Well, at least he hadn’t coked himself up. That was the last thing he needed. Michael had dealt with all this shit before when he’d first started working for him. Two years of drink and drugs had almost ruined the young and foolish Alexander White but somehow the man had managed to keep everything together, kept his fists from reacting too much as he survived on little sleep and cold comfort where he could find it in the arms of one of his whores.
The change in him over the next year had been inexplicable. Out of the blue, the guy had decided to get clean and so that’s exactly what he’d done. Why was unknown. Who’d caused the shift in character was still a mystery, but at least he was clean, and even though the knock on effect had caused the mood swings to worsen, he’d at least become rational to some degree.
Michael sighed and returned to his seat. Picking up the glass on the floor, he poured himself a very large drink and studied it for a minute while he thought of the oncoming tornado that Mr. White would probably be unleashing on the world as of tomorrow. He downed his drink and decided that now was probably a good time to relax because he sure as hell wouldn’t be getting any holiday any time soon. He would be far too busy looking out for his employer, who was bound to be getting himself in all sorts of trouble to amuse himself. The guy’s default setting to anything that sent him off kilter was to destroy as much as possible. Unfortunately, that might well include himself.
Definitely someone else.
“Oh, Elizabeth, what have you done?” he mumbled as he poured himself another drink and stared at the empty seat in front of him. “What have you done?”
Chapter 30
Elizabeth
W aking and stretching my arms above my head, I reach across for the man I love. Not here as usual. I chuckle to myself as I think of him probably working or checking out how much money he made for the foundation last night. Curling up into a ball again, I grab at his pillow and hug it tight to me, sniffing in his gorgeous Alex smell and glowing in a sense of post coital bliss, even though it's ages after the event actually happened.
Closing my eyes again, I let myself drift back to the night before, to the wonderful words he said in front of an audience and for the first time since we’ve been together, I realise that I actually feel secure - secure in the knowledge that he loves me. Okay, he hasn’t actually said it, but he’s said as much as he can. I know what he means. He’s made it pretty obvious to me and that, for the time being, is all that matters. The rest will come later.
Sighing and deciding that I’m very ready for a hot shower, I haul my very hungover head upright and try to get up. The moment my feet hit the floor I’m reminded of my extremely high heels. I’m not wearing them again, ever. Well, maybe I will. His reaction to them is worth every second of the pain I’m currently feeling if I’m truly honest.
I need coffee, lots and lots of coffee, with aspirin or paracetamol. Damn him, he’s even got me drinking his bloody espresso. I am so outrageously in love it’s ridiculous. Giggling like a fool, I get up and gingerly cross the bedroom to go for a shower, noticing the time is eleven thirty. That’s damned good sleeping, even for me.
Having had my very refreshing shower, I comb through my wet hair and cleanse my face with my very own make up cleanser that is sitting in the bathroom, next to his. Sweet. I smile at the notion of my make-up being permanently stored in his bathroom. I bet that’s never happened before, Mr. White. The thought of being here and being happy with him has me giggling and bouncing about like a schoolgirl and I can’t stop the huge grin that seems somehow permanently plastered across my face regardless of my bloody headache.
Deciding it’s time to go in search of my beloved and the aspirin, I drag his shirt around my shoulders and pull on my underwear. Nearly skipping out of the door with delight, I laugh at my own absurdity and head for the stairs. Where is he?
Dragging my fingers down the banister, I take in the house around me in all its glory. It’s so much like him, austere and manly in some respects and yet somehow there’s a warmth flowing throughout when you scratch beyond the surface. Elegant paintings hang on the walls, portraying a passion that so few see and the flowers adorning the hall constantly remind me off his love of the fresh air outside of London. The clock chimes, reminding me of the time and I turn the corner to peek in his study. Nope, not in there, must be in the kitchen, where the coffee is, thank god.
