Mad Love 2

by Colet Abedi

  “Did I already tell you that I plan to be the runaway bride on my wedding day?” she asks me with some trepidation.

  I stop in my tracks and face her.

  “No, you did not.”

  Abby’s face is solemn as she nods.

  “Since I’m too ashamed to call it off now while everyone is here having a nice time, I thought that if I just leave on the day of the wedding the drama of it will be all that anyone talks about for a long while. And maybe it will lessen the blow to Dimitri.”

  Not really, but I don’t know if I should tell her that. There’s so much more I feel like I have to address first. Like ditching the groom at the altar. And I think I’m dramatic.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Abby rushes out. “I do. But you’re wrong. Trust me. These people, this is the only way I can back out gracefully—”

  “Gracefully?” I’m shocked she’s chosen this adjective.

  “Well, somewhat,” Abby blushes. “But this is the only way I can get out of here. Dimitri will force me to stay and marry him if I try to discuss my unhappiness with him. He knows, Sophie. He knows that I don’t love him and he doesn’t care. He just wants me to be the perfect wife and attend society functions and be on the board of various charities, just like all the other wives. He doesn’t love me either.”

  This wedding is sounding more and more like an episode of Downton Abbey.

  “What about your mom and dad?” I ask her.

  “What about them?” Abby looks angry. “Remember, my mum is the one who got me in this situation in the first place. And that pig of a stepbrother I have gets away with murder and stands to inherit everything. All they have done since the day I turned eighteen was talk about marriage. They just want to get rid of me. I guess I must cost too much.”

  I know she’s told me this before, but still I’m totally speechless.

  I feel sorry for her. Because I know firsthand that her stepbrother is really a pig. Her parents must be blind, deaf, and dumb not to see it. I understand that there is a hierarchy in the system but how can they not leave something for their daughter?

  “Have you really thought it all through?” I ask her with concern.

  “Yes,” Abby says emphatically.

  “What will you do for money?”

  She pauses for a moment.

  “I’m going to get a job,” she tells me, sounding extremely unsure. “Or, I don’t know… join the United Nations Peace Keeping Operations.”

  I almost laugh. I don’t think Abby really knows what that entails and I’m loathe to be the one to break the news to her. I turn and start walking again and Abby slowly follows. I’m sure she’s probably half surprised that I haven’t tried to convince her not to do it. And I’m surprised that she hasn’t asked for my help, and Erik and Orie’s, for that matter, to plan her escape. Which, by the way, I would totally do for her. And I’d bet money that Erik and Orie would think it was fun.

  But there’s one other question that I have to ask her, even though it’s probably not my place to do so.

  “And what about Michael?”

  I hear Abby’s footsteps falter.

  “What about him?” she almost whispers.

  I wait for her to catch up to me, then I say, “You’re in love with him.”

  Abby’s face turns bright red. “Did I admit that to you, too?”

  “Kind of, but then you really didn’t have to because I could see it all over your face when he walked in the room yesterday,” I say gently. “It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Abby hugs her arms around her waist and looks at the sky.

  “He’s never given me the time of day,” she says. “He thinks that because we’re family by marriage it means we’re blood related. And I know he thinks I’m just a toff.”

  I wince. I’ve heard the phrase before and I know it’s a derogatory way to refer to the British upper class. Considering Michael comes from the same background, I don’t think he would use the label.

  “I doubt that,” I say.

  “You don’t know him,” Abby says. “He hates being back home now. His life is so different. He’s out trying to make a difference and he’s quick to judge. Or, at least, judge me.”

  “Maybe that’s just you judging you?” I ask her.

  “No,” she shakes her head. “I know.”

  I choose not to argue with her because I know it will be in vain. She’s not in a place where she can listen to reason.

  “So what do you want to do about your portrait?” I ask her.

