Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  It all left a bad taste in Cheyenne’s mouth. More and more of them arrived every year. Turning her head, she considered Dominic. He knew quality when he saw it. What use were men who didn’t?

  Chapter 19

  The bachelor night had been wild. Alistair remembered most of it. Terence had more or less been unconscious throughout, as they travelled from club to club, growing seedier with each shift. It had been a while since he’d been on a full-on bender.

  Right now, he looked worse for wear and his head screamed with every movement. Groaning, he leaned on the wall in the shower and felt sorry for himself. A full day lay ahead—a wedding. He didn’t hate them, but dreaded the constant barrage of rules and etiquette. Terence would be going through the gelding process, which he seemed to have agreed to voluntarily. Rashida was a nice girl—prettier than she was intelligent. Big money—which was probably why Terence was so compliant.

  Dressing in a tux, Alistair made his way out to the car. The driver opened the door for him. With his pounding head, he’d chosen to be driven today. He was certainly going to need to be driven back.

  They were meeting for breakfast in Terence’s suite at the large, pink hotel that was the Padierna. Breakfast was served on linen-covered table, overlooking lush green gardens. Terence looked green and stuck to coffee, while Alistair and the boys tucked into an English breakfast, served on steaming buffet trays with large lids on top the table at the far wall.

  Terence was nervous and paced around the room, while the others sat around and waited. No doubt it was mayhem in the bride’s room.

  This was exactly why Alistair had left the UK, all this pressure to settle down. Apparently, one didn’t escape it here either. Terence wasn’t nervous because he thought Rashida would change her mind; he was nervous because he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this—tie himself to another person from here on to divorce.

  And then it was time to do the thing. Miles, the best man, was equally nervous and kept checking the ring hadn’t fallen out of his pocket. Better not; that was a quarter-million-pound ring.

  They moved down to a courtyard where the ceremony was to take place. Rows of chairs had started filling up and they stood to the side and watched.

  Terence still looked green. “You alright?” Miles kept on asking and Terence would nod grimly. Better him than me, Alistair thought, looking out across the sea of people. They were only five minutes away from the ceremony now.

  A girl caught his attention. He knew that girl, but couldn’t quite remember from where. She wore a sleeveless red dress with a high neckline and a gently flaring skirt. It was deceptively simple, but beautiful. A silver zipper ran down the back of it. This wasn’t the typical Marbella girl, but that dress was expensive. He knew her; he was sure of it.

  “Who’s that girl?” he asked Felix, who’d just arrived, still adjusting his shirt under his jacket. Without a doubt, he’d dressed in the car on the way over.

  “Who?” Felix said and Alistair pointed her out. “Don’t know her.”

  “I do,” Alistair said. Terence had to take his place and Miles joined him, both looking ready to bolt at any loud noise. The string quartet was already playing and people waited impatiently, until the wedding march started and everyone turned en masse to the back where Rashida stood, dressed in embroidered white. The dress actually looked quite plain, until she walked past and the low plunging back was covered with a veritable mesh of diamonds. She looked exquisite.

  The girl in red was watching intently. The girl next to her looked vaguely familiar, as well. In the back of his mind, he thought they’d gone to primary school together. Then it struck him. That girl. What was her name? He’d toyed with her and dumped her. He could remember how she’d looked back then, her big eyes when he’d ripped her guts out. Terese. That was it. He’d been young—fifteen or something. He’d gone through a bit of a seduction phase, when he’d hit on a girl and got what he’d wanted. It had all been fun and games back then, and he’d been amazed girls were stupid enough to give it up. Alright, he’d been less than mature, but he’s been a kid.

  The ceremony started. Alistair could have sworn Terence looked less than stable on his feet, but he dutifully held Rashida’s hands as the pastor, or whatever he was, read out the vows. And then it was done. Kiss and finish, beaming smiles on both their faces. Terence wasn’t entirely a hostage in the situation.