Waltzing my way down the hall, I walk in and find that the kitchen is also empty. God, where is the man when you want a kiss? Thinking he must be in the lounge, I turn and head back up the hall and look around the door. Still nothing. Where the hell is he? Oh well, he must be somewhere. I’ll go and sort my head out so I’ll at least be semi lucid by the time he gets back.
Doing my stabbing on the remote again, I eventually find the radio and start the ritual of making a drink, of course remembering to turn the bloody thing all the way up. That reminds me that I didn’t ask Alex about Pascal. I was surprised he wasn’t at the ball last night. Maybe it wasn’t his cup of tea. Or maybe he was back in Rome or at one of his other clubs. Who bloody knows? The man’s a complete enigma.
Rattling about in the cupboards for a while, I eventually find some aspirin and hastily guzzle them back with a pint of water. The coffee machine starts to whine so I move across to it and hit the button. Tada! I giggle at myself again and move to the table. Sipping my drink and squinting rather painfully at the sunny garden, I close my eyes and drift back to thoughts of making love and rolling around in his arms. Strong, warm arms and a man who was made for loving a woman. He doesn’t know it, but I’ll show him. I’ll show him exactly what he needs to rid himself of to finally accept how wonderful he is, because that woman is thankfully me and from now on that’s my mission.
Remembering the words he used in his speech, I feel the tears brimming again. He gave me so much, so many of his thoughts and dreams and I can only hope that I can be the woman he needs me to be to help him through his tough times, to keep him safe and warm.
The radio cuts to the news and brings me back to the here and now. I keep my eyes closed, not quite ready to face the light again just yet.
“So the Addisons Foundation Charity Ball was, of course, a roaring success again this year and estimates for the total raised are averaging at about eight million pounds so far. Although we’re told that this has only been counted from the beginning of the evening, so totals will be confirmed tomorrow. According to our insider, the rather dashing Mr. Alexander White was on very good form and did in fact show the privileged few who were inside the event that he isn’t quite the heartless monster he is reputed to be. He also had a rather beautiful new young lady on his arm. There is no confirmation of her name at the moment but I doubt it will be long before she’s announced. Perhaps she is the reason for his slightly warmer heart. I think perhaps Mr. White has been nabbed, ladies, so unfortunately we will have to keep searching for another Prince Charming. And now to the weather...”
Pulling my legs up onto the chair, I hug my knees and grin with triumph and joy. Mr. Alexander White, dream man, and all mine, every single inch of him. Opening my eyes and squinting again, I turn myself away from the garden in the hope that I might be able to see again. It’s then that I notice a note propped up against the flower vase with my name on it. I sigh out a breath at his elegant writing, wonderful curling lines scrawling out my name as he imprints his name on my heart a little more. Picking up my coffee, I reach for the note and open it up.
Elizabeth, I’m sorry but I can’t give you what you want. I don’t love you and you deserve better than that. I am going to New York for a few weeks so you’ll not have to see me again.
I thought you were the one, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.
AW
My hand drops the coffee glass to the floor and as it smashes, I gasp and bend over, trying to process the note in my mind and feeling instantly sick. I heave repeatedly and eventually realise I can’t hold it in anymore so run to the sink and throw the contents
of my stomach up.
Eventually, after my stomach has stopped heaving, I stand shakily with my hands grasping onto the side of the unit and think of the note again. Swiping at my mouth with my hand, I quickly go back over to the table to read it again and sit down. What happened? Last night was so wonderful. I would have known if he’d changed his mind. Why would he say those things and then tell me he didn’t want me? What’s he doing? No, it’s a lie. He can’t mean it. It’s all wrong. Why would he write this? Is he scared? What did I do wrong? Last night was... his words, his warmth, the caress of his hands on me as we danced, and his mouth, oh god his mouth. No, this isn’t true. It can’t be.
I place the note carefully on the table and stare at it, my mind frantically trying to find a new meaning to the message in front of me, but there isn’t any other meaning to the words. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want me, and as those words slowly start to sink in, I feel my eyes fill with tears and then begin to cry. Uncontrollable sobbing takes hold of me to the point where I can’t breathe through my tears. I stand awkwardly and try to get to the kitchen towel to wipe my face, but the effort is too much so I simply slide down the side of the peninsular unit and fall to a heap on the floor.
