by Dee Palmer
“It will be a win on Saturday,” I mumble.
“You’d say yes? After that? I mean, after everything you’ve told me, you’d still say yes?” She stops in her tracks and faces me, utter astonishment shining from her pale complexion.
“I love him, Hope, and he loves me. No relationship is smooth sailing. Everyone’s shit stinks. At the end of the day, though, he picked me.” I can’t hide the catch in my voice. “I’ve never been picked for anything. Parents, foster care, even my grandmother didn’t really pick me. I was dumped there. I know marriage isn’t the be-all end-all, but it means someone wants to commit their life to me forever. Dave wants me.”
‘“Even if one in two marriages end in divorce.” She throws out a random statistic which happens to suit her argument.
“Yeah, even then, because for now and for each day in our one-day-at-a-time relationship, he has chosen me.” I nod in affirmation with a little ‘so-there’ thrown in.
“You get the partner you deserve, Finn, and right now, he’s being a dick, and you’re being a doormat.”
“Hope!” My eyes water instantly, because she’s never voiced her view with such a mean spirit before, and she looks mortified right away.
“I’m sorry, Finn! God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” I bite back, and my voice cracks.
“Yes, I did. But you know I only want you happy.” She cups my face, her hands like silk from all the massages, and her eyes are as wet as mine. She holds my gaze as silent tears trickle down my face. She gives a tight nod. “All right, angel. But just so you know, if I swung your way, you would’ve been well and truly chosen a long fucking time ago.” She pushes out a light laugh, which is just enough to ease the tension.
“And I would’ve chosen you, but even though you have the most amazing green eyes I’ve ever seen, I’m still more of a penis girl.” I push the front door to the salon as she laughs with me. She’s just as much my world as I am hers, and I know she has my best interests at heart. It doesn’t mean she’s right, but it does mean she’ll always have my back.
“Preaching to the choir, sister. Speaking of penises, or is it penii? Carlos!” Hope calls out to my boss. The salon is packed, but Carlos is lounging in the luxurious waiting area, spread-out like a glorious God on the cloud-like, puffy, white sofas. His dark skin glows and thick, jet-black hair, hangs strategically for maximum impact across his handsome face. His sultry eyes, the shade of midnight, are just as bewitching. “Damn, sometimes I hate my one-night-stand rule.” Hope flashes me a wickedly carnal smile, and I suddenly fear for the safety of my boss. This is a match made in hell.
“Hope, you look quite edible.” Carlos sits up, and Hope leans down to kiss his cheek in greeting.
“Don’t I, though.”
I pull her back and step between them. It’s like rutting season; they’re both as bad as the other, and I know I’m grumpy about it because I’m hopelessly horny.
“Hope, when are you going to persuade Finn here to let me loose on those platinum locks? You know it’s a crime to work in London’s most prestigious salon and have glorious but utterly boring hair. She’s never had so much as a tint washed through it.” He drags his long fingers along my scalp and loosens the tie holding the mass of curls at bay. His fingers shake and pull the strands free. I think I might whimper. Hope certainly snickers.
“You’re on a fat chance there, Carlos,” Hope replies, and I seem to have entered a dream-state. “Dave likes the natural look: no color, no cuts, no tatts. Completely natural. You’d have more luck trimming her bush than cutting any length off her hair.” She snickers at her comment.
“Hope!” I choke out a cough and feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. She may have bumped uglies with Carlos and now obviously thinks she has no need to engage her brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s still my boss.
“What? I’m just saying…” She waves off my concern with a shrug. “You haven’t changed your appearance since you were sixteen, and he nearly threw a shitfit when we both got our noses and navels pierced. He said I was a bad influence.” She drops her tone to mimic Dave’s reprimand, but ends up laughing.
“You are a bad influence.” I join in, because she’s too infectious not to.
“I like her essence.” Carlos’s rough grumble and thick accent make Hope sigh loudly.
“Influence,” I correct.