  They all had to walk into one of the ballrooms where the reception was held. It was white and sumptuously decorated with silver and mirrors. No doubt it had been designed for weddings. People were mingling, finding their seats. There were mountains of flowers along the walls and the silver embellished place settings suggested they were in for a long meal.

  The wedding party was off doing their business, so everyone else had a moment to relax. Alistair ordered a Black Russian from one of the white-dressed, attentive waiters. He sat down at the round table just left of the main table, which looked back on the entire room. Felix sat down next to him. “What are you doing after?”

  “Haven’t made any plans.” Alistair’s eyes settled across the crowd on the girl in red, who took a seat towards the very back of the room.

  “You figured out who the girl is?”

  “She used to live here. I guess she doesn’t anymore.”

  “Must be a friend of Rashida’s, then,” Felix said, looking over at her. He showed zero interest in the girl, which was actually unlike him.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t been with a girl since I got back.”

  “Yes, I have,” Felix said dismissively.

  “Who?”

  Felix didn’t answer.

  “So what was that thing with the American girl?”

  “Nothing. Just a whore.”

  Felix’s bitter tone didn’t ring entirely true. Alistair suspected there were some actual hurt feelings involved. Aggie wouldn’t have mentioned the girl unless it would bother Felix. Speaking of, Aggie appeared, wearing a peach dress with ruffled skirt. She looked tanned and perfect, crossing lean legs as she sat down, looking bored.

  “Who’s your date?”

  “Some guy I know,” she said.

  Alistair wondered if Aggie and Felix had ever had a thing, but then he doubted it. They knew each other too well. They’d fight too much to ever manage becoming a couple.

  Aggie mentioned someone Alistair didn’t know, so he tuned out, returned to scanning the room. His eyes were drawn to the girl again, wondering what she was trying to say coming to a wedding in a dress like that, clearly pointing herself out as different. She looked up and their eyes locked. A frown drew together on her features and she looked away. Clearly not the ‘hello, long time’ greeting. Surely she remembered him; he’d been her first, after all—perhaps still bitter about the aftermath. Not that he could blame her entirely; he’d been brutal.

  The wedding party arrived, causing a bit of a commotion, but Alistair’s thoughts quickly returned to the girl. She’d been quite sweet actually, completely believing herself in love—at the merest drop of a hat. It truth, she’d more led herself astray than he had. He’d just been the mechanism.

  Long, brown hair, he remembered. It had floated down her back. Gangly limbs. She hadn’t been stunning, but cute enough. Her face was a bit different now, slimmed slightly—more womanly. She’d grown into her face. The long hair was gone and her figure had definitely filled out perfectly.

  He supposed he had more sympathy for that young girl now than he’d had then. He’d been awful to her. It had been a game of conquer and vanquish, and she had had no skills whatsoever. As far as he’d been concerned, at the time, it had been her weakness, and the weak got dealt to.

  Speeches started and Alistair wished he’d had the foresight to sneak out for a quiet drink, but he had to sit through Rashida’s father prattle on about his precious little girl and how his dearest hopes had all come true. She’d done nothing in her life othe
r than shop, but her father was proud as he could be.

  For a moment, Alistair had to turn his thoughts to his own situation and how lost he felt at the moment. Everything he’d worked for, he’d torn down, and he couldn’t quite articulate what it was he was missing.

  The food was served, and he was hungry. Even Terence could eat now, sitting up the front, surveying his domain. Felix tended to skip the food for the most part, and was already on his way to getting hammered. He wasn’t going to last until the end as this reception was intended to go well into the night. Well, he would probably sleep it off and return downstairs when the sun was setting.

  Rashida’s family didn’t do the quick and curtained ceremony, reception meal and then out—done and dusted. This would be a protracted affair, the way the Middle Easterns tended to prefer it.

  “Let’s go have a smoke,” Alistair said when dessert was being served. He wasn’t much for sweet things. There was a cigar bar on the other side of the central courtyard and he wouldn’t mind relaxing there for a while. Their steps echoed off the high ceiling. This was a nice hotel. Italianate design, a favourite with many of the charities. His mother used to come here quite a bit. He vaguely remembered when it opened.

