by Brigid Coady
She couldn’t go tearing onto set to confront them then and there, she thought. It wasn’t actually subtle or conducive to keeping all of it under the radar.
They were still family.
Slowly she moved from the bathroom and through the office, paper crunching like autumn leaves under her shoes. She dragged open the door and sat on the steps to the office.
How the hell was she going to do this?
Annie stared out onto set but hardly saw the crew rushing back and forth setting up shots. She put her fingers to her mouth and proceeded to bite off any nails that she had left.
They were filming Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley’s first visit to the Bennet house and the ground was becoming as muddy as her thoughts. Blinking, Annie watched as Austen swung his leg over the saddle on the horse. Intellectually she knew it looked amazing but all she could think was he’d never want to be with someone whose family was full of felons. If he’d thought her baggage was bad before …
Austen mounted the horse twenty times. Annie knew because she counted every one, each time calculating how much it was costing. She knew multiple takes were factored into the budget but what hadn’t been taken into account was the amount of cast and crew who just ‘happened’ to be hanging around watching instead of working. It seemed as if any member of the production who was attracted to the male gender was currently trying to find a reason for being round the set.
Annie wished she could tell them all to sod off, stop ogling Austen and get to work. He was a person not a commodity. Instead she averted her eyes and looked at the churned-up earth.
‘Hi, Annie.’ John Benwick stood in front of her.
‘Hey, I didn’t know you were back.’ Annie was happy to be around someone so unproblematic.
‘Just briefly, I’ve decided to stay in London and pop up when I’m needed.’ John looked happier than the last time she’d seen him. She was glad someone was having a good time.
‘I’m sure Harry and Austen will miss having you here,’ Annie said. Maybe she was merely making up numbers, she thought. Filling in for John. No, that was unfair: Harry and Lewis would still have room for her if John came back.
John’s face fell slightly. He looked guilty.
‘No, I’m sure they’re all fine without me,’ he said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go catch my train.’ He almost ran. Annie noticed that he took the long way around so he didn’t pass Harry.
***
‘So, Immy, have you been into my laptop and helped yourself to a huge wad of money from the production account?’
It was straight and to the point, Annie thought as she walked through the hotel and into the new wing, where Dad and Immy’s rooms were. They really were at the opposite end of the hotel from her.
But even with that distance she could’ve done with a bit longer practising what she was going to say to them both.
Annie brought her little finger to her mouth and started to chew on the nail. There was a brief flash of pain. She looked at her little finger. The skin around the nail was red and inflamed. Obviously the mounting scene had distracted her more than she thought. She hadn’t noticed she’d moved from biting her nails to picking at the skin.
Annie had left the set after Austen had stopped swinging his leg over the horse. Will mounting and dismounting didn’t hold the same fascination. After a few hours in her hotel room, she had come up with a plan.
She would beard the monsters in their den, so to speak. And Annie thought Immy was probably slightly easier to tackle than Dad. Maybe. Who was she kidding? It was going to be hell whichever one she approached first.
Giving herself more time, Annie decided to use the stairs. Her hand on the bannister, she slowly started up the stairs towards the rooms.
Quicker than she wanted, she found herself standing outside Immy’s door.
She could do this. She’d persuaded them to rent out the house. She’d grown a backbone. She was good. She was golden.
She raised her hand to knock when through the wood panel she could hear Immy talking.
Great, she didn’t need witnesses for this.
Who was in there? She leaned a little closer to hear.
‘Yes, just like that. Harder. Fill me up with your cock,’ Immy’s voice moaned.
Chapter Eighteen
Annie leapt back almost hitting the opposite wall in her desperation to get away from hearing her sister having sex.
She hadn’t been sure Immy had ever had sex.
It seemed like something that was too messy and revealing for Immy to ever want to get involved in. And Annie definitely didn’t have her down as someone who was into dirty talk.
Annie shuddered and was glad that it had been some time since lunch.
Immy having sex.
Huh.
Annie could feel her world reshaping round her to take in this new bit of information.
But who was she with?
Oh God, don’t let it be Austen.
No, that was silly. Just because anything to do with sex made her think of Austen, didn’t mean he was having sex with Immy.
Not that he would be interested. He wouldn’t be interested, surely? Or that tacky, she thought. He was not the sort to get involved with two sisters.
But then Immy was attractive, in that LA scraped matchstick way. She would fit Austen’s life in the limelight; she would make the picture-perfect accessory. Annie glanced down at her soft belly and crossed her arms in front of it.
Body wise yes, but personality not so much, and Austen was not that shallow, was he?
But when lust took over two people, sense went out the window. Annie shuddered and gagged, the picture of Austen and Immy overtaken by lust. No, she couldn’t think about it. Flashes of pictures in her head made her dizzy.
Annie leant harder against the wall. Once her legs started working again she’d walk away.
But she wanted to know. Had to know who was behind that door with Immy. And if it was Austen, well … he wasn’t the man she remembered.
If she pressed her ear against the door would she suddenly hear those sounds he made that she hadn’t realized she still remembered? The same groans that he uttered as he leant over her, those same moans he’d made when he’d been wrapped around her.
