by Sofia Grey
We met Isobel and Greg at the Registry Office. They arrived just after us, whispering and giggling as they walked in. I gave her the best smile I could manage and introduced them to Jordan. He stared at her with narrowed eyes, as though she annoyed him. Did she look too happy? She was one of my best friends, and he’d have to accept that she was bright and bubbly.
The ceremony passed in a blur. I gave my responses, and Jordan slipped a plain gold band onto my finger, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall any details. I sat in the Savoy and plastered a smile on my face. I tried to look happy, but my heart was breaking.
Jordan made small talk with Isaac and Sophie, and I watched as though from miles away. Would those sensual lips ever kiss me again? Would those hands ever caress me? Was all that over now?
He spoke to Greg but cut Isobel dead. I watched her expression change from open curiosity to puzzlement, and I sighed. He couldn’t be civil to my friend.
Greg was clearly besotted with Isobel. He either held her hand or draped a possessive arm around her, proudly showing the world he was in love with her. That was us a few weeks ago, I wanted to cry. Jordan wanted me then. Before I trapped him with an unplanned baby.
What a contrast to now. We were barely civil with each other. Conversation was reduced to the bare minimum, and physical contact nowhere to be seen. How the hell was this pathetic excuse of a marriage to survive?
Somewhere deep inside, I was getting angry. I’d been walking around in a daze, as though sleepwalking, since Gran died.
I had to get my act together. While there was still something of me left.
15.2 Jordan
By the time we checked in to the Paris Savoy, Kate looked ready to drop. I figured it’d be easier to eat in the hotel restaurant, rather than go out. It was our wedding night. I wanted it to be special for her.
Was it only a week ago I worried we might have no future together? The gods had to be laughing their asses off at me. This wasn’t what I had in mind. The woman opposite me looked like a wan and washed out version of Kate. Her vibrant personality had vanished. Snuffed out with a gold band. She seemed fragile, unsteady on her feet, and distracted. Several times she rubbed her temples and winced. I asked if she wanted to go back to our suite, but she waved my concerns away.
“I’m tired” The same thing she’d been saying for the last three days. By my calculations, she was three weeks pregnant. If she was exhausted now, how would she be in a few months? As soon as we returned to London, I wanted to find her a good obstetrician. Make sure she was okay. If she needed to rest, I’d make sure she could. I’d do whatever it took to keep her healthy. Happy was another matter.
I couldn’t let this go wrong, and I didn’t want to be like my father. For me, marriage was for life. And maybe we’d jumped a few steps ahead, but we were good together, like I told her. It crippled me to see her so frozen, shutting me out at every turn.
She picked at her food, shuffling it around the plate before pushing it aside.
I tried to get a conversation going. Had she been to Paris before? Was there anywhere she’d like to go? I knew some great shopping areas, and the Louvre was a must for new visitors. Kate’s interest levels were nonexistent. I felt lucky if she muttered a vague response. Most of the time she shrugged or stared into the distance. I gave up.
As she toyed with coffee, she looked directly at me and raised her chin. I recognized that as trouble ahead and was on my guard.
“Jordan, why were you so rude to Isobel? She’s my best friend. One of them. I saw you talking to Greg, but every time she spoke, you cut her dead. What was that about?”
Fuck. I hoped to avoid this, tonight especially. I wiped my mouth on the napkin, buying time as I contemplated what to say. “How long has she been engaged to Greg?”
Kate tugged her brows together and looked puzzled. “Not long, but they’ve been a couple at least two years. What’s that got to do with anything?”
I was torn. I didn’t want to upset Kate, but I also didn’t want to lie to her. “Maybe I’m old fashioned, but where I come from, engaged women don’t make out in bars with other men.”
Kate gaped, then laughed. “What are you on about? You’ve only just met her.”
“Only just been introduced to her. I’ve seen her before, with your boss.”
“Adam? But that’s over now.”
“You know about it? I have to say it didn’t look very over when I saw them.”
“Really?” She injected a wealth of sarcasm into the word. “When was this? And where? Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
I was offended by her disbelief. “Kate, it’s my business to know people, and I never forget a face. Remember that night at Dukes 92?” She nodded. “I told you I saw Adam there. I didn’t think anything of it. Then I saw a glamorous blonde meet him. They didn’t stay long after he stuck his tongue down her throat and his hand in her pants. In a public bar.”
“And?”
“And that blonde turns out to be Isobel, one of your best friends, who is engaged to be married to a guy who thinks the sun shines out of her ass. I guess he doesn’t know he shares her with your boss.” I sat back in my seat. “You could say I’m not impressed with your choice of best friend.”
“She said it was over.”
“You knew, and it didn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothered me, but it was none of my business.”
“I make it my business to hang out with people I can trust. If she can cheat on her fiancé, what else is she lying about? I’d be careful if I were you. From what you’ve told me, Adam is a first-rate sleazeball. I think they’re a good match.”
“I’ve had enough of this. I’m going upstairs.” Kate rammed her chair backward, almost knocked over a waiter, and stormed out of the restaurant.
