Mad Love 2

by Colet Abedi

  I try not to look surprised.

  “Have you ever?” Erik says dramatically.

  Umm, no.

  “A toast to my girl,” Georgie says loudly as he stares at Abby with love. “I only want the best for you.”

  “To a lifetime of happiness with Dimitri,” Erik adds.

  Georgie gives Erik a strange look but we all toast. The champagne tastes great and loosens up the mood. Everyone starts to talk to each other so I look up at Clayton, trying to gauge his mood but I can’t read him.

  “Is your brother here?” I ask him softly.

  “He said he’d be late, but he should be arriving any minute.” His answer is abrupt, like he doesn’t want to engage in conversation with me.

  I look at the crowd on the dance floor and feel the energy pulsate through my body. One thing’s for sure, Georgie definitely knows how to throw a party.

  I look at Clayton again. He’s busy scanning the crowd, completely ignoring me. His body language screams that he’s angry about something. With me. I place my hand on his arm and feel his muscles clench from my touch.

  “Is there something wrong?” I ask him.

  “Why would there be?” His voice is cold, his jaw rigid with tension. I feel my heartbeat flutter; even riled up, he’s hot.

  But something is definitely wrong.

  Even though the music is blaring the silence between us is palpable. Shit.

  “Clayton,” I say in a calm voice, “talk to me.”

  He looks down at me for a long second then takes my hand and walks me over to a set of empty couches so we can have some privacy, even though we have to speak loudly to hear each other over the music.

  “You’re not fucking anyone but me,” he says crudely, his eyes ablaze with fury.

  My jaw drops. He definitely heard what Erik said.

  “Erik was just being a friend,” I tell him.

  “Turning you into a whore is being a friend?” His voice cuts.

  Excuse me?

  “I don’t appreciate that word or your tone.” I’m pissed now too. What the hell?

  He leans down toward me, his fury flagrantly apparent.

  “I don’t give a damn if you appreciate my tone or not. If you think I will ever let anyone touch you, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “I don’t belong to you, Clayton.”

  Clayton’s smile is cold as his eyes move over me.

  “Want to bet on that sweetheart?”

  How did this night suddenly take a turn for the worst? I try to get a grip and act rational even though he’s radiating anger and towering over me, doing his best to intimidate me, and let’s be honest, it’s kind of working. And then I get mad at myself for allowing him to make me feel this way.

  “Look,” I unleash on him, “he was trying to help me get over you. I was a goddamn wreck when I got back from the Maldives. And that’s because of you and Amelia. You want to know the truth? The truth is that I felt betrayed and lied to and my heart was broken. What do you expect? Did you think my friend would want me to pine after you forever? He wanted me to move on.”

  Clayton is clenching his jaw so tight it starts to tick.

  “You have absolutely no right to be pissed at me right now,” I go on as my pent up anger boils over . “And PS Clayton, nothing fucking happened. He brought that dress for a situation that could never happen because you manipulated us into coming here! So I don’t know what your problem is, but I suggest you get over it quickly.”

  I’m practically shaking with rage now and I know, I just know, that people are probably staring at us. It’s completely obvious that we’re fighting. And I know how much Clayton hates to make a scene. Well, tough, he started it.

  I boldly meet his gaze and almost step back in fear. The wolf that is Clayton smells blood and I’m thinking from the look on his face wants to attack me. He leans in nice and close, his face right up in mine.

  “You suggest?” he hisses into my ear with enough heat to burn Georgie’s house down.

  Oh shit.

  “What I suggest, Sophie,” he continues in that awful voice, “is that you listen very carefully. If I hear Amelia’s name uttered one more time from your pretty little lips, I promise you will not appreciate the consequences.”

  If possible, he leans in still further. “And if you so much as even look at another man, as Erik so unashamedly wanted you to do, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  How could I ever look at another man? Is he insane?

  Clearly.

  “I’m done with this conversation,” I grit out and step away from him, trying to give the two of us space to breathe.

  My movement fuels him even more and I watch him take a dangerous step toward me, but before he can grab hold of me again, Michael Sinclair magically appears and steps in between us.

  “Clayton,” Michael says with a warning as he grabs his brother’s arm. “I found you.”

  Brave man. But then they are practically the same height. With the same wolf eyes. And probably the same kind of temper to match.

  “Sophie,” Michael says smiling at me, “you look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I reply as I keep my eyes on his brother.

  Michael looks at the two of us then pins his gaze on his brother.

  “Let’s have a cigar outside,” he suggests in a low, warning voice.

  Clayton’s eyes blaze and I don’t think he’s going to listen to his brother but then after a second he nods curtly and follows him out.

  I watch them walk away and disappear into the crowd.

  Well, so much for my romantic evening.

  7

  “What the fuck just happened?” Orie asks me in concern as he rushes over to me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him stubbornly.

  “I totally respect that but you realize you still have to tell me.”

  I almost smile.

  “I will later. I promise. I need to digest it first,” I say, then look over to where Abby and her fiancé are seated. At least they’re pretending like nothing happened. To be honest, I’m sure Dimitri hasn’t even looked up from his game of Angry Birds.

