She could see the sympathy in Dean’s eyes and it wasn’t what she needed at that moment. It only brought the tears closer to the surface.
“I might grab a coffee,” Cheryl mumbled and walked to the desk to quickly grab her bag. It felt a little like she was suffocating and she needed to be away from there for a moment. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know if she was apologising for laying them all off or for running out on them after dropping the bomb. There was only so much strength she had, and she’d reached her limit. She needed to be alone for a few moments. Then she could perhaps come back and deal with the carnage. It was perhaps weak, but she could break down and bawl if she got any more sorrowful looks right then.
The air was warm outside and she remembered that she was in Marbella. Being in the cool air-conditioning of the salon, she sometimes forgot how warm it was outside.
She felt injured as she made her way across the road to the café on the other side—emotionally more than physically, but she wasn’t sure it felt much different when it came down to it. A few moments to collect herself would help her hold it together.
Well, the deed had been done. She’d been avoiding it, trying to delude herself that she could avoid this, but that had never been a possibility. Again, forces out of her control had ruined her life. Everything she’d done coming here had been to insulate herself from something like this happening, but it seemed she had no power to protect herself. She’d been lulled into a false sense of security.
Ordering a coffee, she sat down at a small, aluminium table with a fan shaped pattern polished into the surface.
She would have to start again, she determined. She’d done it before; she would just have to do it again. Marbella might be out of the question, though—the well poisoned. Her house would have to be packed up and they would have to find a new town. There were plenty along the coast; she could just move along. The other option was to return to the UK, but her boys seemed very happy in their school here.
Sadness washed over her again. They were going to hate having to move, leave behind the friends they’d made. A tear spilled down her cheek and she angrily wiped it away. Tears never helped; she had to be practical about these things, and there was a lot she needed to do. Firstly, head back to the salon and stop being a coward.
Chapter 34
Roan was bored, well, a good kind of bored. There was still a slight panic in him that he wasn’t doing anything, which was the addiction he was here to cure himself of. All in all, he liked Marbella. He liked that people didn’t accost him on the streets. A few tourists took photos excitedly, but they kept their distance, mostly.
A phone call from his agent had urged him back to LA, but Roan had said no. Even though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, he knew he needed to learn to live in his own skin again, and LA wasn’t exactly conducive to being a normal human being.
Cheyenne was out at lunch with some woman she was excited about hanging with. He’d been invited, but he had no interest in sitting around and gossiping about people he didn’t know—even people he did know. It just wasn’t his thing.
His thing was what he was here to discover. Work wasn’t a thing and he refused to spend his life working. It felt uncomfortable claiming the title of workaholic, but it was true. Then again, in LA, it wasn’t a bad vice to have considering how some of the others were doing. That town was still a good place to hide a variety of predilections.
Involuntarily, his thoughts turned to Cheryl, who appeared to be making her own way in the world with her kids. Could he even have kids—have what it took to be a father? Was he too self-absorbed to be someone’s dad?
When he’d been young, it had seemed so important to go to LA and make a name for himself. He’d been driven to his very core and it had paid off, but here he was, basically in rehab, trying to figure out who he was. All the success in the world, but he still felt like he’d fucked up in some fundamental way.
If he’d chosen differently, he’d ended up with someone not unlike Cheryl. It might even have been Lauren or someone else back in his hometown in Wisconsin. A fate he’d run from and never looked back. These hometown girls weren’t sexy in the way Cheyenne was, who was basically any guy’s wet dream, with a filthy mind to match. But there was some other element to Cheryl’s appeal, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was simply that she wasn’t a wet dream; she was real.
Suddenly, he had an urge to call her and he pulled out his phone and found the phone number for the salon attached to the Dunbury Industries building. It rung for a moment.
“Welcome to A Precious Thing,” the voice said and he could hear it was her.
“Hey, Cheryl, it’s Roan.”
It was quiet down the phone. Don’t tell me she doesn’t remember who I am, he thought with astonishment.
“How’s the new car holding up?” she asked. She remembered.
“Good. Thought I could do with a haircut. You have any appointments? You though, not someone else.”
“Of course, any time you want.”
She was working her schedule around him and a spear of concern shot through him. Was this really a good idea, messing with some woman? Then again, he’d seem a bit flighty if he backed out now, and he really did need a trim. “Uh, how about two.”
“Alright. I’ll see you then. Bye.” She hung up on him.
There were definitely some mixed messages coming from her, or maybe he shouldn’t be analysing messages between them. She knew full well he wasn’t single, so he couldn’t be accused of implying anything.
Maybe he should have asked for an earlier appointment because now he had to wait around for a while. A long stretch of time lay before him and he had no idea what to do with himself. A new town, a new country, and he couldn’t think of anything to do. Could it be that he was depressed?
Turning on the TV, he flicked through the channels until he found some sports. Hopefully he could lose himself in some guys’ strife and hope for a moment.
