“Just a San Pellegrino, please,” Terese said. Parmi smiled, but looked away as soon as Terese was done. “You okay?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, smiling brightly.
Something was off, but Terese couldn’t put her finger on it. “So what have you been up to?”
“Nothing. You know, this and that.” She shifted again.
“I tried calling you yesterday. Didn’t you get my message?”
“Yes, sorry,” Parmi said, looking more uncomfortable than sheepish. “I didn’t get around to answering. How are you?”
“Good. You know, getting on with it. Helped mum in the garden. I don’t know why she insists on having a gardener when she does everything herself.”
The last time they’d been together returned to Terese’s mind, how she’d confessed she’d given Alistair-fucking-Cartright the proverbial sucker punch. She’d been on such a high and they’d celebrated by drinking more. It had been a very long time since she’d been that drunk. It wasn’t usually a past-time she pursued, but it was the night for celebration—laying old dogs to rest and all that.
“Probably just for the heavy lifting,” Parmi said. She cleared her throat.
“You okay? You seem uncomfortable.”
Parmi finally looked her in the eyes. There was fear in there. “So here’s the thing.”
“Uh oh,” Terese said. She knew enough to know she was about to hear something she didn’t want to. A rush of air drifted past her, scented, and not a woman. A figure sat down in the chair next to Parmi and Terese turned her gaze to him, seeing that familiar dirty blond hair and intense, blue eyes. He wore a pale linen jacket and an off-white T-shirt underneath. Alistair, with the tiniest smirk, considered her.
“Am I late?” he asked casually and leaned back in the chair.
Terese’s mouth dropped open, her eyes turning to Parmi, who now actually looked sheepish, fully avoiding eye contact. It was like life had paused and they’d fallen into some alternate universe dream sequence from a movie. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, didn’t she tell you?” he said before Parmi could answer, not that she was looking close to. “We’re fucking.”
“What?”
“Recent development. Have you two ever?” he said, pointing between Parmi and her. “Because then everyone at this table have fucked. Incestuous little bunch, aren’t we? I’ll have a Black Russian,” he said to the waiter.
Terese’s mouth was still hanging opened and she turned her eyes to Parmi again, who was looking down at the table. Like Parmi, Terese didn’t know where to look; she didn’t know what to do. What the hell was going on? Parmi was seeing him? A recent development, he’d said. It must have been really recent, because they had definitely not been close and personal with each other at the wedding. How could she do this? Parmi knew more than anyone how much this guy had hurt her, and then she turned around and…
Heat rose up Terese’s whole body, made worse by the fact that she knew full well that he was watching her reaction. Had he done this on purpose, just to fuck with her? This was a bit low, even for him, wasn’t it? Then again, low was exactly how he’d acted before.
“Parmi?” The girl looked pained, but the expression melted away as Alistair put his hand on her forearm. Bastard, Terese thought. She knew Parmi had always wanted to be in with that group, and Alistair had come along and offered it, and God knows what else. This couldn’t be a coincidence. This was retribution for what she’d said at the wedding. That apology he’d rendered must have been super thin, because any slight and he obviously went in for the kill.
Terese didn’t know what to do. Her mouth had gone completely dry. “I hope you’ll be very happy together. I think I might go. I’ve lost my appetite.”
Parmi looked close to tears, but Alistair was smiling. “Bye, then,” he said.
Everything felt utterly surreal as she rose and walked to the entrance. Absently, she pulled some notes out of her wallet and handed them to the valet to retrieve her car.
What in the world had just happened? They were still in there. What did they have to say to each other? Were they talking about her? They had to be. Not for a minute could she see Alistair being interested in Parmi. This way payback and stripping her friend away from her had been ridiculously easy.
At the arrival of her mum’s car, she wondered if she should drive directly to the airport. All she wanted was to be away from there, exactly like it had been last time. Her parents would be distraught, but she didn’t have her passport, so she drove home.
Chapter 28
Paul’s dinner with Alice had been lovely. He’d picked her up and they’d gone to a restaurant. There had been too much prattling about his divorce, but Alice had listened with her chin resting on the back of her hand, patiently letting him talk. She was so easy to talk to. Her family was from Surrey and they had a nice house in quite a rural setting. Ponies had been her life, a staunch member of the pony club throughout her childhood. They’d even been at Oxford roughly at the same time, although she had been a few years younger.
At one point, he’d even wondered how his life would have been different if he’d met her then. He could even have bumped into her at some point and not realised it was the woman he would eventually ask on a date.
Lying on the sofa, Paul rested his hands on his abdomen and just relaxed. For once, he felt like doing nothing at all, still holding on to the warm afterglow of a date that had surpassed his expectations. Nothing had happened. Women like Alice took things slowly and he was happy with that, but the date had gone well. They’d gotten on well.
“Hey,” Rosalie said, coming down the stairs. “We’re thinking of taking the boat out next weekend. You should come. Been a while since we’ve been out at sea.”
Paul made a considering expression. Going out on the yacht might be nice. He could bring Alice. A second date cruising around the Mediterranean wasn’t bad, was it?