  “Where’s Erik?” I ask.

  “He went to concoct his favorite shots with Georgie,” Orie tells me. “He’s having them brought over to us.”

  “Cool,” I nod, then take Orie’s glass of champagne from him. He watches as I down the entire thing. Maybe not the smartest move considering I’ve just had a shot, and I finished my own glass of champagne, and I haven’t eaten anything since lunch with Clayton.

  “You go, girl,” Orie smiles. “Just don’t throw up. You look too pretty to vomit into a toilet tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a smile.

  The alcohol is starting to work its beautiful magic and everything feels warm and nice again. A temporary Band-Aid I know, but I’ll take it.

  “I’m going to go and freshen up in the ladies’ room,” I tell Orie.

  “Want me to walk you? Do you even know where it is?”

  “No, but I’ll be fine,” I tell him, because I want to be alone. “You stay here and man the fort, maybe try and figure out Dimitri’s deal—”

  “Oh, thank God you said it first! We have so much to talk about regarding the bride-to-be. I’m so confused,” Orie rushes out.

  “Me, too,” I agree. “Please don’t have any of those conversations with Erik without me. I need to be part of everything. I promise I won’t be long.”

  Orie leans down and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Remember, fighting always leads to amazing make-up sex.”

  I wonder.

  “We’ll see,” I say as I clutch my small purse and move through the maze of people. At least everyone else seems to be having a ball. I walk out of the dance room and wander down one of the long corridors searching for a bathroom. I get lucky and spot some girls standing in a line.


  I figure this has to be it and just smile politely and wait my turn. And then my night gets even more interesting.

  “Did you see Michael and Clayton Sinclair? I passed them as they were walking toward the balcony,” one of the girls says in a hushed drunken voice. I’m instantly on high alert. “God, they’re gorgeous.”

  The three giggle together and I’m so annoyed. The woman who spoke sounds blitzed and dumb.

  Okay, maybe it’s not really fair to call her dumb. But still. Kind of.

  “I shagged Clayton a few years back. He’s the best I’ve ever had,” the other woman says to my complete and utter horror.

  I feel my hands ball into little fists by my side and I try to take a deep breath. She slept with my Clayton? Motherfucker!

  “What I would give,” her friend sighs with longing, “when he looks at you with those eyes of his. And his hands. Have you ever seen such great hands? I can only imagine what he did to you with them. Please tell me everything so I can live vicariously through you.”

  The one who apparently slept with him whispers something that I can’t decipher and probably don’t want to know, and it sends them into a fit of laughter. I’m so filled with possessive rage that I have to look down and take in a deep breath. So what if she shagged him, right? Obviously he’s shagged a lot of women, hence his wonderful nickname, “the wolf,” but to be faced with it—to be standing next to someone … My insides start to burn with jealousy. I become a wild, feral version of myself and I can completely picture myself taking my shoe off and hitting them over the head with it.

  What is wrong with you?

  Thankfully the door opens and I’m surprised to see all of them rush into the bathroom together, obviously the confined space doesn’t bother them.

  I’m sick with jealousy. Irrational, ugly, green jealousy. Clayton slept with that woman. She knows just how damn fucking perfect he is. She felt his hands on her body, she felt those kisses. I feel nauseated and I want to throw up.

  I hate him.

  I want to smack him with my shoe.

  I don’t, really. Okay, maybe kind of. But now I definitely want to wring his handsome neck and scream bloody murder at him. Now I definitely have something to fight with him about—

  “Hello gorgeous,” I hear as I feel a slimy finger move down my bare arm and I jump away from the touch.

  Yuck. It’s Davis.

  “Having fun?” His voice is slurry and reeks of alcohol.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say uncomfortably as I step further away from his gross touch.

  He’s the last person I want to talk to.

  “Why are you standing here in the hallway all alone?” He moves closer to me, crowding my space.

  I look down the corridor and even though the ghosts of Clayton’s past are inside the bathroom I feel very alone. The hall that I walked down seems dark now and the party suddenly feels miles away.

  “I was just going to find my friends,” I tell him because I really don’t want to be in his company anymore.

  “Find my friends,” he mimics my American accent. Fucker. I notice how bloodshot his eyes are and I wonder how much he’s had to drink.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, trying to move past him.

  “Why are you running away, little rabbit?” Davis sneers as he grabs hold of my arm and pulls me close to his alcohol-infused breath. “I’ve only just started to play.”

  “Please let me go,” I tell him as fear slowly begins to takeover and I try to move away.

  “I like it when my little rabbits are scared,” Davis says as he takes his other hand and yanks on my ponytail. “You don’t think we just hired you to paint? The girls he hires are always very talented in many areas. Don’t you worry, if you’re nice I’ll make sure my future brother-in-law gives you a big fat bonus. He’s good for it.”

  I think I’m going to be sick. I’m beyond frightened and I’m pretty sure this delusional asshole thinks he can have his way with me. I try and twist out of his grip but he’s strong.

  “Let me go!” I tell him forcefully as I try to break free.