And it was as if she was thrown into a whirlpool of memories. Fingers touching, hands grasping, legs twined. Taste on her tongue. She was drowning in Austen.
‘Anne, are you okay?’
Annie wasn’t sure for a second whether she was still in her memories. The green eyes and furrowed brow looking down at her were similar to how Austen had been when he was concentrating on making her fall apart.
Annie shook the memories from her.
No, they were in a hotel corridor and Austen was staring down at her but not touching her.
She blinked and hoped he couldn’t tell how turned on she was.
‘I’m fine.’ Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been screaming his name all night long.
‘So there is no particular reason you’re looking flushed and leaning against the wall as if it is the only thing keeping you vaguely upright?’ he said, lifting one eyebrow. His voice was soft and tentative. There was a small smile flitting at the corner of his mouth.
Words fell out of her brain, and swirled away on a wave of want.
And the sick feeling she’d had was gone. It had been pushed out and replaced with a knot of want that settled heavily in her gut.
What she really wanted to say was: ‘Your room, bed, naked, now.’
But that might have been a bit much and if he said no, which he would …
She bit her lip to hold the words in and watched, fascinated, Austen’s eyes flicker down to stare at her mouth.
Silence could really be felt, she thought. It could be magnetic. It seemed to be drawing them closer together. It wasn’t her imagination – Austen was leaning in too.
Would he kiss her?
Annie’s eyes fluttered, her eyelids heavy as they s
tarted to close in anticipation.
Then from through Immy’s door came the most almighty orgasm moan; Meg Ryan had competition.
Annie’s eyes opened wide. Austen leapt back.
They stared at each other.
Damn Immy and her sex life, Annie thought.
Hold on, Immy was moaning in her room. And Austen was in the corridor with Annie.
Relief crashed through her. It wasn’t Austen. There was no Immy and Austen getting jiggy with it.
Annie wasn’t sure she had ever gone from such despair to happiness so fast. She felt full of helium, like she could float to the ceiling.
So if Austen wasn’t the one ripping the moan out of Immy who was?
Relief and ridiculousness racing through her, she couldn’t help it as a snort of laughter came out of her nose, not as loud as the moan but not particularly quiet. Annie clapped a hand over her mouth and nose to try and keep the hysterical laughter inside her.
In front of her, Austen’s face was a picture. His eyes were big, his cheeks red, and his mouth puffed out as if trying to keep his own laughter in.
Annie couldn’t help it: she snorted again.
Austen’s mouth opened and a massive bark of laughter came rolling out. It was one she remembered always erupted when you knew he found something truly funny. As if he couldn’t keep it inside.
His hand came across his mouth. They stared at each other waiting to see if anyone came out of their rooms to find them eavesdropping.
Hold on, she didn’t want to get caught overhearing her sister’s sex life. That was too tacky.
She waved her hand frantically towards the stairs hoping Austen would understand. Austen nodded and grabbed her waving fingers and dragged her along with him. Stumbling, they each covered their mouths with one hand whilst their others were clasped together.
They made it to the bottom of the stairs before the laughter completely took over.
‘Oh my God,’ Annie gasped as she clutched the newel post with the hand she’d taken off her mouth. Her belly hurt from laughing. She and Austen had been laughing and gasping for air for a few minutes.
‘What the hell was he doing to her?’ Austen said.
They looked at each other and started laughing again. It wasn’t until Annie went up to wipe her eyes, which were streaming with tears, did she realize that she and Austen were still holding hands.
Oh.
Her hand felt so natural in his, as if it was only yesterday that they would hold hands wherever they went. When being this close had been as easy as breathing.
The laughter drained out of her, as if a plug had been pulled.
Annie looked up. Austen was grinning down at her, his dimples framing his mouth. He looked as young as he had when they had been together. Annie felt her hand spasm in his. It was as if it wanted to hold him tighter and never let him go.
The smile faded from his face.
For long seconds they stared at each other. Should she pull him in again? Would he lean down like he had upstairs?
Did he still kiss the same? Had his taste changed?
They should let go. She should stop holding his hand. But with the echoes of their laughter still in the air, she couldn’t.
‘Anne?’ Austen said quietly.
Annie couldn’t stop looking at him.
She wasn’t sure what he was asking but she was too scared to find out. Maybe she should grab him?
‘Ah, just the people I’m looking for.’
Annie jumped and pulled her hand from Austen’s as Harry came from behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m trying to keep that bloody woman who plays Lydia from hitting on Lewis but she’s not getting the hint. For some reason even the wedding rings don’t seem to be computing. Fancy helping some friends in need? There’s a drink in it.’
Harry looked between the both of them hopefully.
Annie knew she should say no.
Hanging out in the bar wasn’t going to help her work out how to stop Immy and Dad getting arrested. But … she could still feel the ghost of Austen’s fingers clutched round hers. It made her hand twitch, trying to hold on.
Austen … She looked up. He was still watching her.
‘Sure,’ Austen said and raised his eyebrows in a question to her.
Did that mean he didn’t mind if they had a drink together?