“I have to go. You alright? You seem a bit lethargic.”
“I’m just in the mood to take it easy.”
“How’d your date go, by the way?” Rosalie said as she finished packing her bag. She was about to head over to Alexi’s place and had picked up yet more things to cart over there. She was moving in incrementally. Nothing overtly stated, just steadily shifting things from their house to Alexi’s apartment.
“It was good,” he said almost noncommittally. He wasn’t going to go on about it. Rosalie would start interfering if he did, would probably start planning his wedding to boot. “Nice enough night.”
“Okay, good. I better go. Are you going to come to dinner tonight?”
“I’ll come over at sunset.”
“Alright, I better rush. Eat something.”
The door shut behind her and her car engine roared to life outside, before she drove away, leaving the house silent. Taking a deep breath, his thoughts returned to Alice. He would definitely invite her. Just as he was about to call, his phone started ringing. Wouldn’t it be weird if it was her? It was a number he didn’t know, which could be hers as he hadn’t recorded her details yet. It was all too new for that. A second date deserved a contact profile, though.
“Hello, darling.” It wasn’t Alice; instead, it was Cheyenne’s the slightly off accent.
Paul sat up. “Cheyenne. I wasn’t aware you had my number.”
“You should hardly act surprised, considering we know each other so intimately.” Not intimately enough that she had a contact profile. For some reason, he didn’t want a contact profile for her. “There’s this little rumour going around town, which you can imagine is quite embarrassing considering how well we know each other now. They say you’ve been spotted around town going on dates with all sorts of women.”
“I… ” Paul started.
“You don’t want to get a reputation, do you?” she said. “It would affect the prospects of the business school. Bad boy,” she said chidingly. “I think my feelings are hurt.”
“It was never m
y intention to hurt any feelings,” Paul stammered. His mind was racing—guilt filled him, but he wasn’t sure why. Yes, he had slept with this woman, and maybe it was a bit uncouth going on a date with another woman in practically the same week, but had they made any kind of commitment? It sounded awful saying it, because he sounded like every lout around, professing no commitment was made. Sleeping with someone kind of came with an inherent commitment, even if it was one he didn’t want to make. “Uh, I think perhaps—”
“Never mind, we will overlook this indiscretion.”
“I think we are perhaps too different to concluded there is anything of any permanence between us,” he finally got out. “As utterly stunning as you are, and as honoured as I was by the attention—”
“Of course you were, darling. It is understandable. My station intimidates you; it is completely understandable, but as I’ve said before, you shouldn’t undersell yourself. But you will never prosper by not striving for bigger and better things.” It almost sounded like she was speaking on auto-pilot. “I’m just saying that you need to be wary of your reputation. Being seen with all and sundry is going to do you harm. I’m just calling because I’ve heard the talk. Oh, I have to go. I’ll give you a call in a few days. Alright? Adore you.”
“But… ” Paul didn’t get a word in before she’d hung up. He wanted to firmly let her know that he wasn’t in any way tying himself to her. Equally, he felt like a shit for sleeping with her and then having no intentions of at least considering where they could go, but with Cheyenne, it was too outlandish to even think about.
He hadn’t asked for any of this. Being with Cheyenne was never going to be an option, and what did he care about his reputation amongst the vacant and cossetted women of Marbella? It only showed how little Cheyenne understood him. As far as he could see, Cheyenne was the flightiest thing he’d ever met and he had no intention of spending time with her again.
That whole thing could in some ways be described as unfortunate. Maybe the decent thing was to make a blatant choice and he was firmly choosing Alice. The other option wasn’t even in consideration. As he’d just said, in no uncertain terms, he didn’t think there was any commonality, and hence, no future between him and Cheyenne. The lack of communication between them would have to solidify that. He knew her number now and would not be answering again.
Chapter 29
A warm breeze was blowing through Dominic’s home office, rustling the dark green stems of the plants outside. Paper blueprints were spread across his entire desk and he leaned back and stared out across the gardens.
There was a rustling outside and Felix appeared, as per usual, looking worse for wear.
“You look like shit, Felix,” Dominic said with a sigh as his son slouched down in the sofa.
“I actually feel worse.”
Lecturing his son had absolutely no effect whatsoever. The boy had every advantage in the world and chose to use it for the sole purpose of pouting. He’d never be accused of being a good parent. In truth, their mother had done most of the parenting, and leaving it to her might have been a strategic mistake.
Dominic knew Felix suffered from Quentin’s absence, who had firmly chosen to grow up. He hoped that the return of Alistair Cartright might be a good influence in the same direction, but it seemed to take little effect. Sooner or later, Felix would come to realise it wasn’t fun being the only person left at the party. Granted, some of the kids around here never evolved, but for all his stupid behaviour, Felix was too smart not to see which way the wind was blowing.
“Is that the new office?”
“It is the new drawings the architects have sent over.”
