by Julia Gray
I imagine Victor is just the same as the rest of them. So completely dumbstruck by Sheila’s supermodel body that he lets her do what she wants.
“Did you get in touch with Pierre?” Myra asks.
“Yes finally. We have a cake tasting next week.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt.” If the two of them are going to start talking about food, I might need a bathroom. “Where is my room?”
“Myra, will you show her?”
Myra nods and walks back up the stairs. I step carefully on the marble floors. A loud bark makes my heart jump. Myra crouches down and picks up a small, sandy dog.
“This is Princey,” she says in a baby voice. “He’s my cute little Pug, aren’t you my baby?” She makes kissing noises with her lips. “Come on. Let’s show Paige where her room is.”
I follow Myra and Princey to a room at the end of the hallway with a window that overlooks a small town square out front. A quaint sitting area is set up next to the window with two sofas and a coffee table. The bed is tall with sheets that look almost as soft as the ones on my bed back home, and my bags are already in the closet.
“Have a nice rest,” Myra says politely. “You can call down to Dessie in the kitchen if you need something to eat.”
“Thanks,” I reply. I need some peace and quiet. She shuts the door, and I clutch my stomach. I eye the private bathroom and run to the toilet. Alana’s voice keeps ringing in my ears. I still haven’t decided what to do yet. I thought about it the whole plan ride.
I can’t imagine my life with a baby. I won’t know what to do.
I’ve never changed a diaper in my life.
Suddenly, a crazy shopping spree downtown doesn’t sound so important.
Chapter Seven
“. . . the guy I lost my virginity to.”
What the hell?
Maybe my pink bandage dress was the wrong choice. Yes, it’s tight, but I love it. It makes me look slim in all the right places. I don’t know why Myra’s friends are staring at me. It’s not the good kind of stare either – the one that says I’m envious of you. It’s the stare that says you don’t belong. I’ve never been on the receiving end of that stare before. I’m usually the one giving it.
I hold my chin up. I can’t let these people know that I care. I eye the crowd in front of me. Myra giggles and pulls my arm. She hands me a glass of something bubbly. I panic inside. I can’t drink that.
“Everyone,” she announces. “This is Paige.” She links her arm with mine. “I can’t believe we’re going to be cousins.”
Not for long.
The way my Aunt Sheila operates, she’ll be done with this relationship in the blink of an eye. I grin and let Myra pull me around to every person in the room for introductions. I have a hard time understanding what she’s saying when she talks too fast.
“Hiya honey.” She kisses another girl on the cheek. “This is Paige.” The girl kisses me on the cheeks too.
“Hi.” I’m not sure whether to protest or go with it.
I feel claustrophobic in this living room. The house is smaller than Aunt Sheila’s townhouse, and it took us twenty minutes to get here. Myra drove us in her brand new Range Rover. We listened to some pop station on the radio while Myra told me all about her first experience at fashion week in Paris. I rolled my eyes at one point when she went on about how the models didn't even speak English, but she didn’t notice.
“Excuse me for a minute,” I say, pulling away from Myra’s tiny, bronzed arm. I hang onto my silver clutch and walk calmly to the front steps for some air. A wave of nausea overcomes me but the night breeze helps. I can hear music and laughter inside. Normally, I would rock a party like this. I would have every one of those Brits eating out of the palm of my hand in less than an hour.
Tonight I don’t have the energy and I don't really care.
I walk around the corner to a little sidestep by a concrete driveway. This house is the last one on the street. A dark field sits next to it. The light from the street lamps doesn't stretch far enough to illuminate the field, so the lengthy grass looks like tall shadows swaying in the wind. I sit down and rub my eyes.
“Hi, love.” A voice echoes in the dark. My heart leaps. “Why are you out here all by yourself?”
“Excuse me?” I turn and see two guys standing over me with smirks on their faces. Both of them are at least six feet tall. One looks pretty scrawny, but the other one has arms the size of trains.
“A foreigner.” The bigger one turns to his buddy and chuckles. “You enjoying your time abroad?”
I know guys like these. Total jerks. I stand up and take a step backward.
“This isn’t my first time here,” I reply. I take another step towards the house.
“What’s the rush?” he takes a step closer. He smells like he bathed in cologne and scotch. I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh come on.” He grips my arm tight. My chest continues to pound. “That’s not very nice.” I jerk away. I’ve never been in a situation like this before.
“I just want to be alone, okay? I've had a hell of a night already.” I don’t know if making him madder is the best choice, especially since no one inside will hear me if I yell.
Oops.
His smirk grows wider. He likes that I’m angry. His hand reaches for my arm again. This time his grip is so tight that I can feel the circulation in my wrist come to a halt. I keep an annoyed look on my face.
Don’t show fear. Dad always says don’t show fear.
“Hey, Tubs!” Someone shouts from the sidewalk. Another guy approaches us. He’s not as big, but he’s almost as tall. I catch a glimpse of his face, and it gives me goosebumps. He reminds me of my first high school boyfriend, Jordy. He’s the guy I lost my virginity to.