  “I’m definitely not sitting for anything,” she says adamantly. “We’ll just pretend that we are and if you could be so kind as to make sure Dimitri stays out of that room that would be wonderful. Not that you have anything to worry about because the last thing he will ever do is pretend that he’s interested in something that relates to me.”

  “And Erik?”

  “I’ll take the wardrobe he bought and all his choices. He and his boyfriend, Orie, are wonderful to be around.”

  It seems so wrong to continue staying there as if everything is happening as planned when I now know it’s not. But there’s one thing for sure.

  “I will reimburse you the five thousand advance,” I tell her.

  “Absolutely not!” Abby says vehemently. “You will not do any such thing.”

  “I can’t take money for something I’m not doing,” I argue.

  “It’s for your time. Flying out here to be—”

  “In paradise?” I finish her sentence with a knowing smile.

  Abby actually laughs.

  “Well, yes. But anyway, Dimitri paid for it, and I don’t want him ever to know that you knew what was going to happen. Just think of this as a paid vacation that will have one extraordinary end,” Abby says, trying to sound upbeat.

  “I can’t do that,” I shake my head. “It’s wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong,” Abby says firmly. “Please. Just don’t argue with me about this.”

  I nod in agreement but there’s no way I will take all the money.

  We’re so immersed in our thoughts that we don’t immediately feel the light raindrops that quickly become pouring rain.

  “Oh, my God!” Abby shrieks as we look up at the gray sky and the clouds that seemed to come from nowhere.

  We turn around and start down the hilly path, laughing at the absurdity of being caught out in the storm. Abby has a head start on me so I hurry to catch up, which leads me to slide on the mud and trip head first down the small slope. I’m too horrified by my clumsiness to notice the mud that is now plastered all over me, face included.

  “Are you okay?” Abby says as she runs over to me and leans down to help me out of the gooey muck.

  “Holy cow!” I say as I try to stand up. Then the absurdity kicks in and we both burst out laughing. I slip around a bit as I try to stand.

  “Let me help you!” Abby says with a shriek of merriment.

  “No!” I shake my head. “You’ll just end up covered in mud like me!”

  “You are covered, Sophie!” She says hysterically. “I’m sorry, but this is the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages!”

  Abby’s crying, she’s laughing so hard.

  “I’m glad I could make you feel better,” I tell her with a giggle .

  In our suddenly high spirits we don’t feel the cold or mind the rain on the way back to the chateau. We walk through the courtyard and find cover and are no longer being pelted by rain.

  “I don’t want to get mud everywhere!” I tell Abby as we head up to the main entrance.

  “Nonsense. Just take off your boots and I’ll get you a towel,” she says as she looks me over. I’m sure my appearance can’t be pretty. “You’ll get pneumonia if you stand outside any longer.”

  And then the unthinkable happens. The double doors open and Clayton is standing there with two people I can only assume are his parents, because he resem
bles both of them in different ways.

  And oh how I want the earth to swallow me whole.

  Clayton’s mouth drops when he sees me, soaking wet and covered in filth . He pulls me inside quickly and Abby follows.

  “You’re going to catch a cold!” I can hear the worry in his voice. And I like it.

  “It is so nice to see you, Aunt Rosalind,” I hear Abigail say, confirming my worst nightmare. Not only is she Clayton’s mom, but she is in Chanel from head to toe, literally. And here I am, head to toe in mud. The irony is not lost on me.

  “And you, Uncle Harry.”

  Clayton’s father is a silver-haired version of Michael. Wolf eyes and all. His mom is an elegant brunette who must have been stunning back in the day, considering she is still quite beautiful.

  “Abigail, you are positively drenched!” Clayton’s father scolds her. “What were you thinking being out in such weather?”

  “We weren’t really paying attention,” Abby smiles, then looks over at me with wide eyes. I’m sure she feels sorry for me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go run a hot bath. I will see you later, Sophie.”

  And she leaves me.

  Then Clayton says to my and I’m sure his parents complete and utter shock, “Mother, father allow me to introduce you to my girlfriend, Sophie Walker.”