“Oh I heard what you said.” His gaze cuts to Hope like she’s the only person on the planet; it makes the hairs on my neck stand at attention. I miss that. I’m seriously suffering from sensory deprivation if I can get this turned on by my boss’s husky voice and a few choice words in the middle of my work shift.
“At least let Carlos do something special for Saturday?” Hope goads after some seriously heated seconds of eye fucking, then winks conspiratorially at my boss.
“Oh, yes, the big day. Please, angel, I will make you utterly irresistible. Not that you aren’t already, but I will make the icing. Yes?” He turns his attention to me, and I notice Hope fans herself while his gaze is diverted.
“Fine! But you’re not cutting the length, because Dave likes it long.” I hold up my index finger to indicate that is my number one rule.
“Who doesn’t?” Hope gushes under her breath, and I cringe because, for the love of God, she’s now blatantly staring at my boss’s pants. Ground, swallow me now.
“So Saturday, you’re coming, Carlos?” I ask quickly to keep his eyes on me and not on my wayward friend.
“Of course.” His smile is bright, wide with perfectly straight, dazzling teeth. Killer smile.
“Good. Dave’s friends and family always makes me conscious of the fact my side of the room looks like someone forgot to mail the invites.” I half joke.
“It won’t look like that this time. He has invited the whole salon, and what we may lack in number we make up for with style and glamour.” Carlos wiggles his thick, dark brows wickedly.
“And interest. Dave’s mates are narcissistic boring fuckwits. Again, I’m not judging, I’m stating a fact.” Hope holds up her hands and tightens her lips as if she has finally finished with the unsavory comments. Unlikely.
“Oh God!” I slap my hand against my head with a sense of doom and exasperation.
“Ah, don’t be like that, Finn.” She jumps onto my part of the sofa and throws both her arms around me, squeezing until I can’t breathe. “It’s going to be fun with a big fat capital F.”
Present day
“NAME?” THE LADY AT THE check-in desk fails to hide her irritation, but judging by the exaggerated roll of her tarantula-lashed eyes, she really isn’t trying very hard. I may be holding up the queue, but this trolley is possessed by Satan, won’t go where I push it, and does in fact weigh about the same as my car. Oh, if she huffs one more time, I swear. I abandon the trolley, jutting across the path between the desks and the roped-off hordes of impatient travellers.
“Sanderson.” I pinch out a tight smile, and even then, I’m being generous.
“Have you checked in already?”
“That’s why I’m here at the check-in desk.” I smile for real this time because I get to use my own dramatic eye roll. “No, I haven’t, but I’m all good to go now.”
“Would you wait a moment? There seems to be a problem.” Her eyes dart from me to her screen and then back to me. Her brows furrow with confusion and now her nervous smile, although genuine, makes my anxiety reach new heights. I know I have the right day. I double-checked the booking and there’s no fucking way I’m hauling all my stuff back to Hope’s. If it isn’t the right day, I’ll just stay here. After all it’s not like I don’t have my whole life in those cases.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sanderson, you are in the wrong queue.” Her smile now dazzles it’s so wide and white.
“Um—”
“Please follow me.” She is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I take a step back at this miraculous transformation. “The porter will bring your
bags.”
“Porter?” I numbly follow her at the gentle tug on my sleeve, watching with my mouth agape as a burly porter pushes my trolley and follows us to the first class check-in desk.
I snort out an unladylike sound, cupping my mouth to contain the sound, and laugh. I look around for the prankster; this has Hope written all over it. Not that she has the money, but she’d think nothing of causing a little chaos.
The lady who brought me over, hands me to an elegant, immaculately groomed man with a deep tan and bright blue eyes.
“I’m so sorry for the confusion. Marc will take very good care of you.” She smiles again, and I’m sure her cheeks must be aching with the stretch of her lips.
“Not a problem.” My brain hasn’t engaged, and I’m still waiting for the big reveal.
“Is that all of your luggage, Ms. Sanderson?” Marc drags my attention away from nervously scouring the area for where Hope might be hiding.