*
Roan arrived a little late, having taken a wrong turn in what could be described as the illogical streets of Marbella. The sight of the brownish building of Dunbury Industries had frustratingly passed by without a means of reaching it, but in the end, he’d gotten there.
Cheryl sat at the desk and smiled as he opened the door. “Roan,” she said and stood, directing him to a seat. She wore a blouse and a black pencil skirt, her hair neatly swept up in a twist. The salon was quiet. In fact, it was empty.
“Busy day?”
“It’s a bit slow at the moment.”
Maybe he’d been jumping to conclusions when he’d assumed she’d worked her schedule around him. Her comment now implied that the slowness was persistent.
He sat down and looked up at Cheryl through the mirror as she considered his hair. “Just a trim?” she said.
“Yeah, I think my agent would have a heart attack if I went for something drastic right now. He’s still hyperventilating about that fact that I’ve left LA.”
Cheryl smiled. “Still determined not to return?”
“For now.”
A black, plastic cape was placed around him, her deft fingers carefully tucking the collar down around his neck, then she asked him to come to the washing area. Leaning back, he placed his head in the porcelain groove and warm water washed over his scalp. It felt good and he immediately relaxed as she worked shampoo into his hair.
It might actually have been the first time in a while he had felt utterly relaxed, her fingers gently massaging his scalp. And had a slight eroticism to it, and he was grateful for the black cape in case he actually responded to this. She touched his head with such care, washing the shampoo gently off the back of his head with sweeping caresses.
It was over before he wished it to be. There was something so soft, so feminine about it. Not sex, but perhaps more sensuality—innocent sensuality. Cheyenne didn’t have that. She was brutal, in your face, sex. She didn’t have that soft femininity wh
ere he felt nothing was required of him other than to just be there and be still. He was with a woman who lacked something he really enjoyed, something that might even be necessary for him to relax.
He closed his eyes while she combed his hair, gently tugged and stroked. The slight snips of the scissors rhythmically moved around his head. Sleep threatened. He smiled as what he really wanted right now was to sleep. Granted, he had been waking most nights. It had started way back in LA and he had felt that keeping busy would cure it, but it hadn’t. His shrink said he was unhappy and his emotional vacancy was keeping him up at night, or some bullshit the like.
Cheryl made him feel calm, and sleepy. In LA, people went for the things they needed. They would go, ‘Hey, Cheryl, can I come over and just sleep near you while you fuss over me.’
“Alright, that should do it. I’ll just blow dry.” The harsh sound of the dryer switched on and warm air caressed him now, her fingers raking through his hair. “Will you go out with me?” he found himself saying.
“Nope.”
Of course, she wouldn’t. He was with someone and she was not the kind of woman who messed with taken men. She probably thought he was a shit now. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Probably not.”
“I’m not happy,” he said by way of explaining. “There is something missing. I know I probably sound like every cheater out there, but it’s true. I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for?”
She had him stumped there. “Damned if I know.”
“Probably never going to find it that way.”
“Still, I recognise it when I see it,” he said, searching for her gaze, but hers was guarded. Hell, he was screwing this up royally. “Softness, I guess.”
“Maybe you need to get a cat,” she said pointedly.
“Maybe I need a woman and not a social climbing model.” He looked himself in the eye.
“Tell me about the girl you once knew,” she said and Roan felt a little stunned as if the question had come out of the blue.
“Lauren. We were young and I left. What more is there to say?”
“You loved her.”
“Yeah, I guess I did in some way. Didn’t quite understand it at the time.”
“Funny, though, how within this loss of direction, her name crops up.”
“She only cropped up because you reminded me of her.”
Cheryl arched her eyebrows.
“It was the makeup,” he said, feeling like he needed to defend himself. “Maybe the whole being self-contained thing and having your life together.”
Cheryl snorted. “Hate to disappoint you, but it’s all a front. My business I failing. I just had to fire all my employees and they were all like family to me. I’m burning through my savings at a disturbing rate and my whole life is falling apart, frankly. If you’re looking for someone who has it all together, you need to look in some other direction.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” she said, flaring the black sheet off him. “And you are ready to go.”
He didn’t bother looking in the mirror; didn’t actually care what he looked like. “So what are you going to do?”
“Same as you. Regroup, I guess.”
That was what he was doing.
“Pull my big girl pants on and start again.” She walked over to the desk, her heels clicking on the floor as she did. Maybe he had been unwittingly drawn to her because she was in the same boat as him, had recognised a kindred spirit. “That will be forty euro.”
“Charge me four hundred.”
“I can’t charge you four hundred for a trim.”
“How about for sage advice? Look, Cheryl, I’m richer than sin. It would please me to help a little at this point.”
Red stained her cheeks. “Fine,” she said, and he knew she wouldn’t allow it if she hadn’t desperately needed the money.
“If I were single, would you go out with me?” he asked. Again, it was a spur of the moment thing.
“My life may be an utter mess at the moment, Roan, but when it comes to men, it’s even worse.”
