‘Sorry?’ she asked, feeling her cheeks flush with annoyance.
‘I wouldn’t wish the job of taking my family in hand on anyone.’
‘Well, they’ve got you to blame,’ she smiled quietly.
‘Yes,’ he smirked, his pale green eyes flashing. ‘I guess I should thank you for that.’
‘Well you’re welcome.’
‘Although you weren’t being entirely altruistic, were you? I mean, it did all work out for you too, didn’t it?’
She took a deep breath. Working in newspapers for a decade had taught Tess not to suffer fools gladly, but Sean Asgill was the boss’s son.
‘Sean, I really don’t think … Ugh!’
Suddenly Tess jerked backwards, coughing . A girl in a long lilac sequinned dress had appeared, spraying her with the bottle of scent she was carrying on a silver platter.
‘Tess, Tess,’ said Sean, slapping her on the back, ‘it’s not acid, it’s Lupin.’
She coughed a little more, then took a long drink of her champagne.
‘Well, perhaps it’s aimed at a younger market than you,’ said Sean, with more than a hint of amusement in his voice.
‘Or perhaps if she hadn’t aimed it straight into my mouth,’ snapped Tess.
‘So you don’t like it. Millions will,’ he chided.
Tess tossed her hair back and cleared her throat in a vain attempt to regain a little composure.
‘So, I thought you’d be at the sales conference today,’ she said, trying to change the subject.
‘Hey, parties like this don’t magically happen,’ he protested. ‘I’ve been up since seven talking to the events planners.’
‘Seven? I hope it wasn’t a late night then,’ she said with a hint of sarcasm.
‘No later than usual,’ he replied, his attention beginning to wander towards a group of giggling blondes.
‘By the way, did you get my email about the charity dinners? Are you going to any of them?’
‘Are we talking about the one in honour of the UN Secretary–General?’ he asked, rolling his eyes.
‘Okay, so it won’t be very rock ’n’ roll, but I still think you should go. Obama will be there. The French President, too. In fact, give me a few days’ notice and I can fly over to accompany you.’
He looked back at her. ‘You actually want to come to a party and hold my hand?’
‘Simply to make sure we get the right photo opportunities.’
He was shaking his head and smiling. ‘Come on, Tess. This is bullshit,’ he said, lowering his voice.
‘Bullshit?’ she replied coldly.
‘This ridiculous attempt at rehabilitation.’
He lowered his voice. ‘Look. I had an overdose, yes. And thanks to you and your fearsome ambition, no one knows about it. So well done Tess Garrett and I’m sure my mother is very pleased.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Tess, bristling.
‘I’m saying, what if people did know that I’m not perfect? Would anyone really care? I know my mother is trying to protect Brooke and her precious fiancé, but let’s be real here – who really cares what I get up to? I know the Billington family are conservative, but is David really going to dump my sister just because I’m not best friends with the President? Because I’ve taken drugs and inhaled.’
‘Snorted and collapsed more like it.’
‘Tess, it’s all bullshit. Whatever I do isn’t going to harm the wedding and you know it.’
‘You might think it’s acceptable behaviour to go to an orgy and almost flat–line on a ketamine and heroin cocktail, but I doubt Wendell Billington does. Or the American public,’ Tess hissed, incensed at his lack of gratitude to both her and his own mother.
‘That party was a one–off,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t know it was going to be so hardcore.’
‘Well, I doubt that you just bowled up. I heard there was a ten thousand pound membership fee.’
Sean looked at her with a cruel smile. ‘Not for people like me, honey.’
‘Of course not,’ she said. Tess knew that her first impression of Sean Asgill had been exactly right. He was a spoilt, condescending prick who thought that the world revolved around him and that, given the cushion of money around him, he could behave any way he chose.
‘Listen Sean, lightning can strike twice, believe me,’ said Tess, the contempt in her voice barely concealed. ‘There are only so many times I can bail you out. In fact, I think you’ve had your quota.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Sweetheart, I don’t need a lecture, I don’t need a baby–sitter, and I certainly don’t need a half–assed publicist telling me how to live my life. Do we understand one another?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Tess, turning on her heel and stalking towards the bar.