“Um, yes, but we can stop this now. I get the joke. Really very clever, but—”
“I’m sorry? What joke?” Marc asks with genuine confusion.
“The flying first class joke.” I drop my hip and tilt my head in lieu of another eye roll.
“You don’t want to fly first class?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Well, obviously I do; however, I booked economy.” There’s a hushed inhale like I have thrown out the C-word at a nuns convention.
“You were upgraded, Ms. Sanderson. I can assure you this isn’t a joke. I’m also pretty confident you will want to fly first class.” His warm grin matches the friendly gleam in his eyes.
“Really? I mean really, I was upgraded? By whom?” I try to peer around his screen, but it has some sort of privacy cover blurring out any details.
“I don’t believe I’m allowed to give out that information,” he warns.
“Well, I don’t believe I will be getting on the plane and maybe you will have to haul those cases back down to economy,” I sass and fight the urge to click and wave my fingers in his face.
“Give me a moment.” He smirks at my attitude, and I give a light shrug. Yes, I’m the idiot kicking up a fuss about being upgraded. He returns with a triumphant smile. “Elemental paid for the upgrade.”
“Oh.” The instant recognition makes my lips spread into a wide, warm smile. “In that case…” I thrust my passport forward and lay it on the counter.
“So you’re happy to travel now, Ms. Sanderson?”
“Very happy, yes.” I nod enthusiastically. Elemental is the name of the house where the men live …and my future husband. Oh God.
I downed the first glass of champagne. It really didn’t touch the sides of my throat and I notice first class has a bar—a real bar. So I’m pretty sure my nerves won’t be a problem for much longer. The seats are massive and recline into a full bed. Not that I’ll be able to sleep, but I might fall into an alcohol-induced coma at some point on this ten-hour flight, so a horizontal option is good. I pull the crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket, or the catalyst as I like to call it. Smoothing it out on my knee that won’t stop shaking, I read it for the millionth time.
Hope showed me the advert three months ago. By then, I’d already spent one month on her couch, and she thought I could do with a giggle. The ad had been making the rounds on social media, and she laughed about it—we both did. Joked about ‘if only’. But I had a twinge in my tummy that pushed me to take the next step from ‘if only’. My heart was broken, my head was all over the fucking place after that Saturday, but my instinct was right on the money. My instinct said, “Fuck it, Finn. Why the hell not?”
You can question my sanity, and fine, you can question my motives too, but once I was satisfied this was, indeed, a genuine offer, I doubt I would have chosen any differently at the end of the day, or more specifically at the end of that Saturday four months ago.
Four months ago
“YOU LOOK STUNNING, FINN. I would so do you.” Hope stands back with her hands crossed over her chest and a sappy smile on her flawless face. I have straightened her hair so it hangs around her face, and I put some fiery gold streaks in it to match her lipstick. She looks a little breathtaking herself. I give a mock curtsey at her compliment and turn to look in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Dave left much earlier to get ‘things’ sorted, and Hope and I have been getting ready ever since that morning. Well, getting slowly tipsy and getting ready.
I chose a red halter neck backless dress, loose-fitted, shimmery with fringing. I know it’s sexy as fuck, but it also doesn’t hug my love-handles, so it’s flattering too. I wear some gold, strappy Jimmy Choo sandals and will carry a matching small clutch. My hair hangs in long, loose, luscious curls, courtesy of Carlos, and I’m a bundle of excited, nervous anticipation.
“Ah, thanks, babe. Right back at ya’.” I bump my hip against hers and draw in a deep breath. I’m ready.
We are ushered upstairs into the private room, which is heaving with familiar faces and some not so familiar; Dave does know a lot of people. He sees me walk in, and I get a small thrill as his eyes widen with approval. He strides forward and sweeps his arm around my waist.
“Hmm…RP, you scrub up well.” He kisses my cheek, and I ignore the hiss from Hope, standing just behind me. “Hope, you look stunning.” Dave leans over to kiss Hope on the cheek, and I can see from the tick in her jaw she still hasn’t let my nickname comment go.