Well done. This was like walking on eggshells. I signed the room chit and headed after her.
* * * *
I found her in our suite, sitting in an armchair and gazing at the city skyline. She didn’t acknowledge my presence when I walked in, and I strode to the mini-bar for a whisky. I needed a boost to my flagging courage.
Looking down at her, I nursed the drink and asked, “How long do you intend to keep this up?”
Kate scowled at me. “Keep what up?”
“I think you know. We may as well make the best of it.”
She huffed a toneless laugh and shook her head. “You know very well I didn’t want to get married.”
“Yup. I kinda guessed that.”
She scrambled to her feet and clenched her fists by her sides. “I think it’s called a marriage of convenience. It certainly isn’t a marriage of love. Is it?”
Before I could find the pretty words I desperately needed, she turned, went into the bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.
How did it all go so wrong? And so quickly? I was at a loss. I wanted us to make a life together, but whatever I tried to say backfired.
With a shaking hand, I placed the whisky on the side table and sprawled on the sofa. For the first time in my adult life, I honestly didn’t know what to do.
15.3 Kate
We stayed in Paris for three days. Jordan slept apart from me, and I cried myself to sfleep every night, waking in the morning with red-rimmed eyes and a pounding head.
I went with him to the tourist attractions—the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre—and on a boat trip along the Seine. We were unfailingly polite to each other, like following a bad movie script, and I hated every minute of it.
It was with relief that I boarded the flight to Heathrow and to something like my real life.
Once back in London, I avoided Jordan for most of Saturday, claiming I had shopping to do. At night I said I was exhausted. This was true. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept well, and I had a persistent nagging headache as a result. In any case, Jordan kept his distance too. Sophie and Isaac had moved into their apartment and weren’t there to act as a buffer.
How long cou
ld we last like this?
On Sunday afternoon, I sat on the bed, to pack my clothes and toiletries. I announced to Jordan that I was flying back to Manchester that evening.
He stared at me and frowned, his dark eyebrows almost meeting over his cold eyes. “Did you forget something? I can come with you if you need to move more things here.” His tone was icily polite.
I felt nervous now I was bringing things to a head. “No, I think there’s something you’ve forgotten.” I spoke slowly. “I still have a job. In Manchester.”
For a moment he said nothing, but I didn’t miss the shock that flashed over his face. In a low voice, he asked, “So what do you intend to do? See me on weekends? Whenever you can fit me into your schedule?”
I hesitated, and his face tightened. “For Christ’s sake. That isn’t going to work.”
“You don’t get to decide that.” I stood so quickly I went dizzy, and Jordan reached out to grab me. I shoved at him, lost my balance, and fell back onto the bed. I sat there, while the world spun and then reasserted itself.
I was so fucked off with everything. Something inside me snapped. Common sense, perhaps.
I struggled to my feet again and looked him in the eye. “You’re showing your true colors. You bully me into getting marrying—when clearly it was a huge mistake—and when I try to put things straight, you start pushing me around. That’s nice.” I made my voice hard and cruel. Self-preservation was everything to me.
If I had to hurt him, to make him listen to me, I would. My heart was already broken. I couldn’t stay with him and watch my spirit break too. I had to leave, while I could still walk away.
“What the fuck, Kate? I’ve never hurt a woman, and I’m not going to start now.”
I ignored him and twisted the knife. “You knew I was grieving for Gran. Don’t you think I was under a little stress? You took advantage of me when I wasn’t functioning properly. And you go banging on about not trusting Isobel? I trusted you, and look where it got us.”
“I tried to do my best for you. For us. I married you.”
“I didn’t want to get married.” The words hung in the air, as we glared at each other.
Jordan sat on the bed and gently tugged me down next to him. I sat warily, and winced as another shaft of pain seared through my temples.
“I want you to live here, Kate. You’re my wife, and you’re going to have my baby. Is that so unreasonable?” His voice was soft and coaxing, but his face was tense.
“No. I guess not.”
He pressed on. “So why do you want to go back to Manchester?”
I seemed to have lost the use of my tongue. “I was thinking of asking for a transfer, see if I can move to the Heathrow office.” It sounded feeble.
“Okay. But until then, commute every weekend?”
“I don’t know.” I pressed a hand to my forehead. The pain made me feel sick. “I’m not prepared to abandon my career so soon.”
“Ah. Your career.” He said the word as though it were poison, and I felt weary.
“I really don’t feel like fighting with you again, Jordan.”
“Neither do I.” He turned to me, cupped my cheeks, and nuzzled at my lips, as though asking permission. Like the parched ground for rain, I was starving for him.
This was the first passionate kiss since our last night of lovemaking, before I discovered I was pregnant. I kissed him back, imprinting the feel and taste of him on my memory. We undressed rapidly, touching and kissing, biting and sucking—seeking pleasure. The sex was fast and hard. He plunged into me, and drove me rapidly to the edge of a massive climax. He panted, and grinded into me, and I felt my insides tighten to the point of no return.