Arrogant, self–centred pig! she thought furiously. The nerve of the man! ‘I don’t need a publicist’! Well, that’s exactly what Liz had said and that’s exactly what Brooke had said. Well, she was quickly learning that everyone in this damned family had a secret. Just you wait until someone digs up yours, Sean Asgill, she thought. I won’t be there to break your fall.
She pushed her way to the vodka bar, snatched up a shot, and downed it in one.
‘He gets under your skin, doesn’t he?’
Tess looked up to see Leonard standing behind her. She shook her head, trying desperately to think of something diplomatic to say. Then she caught the smile on Leonard’s face and she burst out laughing.
‘He’s … well he’s … ’
‘He’s an asshole.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far … ’
‘Perhaps you should, my dear,’ said Leonard. ‘He’s part of your job, after all, and you need to know exactly who you’re dealing with. Of course I love my nephew, he’s my family and there’s nothing I won’t do for him, but he can be a bit of a scoundrel.’
Tess laughed out loud.
‘The trouble is, I can see myself in Sean,’ said Leonard, his wise eyes watching Sean across the room. ‘When I was his age, I was just as irresponsible, just as vain.’
He chuckled as Tess looked at him.
‘I had too much money, not enough focus, and I was surrounded by people who indulged me. That, I’m afraid, is Sean’s problem, although I doubt he’s aware of it. Underneath all that flash, Tess, is actually a very caring, sensitive man.’
Tess raised her eyebrows sceptically.
‘Hard to believe, but he is.’ He smiled. ‘He just needs someone to knock a little sense into him. I’d love to do it myself – give him a more responsible job in the company, perhaps, because I actually think he’d thrive. But Meredith won’t hear of it and, well, you can see her point,’ he added, nodding towards Sean, who now had his arm around the most attractive woman in the room. Annabel, she assumed: glossy, expensively dressed, not especially beautiful up close, but the overall impression was striking. Tess was not surprised he was so shallow. ‘On the other hand, he seems more of a catch … ’
‘Who?’ asked Tess, her mind still on Sean.
Leonard pointed across the room. ‘Him.’ She followed his gaze. He was looking at Dom, who was deep in conversation with a man in a three–piece suit. Tess instantly felt a pang of affection. Compared to Sean Asgill, Russ Ford, and most of the men she had encountered in the past few weeks, Dom certainly was a catch. After nine years together, their relationship was not perfect, but whose was? She had met Dom just three years after her father’s death and her mother’s new marriage. Before Dom came along, Tess had simply thrown herself into her career, but now she supposed he provided a safe harbour for her, someone to lean and depend on. And he was cute. He looked up and she walked over.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. ‘I thought you might have run off with Sean Asgill.’
‘Ha! Not likely,’ she replied, still fuming. ‘He is an absolute prick.’
He laughed and pulled her into a hug. ‘Come on, that’s our meal ticket you’re talking about there,’ he smiled. �
��You know your problem? You get too angry with people. Sean Asgill’s only some pampered rich bloke, he’s not Hitler.’
‘It’s just people like that make my blood boil.’
‘Hey, I thought your plan was to become fabulously rich some day?’ he teased.
‘Yeah, so?’ she asked.
‘So why do you want to be rich if you can’t stand rich people?’
Grabbing two glasses of champagne, Dom steered her towards the side door, which led out onto a terrace and the walled gardens beyond. Tess felt happy and relaxed for once – tonight she was officially off duty. ‘This is a great party. That was Sir Martin Sorrell I was talking to back there. We’ve swapped cards. Thought I might be able to swing an interview for the business section. That should earn me a few brownie points.’
Tess was only half listening. ‘It smells good out here,’ she said, breathing in the wet floral, dewy fragrance. It smelt of England.
Dom turned and planted a gentle kiss on her lips. ‘It looks a bit like that place in Maryland we stayed at once,’ he said.
‘Oh yeah, that place George Washington stayed in. It seemed as if George had stayed in every house in the state.’
She remembered that hotel very fondly. They had barely left their room all weekend. In fact, the only time they had left the bed was to open the windows to let a little lazy light into the room or to collect the room service they’d asked to be left outside the door.