He doesn’t want me and he doesn’t love me. He thought I was the one, but he was wrong. He‘s sorry...
After what feels like an eternity, my sobbing stops a little and I pull my legs up to my chest, trying to somehow console myself. It doesn’t work. I’m a fucking mess. I can’t think clearly at all. But gazing out at the garden as I sniff and wipe at my cheeks and eyes, I start to feel my irritation niggle at me. Here I am in his bloody mansion, sitting on the floor and crying my heart out over a man who doesn’t love me. What sort of sodding idiot sits here and mopes on the floor in the very house that he lives in? He could walk back in any minute. He doesn’t fucking love me. It’s that bloody simple and I need to get the hell out of here. But I love him, so much it feels like I’m dying inside. My heart is breaking in two at the thought of never seeing him again, of never touching him again or never hearing my name being breathed from his lips.
What did you expect, Beth? He’s Alexander White and you, well you’re just Beth Scott, cook.
Stupid Beth. Stupid, weak, pathetic Beth, useless and unwanted, tossed aside like a piece of rubbish that has amused him for only so long. You thought you could play in his world and he’s shown you exactly how naïve you are. He knew it and he played with you. You must have been very entertaining for him. Sweet innocent Beth, what a treat you must have been.
What an utter wanker.
Pulling myself up, I look at the smashed coffee glass on the floor, smashed into a thousand pieces, something like my stupid heart. I always knew he was capable of it. He bloody told me as much himself when he decided it was his way or no way at all, and I took that risk believing that I was something special, that I could somehow change him. But I couldn’t, could I?
You bastard, Alex. Damn you to hell.
Running up to the bedroom, I quickly gather my things and put them into my bag, making sure that I don’t pack a single thing that he’s bought for me. The arse can burn it for all I care regardless of how much it all cost. Perhaps he will give it to the next unfortunate girl who falls for his charms. I feel sorry for her instantly. I should leave a bloody note somewhere letting her know exactly what she’s getting herself into.
How could he? I loved him. I still do and he’s left me. I hurt so much. Tears start to pour down my face again and I scrub angrily at them with the back of my hand, refusing to shed one more tear in this farce of a home. Home. Fucking hilarious. The man has no heart to put in his house. That’s what this place is, a house, no more, no less. A place to exist, maybe even breathe occasionally, but certainly not to be happy, or in love. Not that he knows what that means.
Pulling on my jeans and jumper, I drag my boots on and head for my bag.
There on the dresser in front of me is his bow tie, staring at me, drawing me towards it. I can’t damn well stop my feet from moving. Gently picking it up, I finger the smooth silk and raise it to my nose. Inhaling his scent and rubbing it against my cheek, I feel the tears bubbling again. His cheek, his mouth, and oh god the feel of his weight on me whirls around my brain, igniting the feelings of happiness and lust and desire. His body, the way he touched me and the way he held me, the way he made me feel every single emotion with a passion I’ve never known. The lone tear hits my chin and I gently wipe it away as I tuck the tie into my pocket and sigh. Just one thing to remind me of him, just one little thing to help me through the pain that is coming for me.
Grabbing my bag, I head to the front door and call for a taxi. The man says he’ll be about ten minutes so I drop my bag and wait. I suddenly feel very awkward in this big house that stares at me silently, the house that I was beginning to feel very at home in, the house he told me to feel at home in. I glance around nervously, hoping for something to distract me from my thoughts. The heavy ticking of the clock echoes loudly around the hall and forces me to think of the first night when he carried me past it and up the stairs. My sodding tears start again at the vision so I turn my eyes away from the enticement and find the other hallway.
Looking at the music room door, I notice it’s still open so I walk toward it. The lamp is still on but the lid on the grand piano has been closed. Lifting it, I tinkle with the notes and think back to playing in here last night, my favourite song, Debussy’s Clair de Lune, the song I played while thinking of him and hoping for a wonderful life together. How stupidly wrong I was.