“Can’t you see I’m busy, mate?”
“Back off,” the guy says sternly. "Go bore the bollocks off someone else." I don’t know what to make of his stare. It is sort of like the creepy one Dad makes when he’s holding back from beating the crap out of someone.
“Whatever, mate.” The two of them look skittishly at each other and nod. “Let’s go.”
“I’m Sam.” The guy formally outstretches a hand.
I smile.
“You don’t do the whole kiss on cheek thing like everyone else?” I comment. “Even stranger.” I run my fingers through my hair and walk past him.
“Even stranger?” he repeats. “What do you mean by that?” Sam runs to catch up. He smells like spiced leather. My stomach tingles when his arm casually brushes against mine. I stop. His dark hair and brown eyes are even more attractive in the light.
“Well,” I giggle. “I’d love to know what kind of blackmail you have on those guys, but I know you won’t tell me.”
“Hey,” he protests. “I was doing you a favor.”
“Guys like that don’t walk away that easy. So what do you have on him, nude pictures of his sister or something?” I take another step towards the party. The music seems even louder now. The noise bursts into my ears, making the queasiness I felt earlier come back.
“What if I do?”
He’s trying to flirt with me.
“That's your business, I guess.” I shrug and head back inside to find Myra. "Nice meeting you, Sam."
“Wait.” He nods. “So, I don't even get a thank you?”
I bite the corner of my lip. I want to play along. The old me would’ve eaten this up. A hot, British boy is trying to ask me out on my very first night in London.
The new me has a lot on her mind. One being where the nearest bathroom is.
“Thanks,” I finally say, humoring him. “But I had it all under control.”
Sam laughs. It brings another tingle to my stomach.
“I guess you didn’t need me then.”
“Nope,” I respond, turning my back to him. "Not at all."
Sometimes I’m such a biatch.
Chapter Eight
“He has a satisfied look on his face.”
&nbs
p; I open my eyes to a knock on the door. I was so tired last night that I drooled all over my pillow. I wipe the side of my face and run my fingers through my hair. It feels good to sleep because the second I wake up I feel nauseous again.
“Come in.” I adjust my pajama top.
My bedroom door opens, and Myra steps in with a smile on her face. She’s followed by a housekeeper holding a tray of food. She sets it down on a table in the sitting area. My nose perks up at the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Since finding out I am pregnant, I have secretly visited a couple of pregnancy websites. One of them mentioned that I shouldn't drink coffee because of the caffeine, but another one said it was fine in moderation. I also accidentally clicked on a video of a home water birth out of curiosity.
Note to self, never search "pregnancy" on the internet again.
“I wasn’t sure how long you were going to sleep,” Myra says quietly. She nods at the housekeeper. “Dessie made you some food.”
“What time is it?”
“Half past three.”
My eyes go wide.
“Seriously?” I gasp. I can’t believe I slept that long and I still feel exhausted. “Crazy jet lag.”
“I think my friends really liked you,” Myra responds. I laugh as I join her on the sofa near the window and study everything on the serving platter. The only thing that smells appealing is the coffee.
“I didn’t get that vibe,” I disagree. She’s playing a game with me, so I’ll open up more and confide in her. I do it all the time when new girls come to town. It tells me whether or not I really want them in my circle.
“Oh whatevs. They just need some time to get used to you that’s all.”
“Myra.” I lean forward. “How long has your dad been seeing my aunt?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She tilts her head. “A year I suppose.”
“Funny. She never mentioned him to my mom.”
"Well, you know how sisters are sometimes.” Myra shrugs. “Maybe she wants the wedding to be a surprise?”
What a naive assumption.
“My mother does not handle surprises very well.” I take a sip of water and watch her reaction. Her smile never leaves her face.
“I’m looking forward to the wedding,” she replies. “Anyways, do you have any other siblings back home?”
“A brother.”
“Really.” She leans forward. “Older or younger?”
Gross.
“Older and taken,” I answer. I look down again at the food in front of me.
“Anything look appetizing?” she comments. “You’ve been staring at that coffee for five minutes now.”
“Oh.” I brush my hair to the side. “It looks fine.”
Her eyes light up.
“I need to take you to the café down the street. You’ll love it.” She giggles. “Come on. I’ll wait for you to get dressed.” She trots out of the room. I have no choice but to get changed as fast as I can. I hear Princey barking in the hallway. I roll my eyes and pull a lacey tank top from my suitcase.
* * *
The café is only a five-minute walk. We pass a book shop, and a beauty salon before the smell of baking bread fills my nose. It’s just what I need. Myra smiles and pushes open the door. We stand in line, looking at the menu. The décor reminds me of coffee shops back home only smaller. The tables outside are all full people getting their morning fix.
“Told you you’d love this place,” Myra whispers. “I just love their Hazelnut Frappuccino. I get one almost every day.” We take a step closer to the counter. I look up at the ceiling. The crowd is getting to me again. I don’t want to start feeling claustrophobic. Then I might puke.
“Do they have anything . . . without coffee?”
“I thought you wanted a coffee?” She frowns.