‘Here, you’ve got some lipstick on your teeth,’ said Dom . He took his finger and rubbed it under her lips, the gesture familiar yet intimate. She took his hand and bit his finger softly.
‘Ooh,’ he laughed. ‘Saucy.’
‘You know I’ve really missed you,’ said Tess, meaning it this time.
He bent and brushed his lips against her neck. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘I can’t go,’ she laughed slowly. ‘I have to get back to Windsor tonight.’
‘We won’t be long,’ he whispered, taking her hand and leading her away from the glowing lights, tinkle of glasses and laughter at the party. They disappeared out of the embassy’s gates and hailed a black cab that was dropping guests off at the party.
Leaning into the driver’s window, he said with a grin, ‘Take us to the nearest hotel.’
Three minutes later, the nonplussed driver dropped the giggling couple at the Park House Hotel on the outer ring road. The room was shoebox–sized, with a small double bed, trouser press, and sink in the corner. Dom didn’t even bother to switch on the lights as he peeled off Tess’s dress and let it slide to the floor. They were both breathing heavily in their excitement as they kissed, both pulling at the buttons on Dom’s shirt. Just then, Tess pulled away and sat on the edge of bed, spreading her knees and pulling him between them. He remained standing as she unbuckled his trousers. His cock reared out in front of him and she took it in both hands. It was long and thick and she kept eye contact with him as she licked along his length, her saliva glistening in the streetlights. Still looking into his eyes, she took him into her mouth and unhooked her bra. He reached down and stroked her full breast, squeezing and rolling her nipples between his finger and thumb.
Both gasping with desire now, he pushed her back onto the bed. Taking off her high heels he started kissing her toes, the curve of her ankle, working his way up her leg with feathery kisses. His warm hands spreads her legs as he flicked his tongue up the inside of her thigh, then nuzzled into her closed, secret lips with his nose and his tongue.
‘Oh God, yes, yes,’ she moaned, rubbing her own breasts now.
Dom inched aside her thong and pushed his tongue into her, taking long languid laps of her juices, circling her hard clitoris and up and down her slit.
‘Now, now,’ she panted. ‘I want you, I want you.’
Grinning, he guided his cock into her slowly, slowly, feeding it inch by inch until he was buried deep inside. Impatiently, she thrust her hips up towards him and they fell back, their bodies together in rhythm and motion. His nose and chin were damp and musky from her juices as she took his face in both hands and kissed him, sucking on his tongue.
His lips moved down over her swollen nipples, biting and sucking, her arms splayed out behind her, grabbing at the pillows. The pleasure was intense now, her passion heightened by weeks of suppressed emotions: the anger from her confrontation with Sean, the longing and frustration of her separation from Dom, all building to a crescendo.
‘Oh Jesus, oh Christ!’ she cried out as she came in wave after wave. She clenched herself as tight as she could around his cock, her hips bucking upwards, her nails digging into Dom’s taut buttocks. He fell down on top of her, spent and exhausted. They had not had sex like that in a long time. Ever. She felt a rush of excitement, as if she was falling in love all over again. She rolled over and folded herself into the curve of his body, wondering if it took being apart to bring some people back together. Lying there, she felt that their relationship wasn’t just fixed, but infinitely better. He turned to her and smiled.
‘I hope these walls aren’t paper–thin.’
‘Who cares?’ she grinned, nestling into him.
‘I can’t wait to come to New York.’
‘In which case, let’s get back to the party and talk about that visa.’
CHAPTER TWENTY–FOUR
Jewel Cay was even more beautiful than Brooke remembered. She hadn’t visited Leonard Asgill’s colonial–style home, perched on a tiny private island in the Florida Keys, for years – before college, in fact. In the interim, Jewel Cay’s grounds had grown more lush with foliage and, somehow, the water surrounding it had taken on an even brighter sparkle. Thankfully, David also loved the estate on sight, although in Brooke’s mind it would be hard to dislike the proud white house with its long decked porch, the hammocks swinging between shady banana trees and manicured lawns sloped down to the turquoise Caribbean. No wonder Leonard had cut down his workload at Asgill’s in the past few years, thought Brooke. During the winter months, he only worked two weeks out of every four, allowing him to come down and stay here. Since the death of his wife two years earlier, Leonard had begun to refer to Jewel Cay as ‘The Sanctuary’. Brooke was honoured that he would allow her and David to share its tranquil atmosphere.