Felix moved over to the desk and leaned over the drawings. “It looks impressive.” He kept on studying the large paper. Dominic wondered whether there was some enticement he could offer his son to do something to change his life. Then again, he’d been just as headstrong at that age. His determination had known no limitations, as did Felix’s, but towards the intention of doing nothing at all. Perhaps each generation rebelled against the one previously.
“What’s that?” Felix said, pointing at the one part of the drawing that sat there like a sore thumb.
“It’s a salon.”
“A salon?” Felix repeated incredulously. “Why the fuck is there a salon on this drawing? It breaks up the whole façade.”
“It breaks up a corner of a façade.”
“It’s like a giant fucking pimple.”
“The tenant has a contract to stay on the premises.”
“So? Since when does that mean anything?” Sometimes, Dominic was surprised how ruthless Felix was under his own façade of not caring about anything. “Get rid of it.”
Dominic pursed his lips and looked down at the blueprints. He should. It made no sense whatsoever. Taking care of it was as simple as bulldozing it and paying reparations after. The Spanish administration had been as blunt as to mention it as the best course of action, but Dominic had, for some reason, stopped Arnie from going ahead with it. Instead, he’d asked what the architects could do to work around it. The end results were not exactly ideal.
“Come have lunch,” Dominic said and stood. For all Felix’s rebelliousness, he still wanted to spend time with his father. They walked to the table out on the patio, where Felix sat slouchingly, looking out at the pool. “How is Alistair?”
Felix looked back at him, something unreadable in his eyes. “He’s a mess, actually,” he said. Dominic raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”
“I thought he was settled as a trader,” Dominic said with confusion. The Cartright boys had probably spent more time in this house than Dominic himself had. It was worrying to hear one of them was floundering.
“He chucked it all in.”
“And what is he going to do now?”
Felix shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think he knows how to pull his pants up in the morning.”
“Well, if there’s anyone who knows about that, it’s you.”
“Touché. No, I am quite purposefully purposeless. Alistair doesn’t know which way is up. I suspect we haven’t seen the worst of it.”
Felix actually looked worried. It was a credit to him that he cared about his friends. “I suppose you will have to keep an eye on him, ensure he comes to no serious harm.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Do you think it will help if I have a talk to him?”
“I don’t think so.”
It was good that Felix could read people; it would serve him well, whenever he decided to finally leave his extended youth behind.
“Who the fuck is Baronessa Vennhagen?” Felix uttered.
“Are you familiar with that model named Cheyenne?”
“The one who used to cling to Alexi Sumneroff?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I got invited to some party she’s throwing. There’s a similar invitation for you. It’s in the hall.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Dominic said absently. Caring for social invitations was never something that had occurred to him, although he could well imagine what insanely extravagant bash this woman was throwing. She had that mad gleam in her eye of someone enacting plans. Undoubtedly beautiful, but there was a purpose for everything that woman did. He’d seen her like before. There was even a small measure of that ambition that he respected.
“Now about this salon,” Felix said.
“Don’t worry about the salon. I’ll take care of it.”
Felix watched him, that look of suspicion never leaving his face until the pasta arrived, placed down in front of them—creamy with salty capers. Dominic didn’t feel particularly hungry, but he picked away. It was nice when they ate together. He’d missed out on so many meals with his children as they were growing up. He did regret that now.
His thoughts turned Miss Water’s boisterous boys fighting in the kitchen of her house, with all the intention in the world to overcome the o
ther. There was something so very honest in that sibling rivalry. It reminded him of his childhood and his own brother he hadn’t spoken to in years.
Chapter 30
Sticking it to Terese had been a whole opera of ‘How’d you like me now?’ It had been utterly brilliant. She’d literally been dumbstruck. Parmi had been both mortified and not. Girls always seemed to have a desire to slam their best friends. Maybe not all of them, but some did, particularly in relationships that were uneven.
It had all been executed perfectly. Was Alistair proud of his behaviour? Well, he probably wouldn’t go that far, but the instinct to go for the kill was still there. Lately, he’d used it in trading, but that wasn’t where he was now, and Terese had stuck herself out as a target.
No doubt, she’d run back to wherever she’d been hiding. Berlin, Parmi had told him. Apparently, she was some high flying exec in marketing. He could almost hear the bitterness in Parmi’s voice—the one left behind in Terese’s eagerness to shed her past.
At least, Parmi had the sense not to make an utter nuisance of herself. He did appreciate that. He had no issue with her, and he wasn’t really one to torture girl—or rather, he’d grown out of the habit quite some time ago—apparently, with one exception.
He wasn’t exactly sure what it was about Terese that made him react so harshly—no, actually, he did know: she thought she was better. She looked down on everyone around her. If that was how you were going to play it, you had to have the balls to back it up.
Was she back in Berlin yet, licking her wounds? Had she run like a scared little rabbit? He hoped so, because, again, he wasn’t exactly proud of his behaviour, even though he felt it had been necessary.
“Hello, sweetie,” his mother said, calling from the entrance hall. He hadn’t known she was coming, and rose from the sofa overlooking the garden and sea. In bare feet, wearing only jeans, he padded over and let his mum do the hugs and kisses she apparently needed to. “How long have you been here?”
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