  They cover their looks of horror quickly.

  “A pleasure,” his father says politely, masking any judgment he might have made already.

  “So nice to meet you,” I say with an embarrassed smile. “I took a pretty bad fall in the mud.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t hurt yourself,” Mr. Sinclair says with a pleasant smile.

  His mom is way more aloof and much more repelled. “She’s going to track the mud through the house,” is all she can manage. My back stiffens. She hasn’t even acknowledged me.

  “No, she won’t,” Clayton answers evenly.

  Before I know what’s what, he leans over, picks me up, and cradles me in his arms.

  “Clayton no!” I protest, but it’s to no avail. In two seconds the mud from my clothes is smeared all over his grey cashmere sweater and jeans.

  “I insist, milady.” He gives me a wolfish grin.

  I blush under the intensity of his gaze.

  “Mother, father, now if you’ll excuse us.”

  I glance at his mother with an embarrassed look on my face. I can’t help but notice that she’s still not said a proper hello to me.

  “It was nice meeting you,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.

  Rosalind Sinclair looks at me like I’ve grown two horns.

  “A pleasure,” she finally manages.

  So much for making a good first impression.

  “Clayton, we’d love to have you, Michael, and Sophie, of course, join us for lunch,” his father says formally. “That is, if you’re free.”

  I feel Clayton’s muscles tense up when his father addresses him. He looks down at me.

  “What would you like to do?”

  I feel the burning gaze of his mom on my face and I’m almost grateful that splashes of mud cover my cheeks. I’m sure I’m bright red.

  “I think you and Michael should have lunch with your parents alone,” I rush out. “I’m sure they’d like to spend some time alone with you.”

  Before Clayton can argue his mother chimes in.

  “Nonsense,” she says formally. “We want you to join us as well.”

  “Then that settles it,” his father says. “Clayton?”

  “Perfect,” Clayton’s voice doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. “We’ll see you at lunch then.”

  Clayton turns and heads down the hall to the back stairwell.

  11

  “I really don’t have to join you guys,” I say since he’s unusually silent as he makes his way to the room.

  “I’m not going without you,” he tells me. His blue eyes are alight with amusement and he starts to laugh. The rumble in his chest vibrates through my body. “You look utterly ridiculous,” he says.

  “I’m afraid to see,” I whisper to him with an embarrassed giggle. I can only imagine. And in front of his mom, of all people, the woman who’s apparently the walking queen of couture. Lord almighty.

  “Did you slide down the whole hill?” he asks curiously.

  “Basically,” I admit with a grin. “By the way, am I supposed to address your parents as Earl or Lady Sinclair? I don’t know how that all works.”

  “Absolutely not,” Clayton actually cringes. “We are not formal about our titles amongst family.”

  Family? My heart soared.

  “Other than the torrential downpour did you and Abigail have a nice time?” Clayton asks.

  “Great,” I tell him. “I really like her.”

  I wonder what Clayton would think if I told him what Abigail and I talked about. Not that I would ever betray her trust, I’m just wondering what he would do. It probably wouldn’t go over so well. Or maybe it would. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like Dimitri. so he might support her decision. Still, it’s not my place to test that theory. It’s Abby’s.

  We arrive at his room in no time and he goes straight into the bathroom and sets me down. It’s at this moment that I get a good look at myself in the full-length mirror. As they say, ignorance is bliss. Oh. My. God. I am so mortified.

  “I can’t believe I met your parents looking like this,” I say in a strangled whisper.

  “It was classic,” he says with an amused grin. I can tell he thinks it’s hilarious.

  “Classically wrong,” I mumble.

  He unzips my puffer jacket and pulls it off, then takes me beanie off. “Lift your arms,” he commands.

  I do as I’m told as he pulls my sweater over my head.

  His smile is all charm. “I think you’ll need some help with getting all that mud off.”

  I blush.