  “I like a girl with fire. It’s so much more fun,” he says as he tries to put his gross lips on mine.

  I turn my face away from his and before I can really panic, I’m saved by the girls I hated minutes before. In that moment I forgive them for fantasizing about, even for sleeping with Clayton. I just love them. They throw open the bathroom door and rush out in a torrent of drunken laughter, taking Davis off guard and giving me ample time to pull out his grip and rush down the hall toward the party.

  I think I hear him laugh.

  I can’t believe how scared I am. No one. No one has ever made me feel so uncomfortable in my life. I know I need to get a grip and calm down but I also know he wasn’t joking around. He’s some seriously fucked-up guy. And I would be happy never to see him again. I push my way into the crowd, shoving past a million different faceless people, looking for someone, anyone familiar.

  When I feel a hand on my waist, I practically scream out in fear, thinking it’s the hideous Davis chasing after me.

  But the hand belongs to someone I know and am beginning to really like. Michael Sinclair.

  “Sophie, what’s wrong?” Michael looks over me in concern.

  My hands are trembling as they come up to grip his black lapel. He navigates through the crowd that’s crushing us and pulls me into a relatively empty corner.

  I lean into him and am so damn grateful that he grabbed hold of me.

  “Your cousin.” I begin shakily, then blurt out everything, telling him exactly what just happened. I know it’s probably not the right thing to do considering Davis is Abby’s brother and Michael’s blood relative, but I don’t care. Davis scared me and if he’s thinking it was some sick, perverted joke, he needs never to do it again. To me or to anyone else, for that matter. I can’t even meet Michael’s gaze when I finish the story.

  He’s dead silent so I finally gather the courage to look up at him and all I can think is, oh shit.

  He’s as scary as his brother.

  “What the hell is going on?” My favorite voice in the world interrupts us and pulls me right out of Michael’s arms and into his. And I can’t help it. I fall into them. I hear Michael speaking quickly to Clayton in French. I don’t know why he’s choosing to speak another language considering I know exactly what he must be saying, but at this point I don’t care. I feel Clayton’s body turn to stone. Every muscle tenses. He feels like a steel block. I’m clinging to him now and I realize he’s trying to push away from me.

  He wants to kill Davis. I’m pretty sure of it.

  I look at his face and I’m guessing that telling the Sinclair brothers was maybe a big mistake. However furious Michael was, I think I can multiply it by a million. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Clayton like this. He looks down at what I’m sure is my pale and frightened face in pure rage.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  Oh my God. I shake my head.

  “No!” I rush out. “You can’t! He’s your cousin. He was drunk—”

  Clayton grabs my hands and starts to push me toward Michael.

  “Do not leave my brother’s side,” he commands.

  But I still try to cling to him like a child.

  “Don’t do this!” I plead. “Please! This could be totally me! My fault! Maybe I overreacted.”

  Not really, but the last thing I want to do is see Abby’s party ruined because her cousin murdered her brother.

  “I am going to kill that son of bitch, Sophie,” Clayton says in a deadly voice.

  “You can’t!”

  The man is completely serious. I turn to Michael, who looks almost as grim. “Talk some sense into him.”

  “I think my brother has the right idea.” Michael pulls me out of Clayton’s grasp and holds me in a viselike grip, turns and motions to someone I can’t see, then escorts me down yet another cor
ridor in the castle toward a pair of antique double doors. He turns the gold knob and before I know it we’re inside some room that I can’t even take in because it happens so fast and Sergei has joined us.

  Sergei. Where the hell did he come from?

  “Sergei will wait with you until we return,” Michael commands.

  He walks out and leaves me alone with Sergei, who crosses his arms and moves in front of the doors.

  “Where did you come from?” I blurt out.

  “I always shadow Mr. Clayton Sinclair at these kind of events.”

  A bodyguard? Sergei is Clayton’s bodyguard?

  “I would like you to let me out,” I say in a stern voice and cross my arms, too. I didn’t realize how giant Sergei was. But now he looks damn near seven feet tall.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Walker, but that is an impossibility.”

  I have a feeling he means it.

  “If you’re his bodyguard shouldn’t you be with him, keeping him safe?”

  Sergei chooses not to answer this question.

  Of course.

  I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience and I suddenly want Erik and Orie. And my mom. Maybe not my mom, but my dad, definitely my dad. I open my purse and pull out my cell phone, so grateful that I brought it.

  “Please refrain from using your cell phone, Miss Walker.”

  I look at Sergei.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t want to have to take it away from you,” he tells me. “You cannot use it until Mr. Sinclair is back.”

  I have a feeling he is completely serious and I have a feeling that I really want to bash Clayton in the head. Why must he have a bodyguard who is just as obstinate as he is?

  “I just want to text my friends,” I tell him in a small voice.

  “You’ll have to wait.”

  Fuck that!

  I look at my phone and start to pull Erik’s number up but in less than a second Sergei is in front of me and has it in his hands.

  “I warned you, Miss Walker.”

  “This is crazy,” I tell him. “Let me out of here. At least let me go to my friends. I won’t move. I promise.”