  “So who’s that girl you’ve been checking out all day?” Felix said and lit the cigar that was presented on a silver tray.

  “Some girl I knew when I was sixteen.” Alistair took his jacket off and sat in his white waistcoat. There was even a footstool and he appreciated it as he drew the acrid smoke into his lungs. “Her family lived here, but I don’t know if they still do.”

  “You interested in her?”

  “God no, just reminiscing, I guess.”

  “Ah, one of those girls.”

  Alistair smiled. “Yes, definitely.”

  “Apparently Terence is off to the Seychelles.”

  Alistair picked a piece of tobacco off his tongue. Even the idea of a honeymoon seemed fraught with pressure. He certainly couldn’t see himself standing at the altar next to Araminth. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

  “They’ve been dating for five years. I think there’s only so long you can hang out with a girl before her family starts expecting progress. Although, I think in this case, Rashida really wanted a wedding.”

  Chapter 20

  Seeing Alistair had confirmed Terese’s worst fears. Yep, he was here. Maybe part of her had suspected he would be. It didn’t make it any easier seeing him though. He was different—older and broader. Not so much a boy anymore, but it was definitely him. Dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a much sharper jaw than what she remembered.

  She’d felt a rush of nervous tension. Beyond a doubt, he’d seen her, but he wasn’t around now and she hoped he’d left—ideally bleeding in an ambulance. The fates could be kind and have him trip through a plate glass window.

  Pressing her fork down through the cake, she sighed. This was a divine concoction of glossy, dark chocolate, millimetre thick layers of hazelnut sponge and espresso. It was decorated with gold and looked like a piece of art. Flavour exploded in her mouth, no doubt a week’s worth of calories.

  “Try the tarts; they’re gorgeous,” Parmi said with worship in her voice.

  “I’m sure absolutely all of them are gorgeous.” A plate had been placed on the table with every kind of dessert anyone could want, created by some Viennese pastry master.

  Parmi took a sip of her coffee and put the cup down on the plate. “I see he’s here. I’m sorry. I should have known.”

  “It’s Terence’s wedding. Of course he was going to be here. You’re not responsible for keeping him away.”

  “I know. It must just be awkward for you, though. Saying that; the years have hardly been unkind. Those eyes could just melt you.”

  That had always been the problem: Alistair had been drool-worthy even back then, which was probably why she’d fallen so easily into his trap. How stupid she’d been. And now here he was. Dressed formally, his hair casually side parted. Looking hot and arrogant. If she’d hoped he’d grow out of his attractiveness, she’d been mistaken. He still was that guy who could do whatever he wanted—could get away with anything. Some things never changed.

  “Can you imagine if you’d married Terence? Wouldn’t that be awkward? Terese and Terence?”

  Terese would have thought it would have been awkward because Terence and Alistair were friends, but Parmi’s mind sometimes ran to the truly superficial. “Couldn’t have that. All Terences are automatically out of the running.”

  “Rashida said they were off to the Seychelles. I have to admit: I’m downright jealous. And yes, we are sitting in the back like the single losers,” Parmi said sulkily.

  “There is nothing wrong with being single,” Terese said.

  Parmi gave her an unconvinced look, while Terese knew Parmi was mostly sore over the fact that she didn’t have a date. She’d always been jealous of Rashida, who seemed to get everything she wanted. Rashida always had better things, better contacts, better parties—now a splendid wedding. As hard as Parmi might try, she could never compete with Rashida—simply outclassed at every turn.

  In a way, they were both damaged. Parmi, by Rashida, who had no idea, and she, by fucking Alistair Cartright, who, in a similar vein, could not be beaten. He rose to the top whatever he did. People just didn’t see that he was utter shit.