I came in a writhing frenzy, clutching him tightly against me as he groaned and shuddered. I closed my eyes and held back more tears. This would be the last time. In all our lovemaking, all our passion and desire, he never said he loved me. Just that he wanted me to live with him. That wasn’t enough.
Jordan lay there, breathing heavily. He reached for me, only I rolled away. An expression of disbelief spread over his face when I gathered my clothes. He held out his hand to me, a hopeful smile on his face, but I stood, a little unsteady on my legs. My body was easily won over, but my mind was made up. His eyes darkened as he watched me. I didn’t think he believed I was leaving.
“I’m going, Jordan. I have a taxi waiting.” It was a lie, but I’d hail one.
His expression was beyond hurt for a moment, and I almost changed my mind, but then he shuttered his emotions away again.
Picking up my bag, I tried for a pleasant tone. “If you’re here next weekend, I’ll see you then?”
He snarled back, “Don’t count on it.”
15.4 Jordan
I’d planned to have a civilized discussion with Kate about where we’d live when she had the baby. The apartment would be fine for the moment, but we’d need somewhere with a garden before too long. My father hadn’t been a hands-on parent, but I grew up in a great place.
Instead, I nursed a glass of malt and wondered what the fuck just happened. Hurricane Kate. Scratch that—more like a freaking tornado, chewing up everything in its path. I gulped my malt, not registering the taste. God damn it. What did I have to do?
Stop acting like a spoiled brat, perhaps?
I wasn’t used to sharing my private life with someone else, to factoring in their wants and needs. It pissed me off, but I had to admit I behaved like a dick. Kate worked for years, to get where she was. It wasn’t right for me to tell her to give it up because I said so. We were adults. We needed to reach a compromise, even if I didn’t like it.
I could race after her. Stop her at the airport and persuade her to come back. A big, dramatic gesture. With flowers, hundreds of flowers.
My glass was empty, so I sloshed more malt in it.
Or I could leave her alone for a few days. Let her think about it. Anxiety nudged at me. What if she decided not to come back?
That was unacceptable.
I had too many things waiting for my attention, to take another day off work, but if I blitzed everything tomorrow, I could head up to Manchester on Tuesday. I needed a way to prove to Kate I loved her.
The thought stopped me in my tracks.
I loved her.
Somewhere along the way, she stole my heart. Fuck. That was why I felt like my chest had been ripped open.
This was going to take monumental groveling, and even that might not be enough.
15.5 Kate
I felt like warmed-up shit on Monday morning. Angry at Jordan’s attitude and pissed off with the world in general. My head felt as though I had nails digging into it, and the thought of coffee made me want to hurl. Welcome to pregnancy.
What kind of mother would I be? My experience with kids—with babies—was limited, and few of my friends had families. As for Jordan… I didn’t know what to think. I loved him, and under different circumstances I’d want to be with him, but not like this.
Could he love me? Did we just need more time to get to know each other? I was so confused.
I went to work early, hoping to clear my email before anyone else arrived. At last, something like normalcy in my life. I walked into my office and stopped dead. My things were gone. The photos. The bright-pink mug that held my pens. The spare jacket that was usually draped over the back of my chair. The phone charger that snaked across my desk. All gone.
I darted my gaze to the bookshelf. Empty. My files no longer there.
A sickening sense of foreboding took root in my stomach. There had to be a mistake.
I yanked open the desk drawers, but all I found was a broken pen, a scattering of paperclips, and some clear plastic folders. My emergency chocolate supply had disappeared too. Someone had cleaned out my office, and I bet I knew who was responsible.
I stormed through the Call Center, heading for Adam’s office, and saw him as he arrived, a paper cup of coffee in his hand. The smell turned my stomach.
&
nbsp; “Adam.”
“Kate.” He gestured to his open door. “Excellent timing.”
I stood my ground. “Why is my office empty?”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Technically, it’s not your office now.”
“Why not?”
“You can come in, or we’ll conduct this conversation where everyone can hear it.”
Gritting my teeth, I swept past him and waited until he came in and closed the door, before I let rip. “What did I miss?”
“Good question. You’ve missed quite a lot, I’m afraid.” Calm and casual, he put his drink down, leaned over the desk, and plucked an envelope from his out-tray. “I think this covers most of it.”
I clenched my hands into fists and feared I’d punch him on the nose if I moved. “Tell me.”
“Of course.” His tone was soothing, as though I was a fractious child. “There’s a restructure, following the Micro-Tel-Inc announcement. I’m prepared to be generous with your settlement, and even give you a good reference if you accept the terms.”
Restructure. The bastard was getting rid of me.
“And if I refuse?”
“Kate. What you missed was repeated errors in processing, some of them very costly. The Avecon fuckup is the most recent example.”
“What errors?” Even as I asked, I knew what he meant. “The emails Colin’s been spamming me with.”
“The email alerts Colin sent you, each requesting your response. Most of them ignored. It’s not how ComCo expects a senior manager to perform.” He perched on the edge of his desk and flicked the edge of the envelope with his thumb. “Last-minute requests for leave. Inadequate staff training. Paula has great management potential, but you never nominated her for training.”
“I asked her if she was interested, and she said not yet.”