  “Your parents—”

  “I’m a grown man,” Clayton says with a raised brow.

  “But I’m already the American who rolls around in mud for fun. Your parents might not think this is appropriate. Maybe you should go downstairs—”

  “Appropriate?” he asks curiously.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I don’t want them to think—”

  “They already do, Sophie.”

  Right. Hello, reality check.

  “They think you’re the gorgeous American their son is obsessed with,” he goes on to say.

  God.

  I lose my stomach and my heart. Both fall straight through the floor from the giddiness I feel from those words.

  But why stop there, Sophie?

  “Obsessed?” I ask.

  He lifts his hand to cup my cheek as he stares deep into my eyes.

  “What else would you call it?”

  My sense of propriety follows my stomach and heart. I reach out to unbutton his jeans. I feel his muscles clench the instant I touch him. It’s a heady feeling to know that I turn him on so easily.

  I stare into those cerulean eyes of his. They’re steamy with desire. All for me.

  “You’re the gorgeous one,” I whisper to him. “Every time I look at you, I—”

  I lose my train of thought because he’s brought his hand up to cup my breast. I suck in my breath.

  “You what?” he asks as he leans down and takes my nipple in his mouth. My head falls back as his tongue swirls over the bud. He uses his teeth and pulls, then licks. It drives me wild.

  “You what, Sophie?” he asks again as he moves lower, until he’s leaning in front of me and lowers his mouth to taste me. His tongue moves back and forth and if weren’t for his hands holding my thighs I would crumble before him.

  He takes his time and my body feels like it’s being rocked senseless. My hands grip his head, pulling at his hair as he continues the sweet agony.

  “Clayton,” I whimper.

  “Sophie.”

&
nbsp; “I want you,” I confess finally then go on, “when I look at you. Every single time I look at you.”

  He blows. Licks. Drives me wild.

  “You want me to do this?” he asks.

  “Yes!”

  And more. Everything else he does that makes me crazy with desire and want. He gets up slowly, rubbing his chest and body along mine, until he’s towering over me and I have to lean my head back to look at him. I can feel his swollen sex against my stomach and I almost come from the sheer, sweet torture of it. He picks me up and walks in the shower. The hot water feels like heaven. His hands move slowly over my flesh, wiping the mud off my hands, my body, and when he gets to my face, he brushes my skin ever so softly and cherishes me with his touch.

  The water rains down on us as he gently kisses my face, his arms locking around my waist and pulling me closer to his naked skin. The way we move against each other is like an erotic slow dance.

  “I have a confession to make,” he says against my lips.

  My hands move to his biceps and I squeeze them as he rubs his lips against mine, his tongue playing ever so slowly.

  “What’s that?” I whisper and touch my tongue to his.

  “Every time I look at you—” he murmurs against my lips.

  His fingers make their way down and move in, stroking me until I let out a strangled moan and beg for release. His other hand grabs my hair so his lips can whisper against my ear, his words causing me to want him in a way that his touch never has.

  “—I want to be inside you,” he continues the assault, his fingers moving deeper until I can bear it no longer.

  “Until you’re begging me for more,” his tongue nips my outer lobe and I can hear the need in his voice, in his ragged breath.

  “Until you think you’ll die without me,” he says as his fingers move out. I cry out in frustration.

  He lifts me up in his strong arms and slowly lowers me until his body crashes into mine. I throw my head back and revel in the feel of him, the intensity of having all of him, like this. He moves his hips and pushes further in and walks until my naked back is against the smooth marble wall of the shower. My legs are hooked around his waist and I squeeze him tight. I open my eyes against the warm water that rains down on us both.

  God he’s so hot. His eyelashes are spiky with droplets of water, his blue eyes hazy with desire. I grind my hips, clenching him tighter so I can push him over the edge the way that he does me. He holds my waist with one arm and takes my hands in the other, holding them over my head so he can pull out and plunge in deeper.