“People change their minds,” I reply. We take another step. It’s finally our turn.
“What can I get you?” I glance at the guy behind the counter. My stomach leaps. My eyes wander down to his name tag. Sam.
“Hazelnut Frappuccino,” Myra answers. “And what do you want Paige?”
“Um . . .”
Sam and I make eye contact.
“Hello again,” he responds.
“Do you work here?”
“It looks that way doesn’t it,” he replies. “What can I get you?” I feel Myra staring at the two of us.
“Um-“
“I’d recommend the spiced hot chocolate,” he interrupts.
I nod.
"Fine," I respond. "Give me that then."
“Brilliant, because I don't have time to sit around and wait for you to make up your mind.”
Myra glares at him.
“Excuse-“
“Myra,” I stop her. “Let me handle this one.” I put my hands on my hips. “Some of us have more important things on our mind, Sam. Quit whining.”
“You could at least say thank you for the suggestion.” He grins. “But then again you’re not the type of girl to say thank you, are you?” Now he's just trying to get a reaction out of me. Make a lasting impression.
“What exactly is going on here?” Myra cuts in. I shake my head and walk away. The madder I get, the more pleased he is. I can see it in his eyes. He has a satisfied look on his face. Myra and I step away from the counter.
“Uh hello.” Myra follows me. “You know that guy? You’ve been in London for like a day.”
“I met him last night.” I take a deep breath and force a smile. Sam hasn’t gotten to me, and I won't let him win. I’m fine . . . just a little morning sickness and crazy hormones.
“At the party?”
“Duh,” I say under my breath. “I mean yes. He was at the party last night.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about him? He’s super fit.”
I try not to blush.
“I don’t know?” I shrug. “We didn’t talk for very long.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“I don’t buy it,” she responds. “There’s something you’re not telling me. If we’re going to be family you need to spill, honey.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes.
“And stop acting like a stuck up American.”
I gasp.
“Don't act all shocked.” Myra giggles. “You roll your eyes constantly, hun.”
I avoid rolling my eyes a second time from her comment. Whatever. I’ll just be pissed off in secret.
“Do you want to know how I met Sam or not?”
Myra eagerly nods.
“I stepped outside last night for some air, and that’s when we met,” I say. There’s no way I’m telling her the other part. “I think he was trying to ask me out, but I blew him off.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a stuck up American,” I tease. Myra giggles. “Okay, and I might roll my eyes a lot, but you do that funny little giggle all the time.”
“So?” She twirls a piece of her hair and glances back toward the counter at Sam.
Maybe I can tolerate her after all?
Chapter Nine
“Sabotage.”
Aunt Sheila knocks on my door. She pops her head in before I have the chance to say anything. I push away my laptop. There’s nothing interesting going on back home anyways and I haven’t gotten an email from Dane. I thought he would be frantic by now. Three days all alone with Mikki. Depressing.
“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Even with a casual pair of jeans and plain top, Aunt Sheila still looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
“No,” I reply. “Of course not.” I smile. She joins me on the bed.
“Good because I just did something crazy.”
My heart starts racing. That could mean anything.
“Dare I ask what?”
“I just got off the phone with your mother,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows.
“What did you tell her?” I already know the answer to this question. It’s the whole reason she’s even in my
bedroom.
“I told her about Victor and the wedding.”
There goes my bargaining chip.
“Really.” I try to hide my frustration. Mom barely responds to my calls but the second Aunt Sheila picks up the phone the two of them chat like besties.
“Yeah.” She slowly brushes her hair to the side as she looks at me. I feel like she’s backhandedly telling me that I need a shower and a good blow dry. “She took it pretty well actually. I was surprised.”
Sounds like a total lie.
“She even said she is coming for the wedding,” my aunt continues. “Can you believe that? She wants to come early to help me with the planning.” Her eyes are large and sparkling. She gives me a quick hug and walks delicately to the door.
Is she joking? She must be joking. I know my mom.
“When is she coming? Did she say?”
“Tomorrow,” she casually replies. It’s been way too long since Sheila, and my mom have seen each other. My aunt has obviously forgotten that this isn’t a good thing. There’s only one reason why Mom would drop everything and come to London so suddenly.
Sabotage.
Trust me. I know the signs when I see them. I of all people know exactly what’s going on in Mom’s head.
“Wow,” I gasp.
“I know.” She misunderstands my reaction. That wasn’t a good wow. “I need to make the four us lunch reservations. Me, your mom, you, and Myra.”
I smile and nod.
The second she shuts my door I grab my cell phone and dial my mom’s number.
Please, pick up.
The phone rings. I anxiously play with a strand of my hair. Maybe I do need a good blow dry at the salon?
“Honey,” Mom finally answers. “I knew you would be calling me today. Sheila must have told you.”
“Is she serious?” I ask. “Are you really coming to London tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Why is her voice so calm?
“You’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would.”
“Sometimes your aunt is a little naive when it comes to men,” Mom responds. “She just needs some reminding. Have you met this Victor character?” She pauses. “Sounds like a sleazebag. I mean what kind of a name is that?”
