Hi, Babs. Ready when you are.
She joined me moments later.
B.Brunheim: Hello, Obsession27. How are you today? Have you thought any more about our last conversation?
Obsession27: Hello Babs. I’m feeling a little tired today, thanks. I’m thinking you’re right; I married a clone of my father.
B.Brunheim: It’s not uncommon to try and replicate our childhood role models with our life partners. In what ways are they similar?
Obsession27: Oh, there are a number of things. They’re both cold and unemotional. Neither are demonstrative or affectionate. I always felt I was never good enough to please my father and I constantly sought his approval. It’s the same with my husband. I love him. I can’t imagine a life without him in it, but no matter what I do, I always feel it’s not quite enough.
B.Brunheim: How old were you when you married?
Obsession27: Eighteen. He was the first man I fell in love with.
B.Brunheim: You still had a lot of growing up to do. You are a different person now, but do you think he’s grown alongside you?