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” I whisper into her ear. She raises her brow. “Not tonight, Hope. Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”
“Fine. I will need another drink though. It’s like a fucking convention for Dave wannabes in here.” She points at the crowd of men at the bar, and I snicker. They do seem to have a uniform stroke clone look going on.
“Come on, let’s dance first.” I tip my head to the relatively empty dance floor. I prefer it like that because I get to throw some serious shapes without the fear of taking someone’s eye out. The men are too busy checking their own reflections to bother us, and besides, I’m with Dave and they all know that. I wonder if they know what he’s planning.
We have danced nonstop for hours, refueling when Carlos arrived and joined us on the dance floor, but my feet are starting to ache. I motion to Hope that I’m going to take a breather when I see Dave start to move my way. My stomach flips, and I get a flash of tingles that ignite my skin. This is it.
The music fades, and I hear Dave’s voice through the speakers. He is all mic’d up to the sound system.
“RP…” He exhales, and I wince. “Finn, my beautiful girlfriend…” He holds out his hands, and I place mine in his. My chest feels tight, and the residual beat of the music is still thumping in my ears, or maybe that’s my heart. I can’t breathe. “You are my best friend, and I love you.” He drops to one knee and the whole crowd collectively inhales a breath and holds it, just like I do. “For my birthday it would make me the happiest man alive if you would…” He pauses and pulls out a large square velvet box. He pops the lid and his face crumples with a smirk.
I don’t understand.
I look to his eyes for clarification, which he is more than happy to oblige. “If you would let me go to Amsterdam for the week with my mates.” There’s a howl of deep laughter from the bar, and I stare, transfixed, at the golden condom nestled in the velvet ring box in his outstretched hand.
“I don’t understand, Dave.” I manage to whisper, my skin flaming from my toes to my hairline.
“I don’t want to cheat on you, Finn, but I want to go for a break. You know?” He wiggles his thick brows. “What goes on in Amsterdam, stays in Amsterdam.” He twists over his shoulder and winks at his friends, who are all still doubled up at this ‘joke’.
“I thought you were going to ask me to marry you.” I bite my lip to stop it from fucking wobbling, but I can’t hide the tears in my voice.
“Fuck, no!” He barks out a laugh and stops when his gaze meet
s my eyes. I blink to try and focus, but the tears are too fat to hold. The dam bursts, and they fall onto my bright, red cheeks. “Finn…” He cups his hand over the mic, and his face darkens. “Babe, don’t be like that. I thought you’d be cool. I could’ve gone and cheated. I’m being honest, at least. I’m not an arsehole.” His voice is clipped, indignant at my response.
“You did this in front of everyone, Dave?” I grit out, anger starting to bubble up and replace the debilitating humiliation.
“It was a laugh, Finn. Jesus, you used to be able to take a joke. Besides, I thought you were more likely to say yes like this.” He is still scowling, like I have done something wrong.
“You want to go and fuck some hookers for your birthday?” I snap.
“Christ, Finn. Do you have to put it like that?” He glances nervously over at his friends. I’m sure every eye in the place is glued to us; however, I don’t care.
“You won’t have sex with me, but you want to go and pay some stranger? I just want to make sure I’m getting the whole picture.” My voice is loud enough now that I don’t need the microphone he is still clutching. His eyes flash with anger, and he straightens his shoulders and meets my deathly glare head on. He’s mad. I’m embarrassing him, and I’m fucking heartbroken this is the only thing he’s thinking about in this fucked up, twisted situation.
“Yes,” he states with a snide and spiteful tone.
“Then go.” The pain in my chest is crushing me from the inside, yet somehow I hold myself together and turn with grace. I don’t quite manage a smile, but when Dave shouts into the mic, “She said yes!” and the crowd erupts with a joyous cheer, my knees give out, and I start to fall. I don’t remember much more. I didn’t hit the ground, but I did hit rock bottom.
The Morning After the Night Before