  No, she told herself, it was time to let things go. She’d more or less let go of the bitterness a while back. It had just resurfaced the moment she’d boarded a plane back here. And here he was, in splendid colour. If only Rashida would have married Alistair, their inherent superiority would have been complete.

  I have to get out of Marbella, Terese told herself, running her hands over her eyes, forgetting the makeup, which came off as shimmery stripes on her fingers. Bugger.

  “Are you going to dance?” Parmi asked.

  Terese hadn’t thought about it. Dancing wasn’t usually part of her life, so she shrugged. “Maybe? Do you want to?”

  “Only if we get drunk.”

  Terese smiled. “Why the hell not? This wedding isn’t exactly fun sober, is it?” And really, did she care if she made an utter prick of herself? Yes, was the secret answer, but she was too strong now to give in to her securities. “What should we drink?”

  “I’m always partial to a bit of tequila,” Parmi said, smiling. “Let’s find a bar.”

  The wedding improved significantly. People were dressed like jewels and vaguely familiar faces passed by her. Smiling, she waved with her fingers as Parmi was pulling her by the hand to the dance floor. Terese had no idea what time it was, but she didn’t care. There was dancing to be done. Maybe it was worth ditching the heels, but she’d see how she went.

  And there was this fabulous Mui Mui dress to show off. Not a single person here had on anything that came remotely close to being truly cool. It was the thing that highlighted her as different from them, and right now, she was happy to revel in the fact that she had surpassed.

  Parmi didn’t quite get it. As far as she was concerned, Terese had been off in the wilderness somewhere, dealing with heathens, away from the safe, cosseted world in Marbella. Well, this place hadn’t been safe; she’d gotten severely injured, but she was so much stronger now.

  “Hey,” a guy said just off her shoulder and Terese turned, her eyes widening at seeing fucking Alistair standing there. She looked down his body to the shiny, black shoes. This was the dance floor and he wasn’t dancing.

  “What do you want?” she said, taking stock of how damned drunk she was. What the hell was he doing? She might even be seeing two of him. It was strange seeing him so close up. Why did he have to be so damned pretty? Mr. Perfect Boy. Alright, fine, he wasn’t exactly a boy now. He was just as tall as her with heels.

  “I just thought I’d apologize for being a bit of an arsehole all those years ago.”

  Terese stopped dancing and only stared at him. Was that it? ‘Hey, by the way, sorry. I totally ripped your lif
e apart; feel a bit shit about it.’ Actually, he didn’t look like he felt too shit about it. Was he checking her out? Could she utterly deny it? Would she seem even more stupid if she pretended she hadn’t noticed he’d been an utter, stinking cock to her?

  “Between you and your conscience, mate.” She stepped a little closer. “I hope you got better, though, ‘cause you were utter shit in bed.” She looked down his body as if she doubted it, then with a shrug and widened eyes to prove her point, she took a sip of the drink she hadn’t remembered she’s been holding and turned her back on him. Oh, and she had a cigarette in the other hand. She didn’t even smoke. Ah, screw it. She’d just faced down her teenage nemesis, she deserved a bit of carcinogenic rebelliousness.

  Chapter 21

  The heat was building up quickly, and Cheryl hurriedly planted the bougainvillea bushes she’d bought from a decrepit looking garden shop. The plants looked healthy, however, so she bought five of them. She loved the bright colour of the flowers and they signified the hot, sunny Mediterranean more than anything else she knew.

  Apparently the purples ones were very aggressive, the shop-keeper had said, or so Cheryl had understood. Her Spanish was still unreliable.

  A dark car pulled up—a very shiny car with sleek lines. No one she knew drove a car like that. No one she knew could afford a car like that. A dark-haired man with a similarly sleek suit stepped out.

  Her insides plummeted when she saw Dominic Dunbury close the door and look towards her. And he’d just turned up at her house. How the hell did he know where she lived? Surely no one at the salon would be careless enough to give out her home address. Then again, she could well imagine Natalie falling over herself to do anything Dominic Dunbury wanted.