A sudden honking at the top of the drive alerts me to the taxi. As I turn to walk out, I kick something on the floor and glance down at whatever it is. A whiskey tumbler, in the middle of the floor? He’s been in here. What was he doing in here? Reaching down, I pick it up and put it on top of the piano. Instant visions of his mouth wrapped around it invade my mind, so gazing at it for a moment more, I turn again for the door and walk out. I seriously can’t cope with the image of his mouth a minute longer. I have to get the hell out of here so I can regain some sanity, or weep on my own and find a plan to make his fucking betrayal diminish somehow. I grab my bag from the floor and take a last look around. Sighing and desperately trying not to imprint every image into my mind, I open the front door hesitantly and swipe at another tear. It’s over. The dream is finished. Alexander White has destroyed everything and probably enjoyed every fucking minute of it.
It will never happen to me again. Never. He’s taught me a very valuable lesson.
Never, ever love a game player. Especially one who tells you how it is from the beginning.
God, I miss him.
As I hit the fresh air and slam the door behind me, I feel the wind whistle past my face and realise I’ve left my coat inside the house with my bloody keys in the pocket. Oh well, there’s no getting back in now, so throwing my bag over my shoulder, I crunch my way along the gravel to the waiting taxi.
The journey home seems endless. I need to get keys really but that means seeing Teresa or Belle and I just can’t face it, not yet. I phone through to the concierge at my apartment building and he informs me that he can let me in after we’ve gone through a few fucking irritating security questions.
“Arrggghhhhhh!” I scream out at the top of my lungs, having ended the call.
The taxi driver immediately slams on the brakes.
“What’s wrong, love?” he asks with a look of shock.
“Nothing, sorry. I’m just a bit... upset. Sorry,” I reply in a small voice.
“Is it a man, love?” he says. “’Cause if it is, he’s not worth it. None of us are.”
“Well I’m glad of your bloody insight but sod off, will you?” is my very loud response to the fount of all fucking knowledge sitting in front of me, who is a man, so is clearly a bastard.
“Alright, love. Just sayin’, that’s all,” he mutters and then resumes his driving.
Within ten minutes I’m entering the buil
ding and apologising to Gavin for being rude to him on the phone. He leads me to our door and opens it for me.
“Are you alright, ma’am? You look a bit upset,” he asks with a concerned face. Sweet. Belle’s words ring in my ears. He’s a man as well, therefore at the moment, he’s a bastard too.
“Fine, Gavin... I’m fine, thank you,” I say as I close the door behind me and drop my bag on the floor.
I am so not fine. I am a fucking wreck and it’s all because of him.
~
I spend the afternoon curled up on the sofa, hoping to god that Belle won’t come home, hoping desperately that she will miraculously understand my need for space and stay at Conner’s house for the night. Where does Conner live anyway? Conner… Alex… Oh god, I’ll never be rid of him if those two stay together.
I try to drink my way through a bottle of wine, thinking it will do some good, but the moment I bring it to my lips, I feel sick again so I decide against it and opt for sit on your arse and over think everything instead, which of course makes me cry all over again, repeatedly.
What have I done wrong? Why has he left so abruptly?
By eight thirty, it’s becoming obvious that Belle isn’t coming home any time soon, thankfully, so I get up and make myself a cup of tea. No sodding espresso machine here so I might as well have tea.
Just as I’m pouring it, the door opens and the two of them bound in like star crossed sodding lovers, gazing adorably at each other. My hand shoots to my mouth to stifle the instantaneous sob that rises up my throat and I run to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me and bursting into tears, again.
A few minutes later there’s a soft knock.
“Beth, can I come in?” Belle asks as she opens the door anyway and walks over to my bed. I look up at her and she instantly wraps her arms around me and holds me while I cry my eyes out again, and again, and again. Eventually, she pushes me upright a bit and looks at me.
Seeing White Page 53