“I can take a hint,” he said with a smile.
“And you’re a mess,” she finished. “Not sure you should be asking girls out right now.”
“And on some level, I know that you are absolutely right.” Still, not completely sure he wouldn’t try again. There was something he needed in this direction. He went to leave.
“What’s Lauren doing these days?” she asked.
“She’d married now, to some lawyer or something, last time I heard.” The only girl he’d ever loved was married to someone else. He’d never thought of it that way before. Man, this was depressing shit.
Chapter 35
The rose colours of dawn in Venice was the stuff of wonder. It had been a while since Dominic had been in Venice, a while since he’d done something explicitly romantic. They were staying on one of the lesser populated Island’s across the water from the Piazza del Marco, where they had the gorgeous views, but were away from the tourist insanity along the Grand Canal.
The air had a freshness as he stood in the doorway to the balcony, watching the sun rise. Bianca was still in bed, her lush dark hair against the white of her silk camisole. He watched her for a moment as she slept. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. Well, there were the services he sometimes engaged in Paris, but that was something different.
Travelling with a woman, going to dinner, flirting and then checking into a hotel—that had been a while, and he found he enjoyed it. The sex had been good, too. Bianca was no cold fish; she knew what she wanted in bed. Sleeping next to someone had been more confronting as he hadn’t had anyone in his bed since Sophie left, and admittedly, it hadn’t been that often they’d slept in the same town all that often towards the end. Even at home, if he was arriving late or leaving early, he had slept in another room.
A satisfied moan escaped Bianca’s lips and she stretched. “Good morning,” she smiled, looking lovely and fresh. Whatever makeup she’d been wearing, she’d removed it. “What do you want to do today?”
Dominic shrugged, unable to think of anything he really wanted to do. “Perhaps take one of the hotel boats and cruise around a little.”
“Sounds perfect, but I am going to start the day with a bath.” There was a nice tub in the marble bathroom, a little more modern than many of the Italian baroque hotels that lined the Grand Canal.
“I might take a quick walk while you pamper yourself.”
“I’ll meet you for breakfast in an hour,” she said, rising from the bed and coming over to kiss him. The softness of her breasts moulded to him. “I taste coffee,” she said teasingly, giving him a lingering look before turning away. “I’m happy we are doing this,” she said, her voice echoing off the marble in the bathroom. “I think we suit each other.” The water started to run.
Dominic turned his attention to the view, watching the early morning tradesmen who crossed the sea, going to work or moving goods. There was a special kind of Italianness about Venice, refusing to give up their traditions and way of life. It was a shame it had become so overrun by tourists. The people of Venice were trying to change it, pare it down to manageable levels, if that was at all possible.
Pulling on his jacket, Dominic left the room and wandered the large, high ceilinged hall down to the large staircase. This hotel had been built in the sixties and had since been patronaged by the most important people in the world, with real links to eras where glamour meant more than it did today—at least in Dominic’s book.
There was a humidity in the morning that would clear once the sun turned on its heat. An expansive lawn surrounded the hotel, stretching before dropping off into the sea. A gardener was raking leaves off the lawn, but there was no one else to be seen.
So a decisive step had been taken with Bianca. They were officially having a thing, and with her that was a prelude to a relationship
. There was no beating around the bush with someone like her. As in bed, she knew what she wanted, and she certainly wasn’t going to be anyone’s plaything. And one didn’t mess with a woman like her if one wanted a plaything. She was to be his partner, his hostess, his companion. The world of coupledom was opening up to him, and maybe he was ready to embrace it. Bianca knew exactly what her role entailed and everything was easy. She also knew how to entertain herself when he needed to focus on business. All in all, she was the perfect partner. Sophie had been too for most of their marriage.
It really wasn’t an option to have an imperfect partner. It would be inviting strife and discontent in the end, wouldn’t it? Nothing would run smoothly and in the end, they would be miserable together. Love didn’t conquer all. Dominic was too pragmatic to believe that. To make it worse would be to invite someone with dependents into his life, to amplify the messiness. His life would be chaos—and worse, chaos on display.
Who would take Dominic Dunbury seriously if he was accompanied by a high-street wife with two young children not his own? Well, his reputation wasn’t exactly that flimsy, but it would certainly raise a few eyebrows.
Bianca was perfect. She belonged in this setting, and any other he wished to find himself in.
Looking down, he saw it was almost time for breakfast. He’d just about spent an hour staring down into the sea. Bianca would be coming down for breakfast and he made his way over toward the front of the hotel where one of the restaurants protruded above the water, providing a one eighty-degree view of the whole of Venice harbour.
Chapter 36
Placing her bag down on a chair, Esme sat down across from Aggie at one of the newest restaurants. It was decorated with teal and white, all modern furniture and light bulbs hanging down in glass jars. This was more young chic than all out luxury. Luxury was such a funny thing. It meant different things to different people. Modern luxury was sometimes the lack of luxury, and an emphasis on style and theme.
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