‘This is just glorious,’ said Alessandro Franchetti, watching a pod of dolphins leap across the bay through the wide French windows. Behind him it was getting dark, the sun setting in banners of vivid red, lavender, and bronze across the sky. Alessandro had arrived two hours earlier in order to see Jewel Cay at night – Brooke and David’s wedding was to be at sunset. Alessandro was wearing a white linen suit, presumably in deference to his surroundings, although Brooke giggled to herself that he looked more like an up–market pimp. In Alessandro’s flamboyant entourage were two representatives from Miami’s leading wedding caterers, his handsome PA, who looked as if he belonged on the Versace runway, and two other assistants, whom he mysteriously referred to as the ‘set–up team’. Clicking his fingers, Alessandro beckoned them to follow him to the front of the house. Brooke gasped as she stepped outside. Somehow, since his arrival, candles had been placed all around the fountain on the front lawn, while strings of fairy lights seemed to drip from the mahogany trees.
‘Alessandro, this is magical,’ said Brooke, her hands to her mouth. ‘Is this what your assistants have been doing?’
He gave a casual shrug.
‘I just wanted to get us in the mood.’
‘What for? I thought he was getting us to sample canapé options,’ whispered David as Alessandro sat them at a small linen–draped table under a tree.
Alessandro clapped his hands. Soft jazz floated from inside the house and two white–coated waiters came out holding trays of tiny, delicate food.
‘Imagine it’s December the twenty–ninth, your wedding day. Close your eyes, David. Come on.’
Brooke took a small ball of choux pastry off the silver platter. As she bit the delicate crust, soft mousse dissolved o
nto her tongue. It was exquisite.
‘Wow. David, try one of these.’
David gingerly picked one up and popped it into his mouth.
‘Umm,’ he nodded, ‘that’s really good.’
‘Of course it’s good,’ said Alessandro, his eyes wide open. ‘The guy who made it used to be Alain Ducasse’s pastry chef. That mousse is truffle–scented.’
Each canapé seemed more delicious that the one preceding it: caviar on rye and pumpkin brittle, topped with crème fraîche and chives from England, spoons of Finnish cloudberry sorbet, the softest beef carpaccio, tartlets filled with rare cheese and asparagus.
Finally Alessandro clapped his hands and the waiters disappeared.
‘These are my favourite caterers,’ said Alessandro, sotto voce. ‘I want to go with them, but the choice is entirely yours. They’ve signed a confidentiality agreement – but you never know. I dated a chef once: terrible gossip. He had to go of course, gossip is toxic in my professional life as you can imagine.’
David covered his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh. ‘I think they’re amazing Alessandro,’ said Brooke. ‘I love the food, I love the lights, and I also love your idea to have the ceremony around the pool.’
‘Well, I haven’t quite worked out how we’re going to build an aisle over the water, but leave it with me. In the meantime I’ve auditioned five Cuban jazz bands already. Miami–based but from Havana originally. One of them is especially cute.’
‘We want to know what they sound like, not look like,’ smiled David.
‘I like a nice all–round package,’ said Alessandro briskly.
‘So I heard,’ quipped Brooke. She had found Alessandro hard work at first but, having spent many hours with him, both in person and on the phone, she was beginning to enjoy his company. It was hard not to be dragged along in the slipstream of his seemingly endless enthusiasm.
‘You are a very naughty young lady,’ said Alessandro, swatting her on the arm.
Together the three of them walked through the grounds, talking through Alessandro’s ‘vision’. There would be jugglers and fire–eaters, a champagne bar by the ocean and an extravagant firework display at midnight. David was quiet throughout Alessandro’s walk–through. Brooke watched him carefully as Alessandro explained how he planned to fly a DJ in from Paris for the dance floor they would build by the pool. In the ten days since he’d been back from Syria, he’d been spending long days in the studio, plus there had been couple of big benefits including the Costume Institute Gala at the Met. No wonder he looked tired.
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