‘Okay,’ she said.
She couldn’t interrupt Immy while she was … you know. And what did it matter if she waited a little to confront Dad?
Annie allowed Harry to take her hand and lead her through the hotel to the bar, Austen trailing behind them.
They walked into the room to find Lewis pressed to the back of his chair with a hunted look on his face. Jillian Mansel, the actress playing Lydia, was leaning so far into his space that she was almost in his lap. His eyes were desperately looking for an escape, and as soon as he spotted Harry his face brightened, a massive smile breaking across it.
Annie’s heart lurched. No one had looked at her like that in eight years.
Jillian looked up to see what had grabbed his attention and started pouting when she saw Annie; she wasn’t sure how Jillian had completely got the wrong end of the stick. Jillian looked beyond Annie, her eyes widening and then narrowing. She’d obviously spotted Austen. She could almost see the cogs in Jillian’s head turning as she spotted better prey, a bigger catch.
‘Hi, Lew.’ Austen passed Annie and leaned between Jillian and Lewis, hugging him and using his back to push Jillian out of Lewis’s space.
Annie was impressed with the manoeuvre. Slick, and it didn’t look like it was the first time they’d done it.
‘Do you mind if we bring in a few more chairs?’ Austen said to Jillian. His smile was his professional one, Annie realized. It didn’t reach his eyes and his dimples were dimmed. The ghost of the boy she’d known was gone at that moment.
Without waiting for Jillian to answer he dragged a chair in between hers and Lew’s and settled himself in.
Immediately Jillian’s hand came down on Austen’s arm.
Why was everyone clawing at his arm? What was it about them that made women so territorial? Annie itched to know how Austen’s arms had changed in eight years. She remembered how they used to feel, especially when they held her spooned against him. Annie remembered stroking the silky hair on his forearms as they dozed, his nose tucked behind her ear.
Annie wondered how much effort it would take to peel Jillian’s painted nails from his sleeve. She looked up hoping no one was wondering why she was glaring at Austen’s arms. She was startled by the frown on Austen’s face and the stiff way he was holding himself. Very different than how he’d been only minutes before, laughing with her.
It was as if a cluster of coloured spots suddenly resolved themselves into the number nine.
God, she was stupid.
Why did she think that Austen was going to jump into bed with anyone just because they showed him attention?
He’d never done that before so why would he now?
He wouldn’t. All the attention he had, that made her get tied up in knots over, wasn’t him. The people hanging off him were holding on to Austen WentworthTM.
They didn’t hold on to her Austen.
Because not once had he reciprocated, not the way he did with her. Even now.
And he never had. Why had she been so bothered about it? If she had figured this out eight years ago …
It was useless to think that way.
‘Jill, did you get the changes to the script for tomorrow?’ Annie said. There was no point in trying to pull women off Austen but she could distract them. Show them something that meant more.
‘Script changes?’ Jillian said confused.
Her character, Lydia, had some lines in the assembly scene tomorrow, and Annie knew she guarded every second of dialogue and screen time she had.
‘Yeah, I heard that there are some pretty major changes in your part …’ Annie let i
t peter out, frowning as if it was a big change and not good.
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Jillian said, her fingers digging into Austen’s arm. She looked torn: a night flirting with Austen or her career. Annie could see the calculations whirring round in her head. Then, with one last squeeze, Jillian got up.
‘I need to talk to my agent,’ she said, took her phone from her bag and stalked off.
There was a brief pause as if they were all waiting to make sure she really had left and wasn’t coming back.
Annie watched as the tension melted from Austen’s shoulders. Good, she wanted to make Austen happy. Lewis huffed out a sigh and Harry started laughing.
‘Annie, you minx. You sit there all quiet as if butter wouldn’t melt and then blatantly lie without blushing.’ Harry nudged her. Annie tried to fight the smile she could feel starting to pull at her lips.
Lewis leant over and kissed her head and then Austen’s.
‘Angels, both of you. Thank God you turned up when you did. I thought she was going to end up sitting on my knee and start lap dancing. I wasn’t sure how I was going apologize for not getting excited by it,’ he said.
‘What brought this on?’ Austen asked as they all rearranged themselves at the table and Harry started pouring out the wine from the cooler in the centre into glasses.
‘Urgh, she somehow found out that I produced Feckless Rogues’ last album and I think she was angling for us to turn into some kind of power couple.’
‘I did tell her that you were my husband,’ Harry said in apology. ‘I even showed her the wedding rings.’ Harry flashed his right hand and the gold band.
‘I think she thought you meant we had a bromance or something. Maybe she believed the rings were like Chandler and Joey being bracelet buddies. It was coming to the point when I thought you and I were going to have to have sex on the table to convince her that in no way was I interested in her at all.’
‘People would pay a lot of money for that, Boo. We shouldn’t be giving it away for free.’ Harry raised his glass, took a drink, and then blew his husband a kiss.
This was what she wanted, Annie thought. The secure relationship that Harry and Lew had, with what was obviously a deep love and affection that underpinned it all. Annie yearned for someone she could be a partner with as much as a lover. An equitable deal, she thought.
