Marbella Twist

by Camille Oster

  Cheryl blushed at the compliment. He was generous with them and it wasn’t something she was used to. “It seems you had something real with her.”

  “I did.” He looked away. “We were kids, so it’s hard to extrapolate from that, you know? But we were on the same team for a while there, like it was her and me against the world.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I want someone who wants to hang out with me, not for what she can get from doing so. I sound like a total sap.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, as if he was uncomfortable.

  Perhaps with his tough guy image, it didn’t quite correlate. “Who doesn’t want the person they’re with to be authentically into the relationship?” she said.

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t figure that would be such a revelation. I guess I’m a bit slow on the uptake,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m looking for someone real. Someone like you.”

  Warning bells sounded in Cheryl’s head. Was this some kind of declaration? She wasn’t ready for a declaration. Was he hitting on her? Scattered thoughts bounced through her mind, a million miles a minute. She could not get into a relationship right now. No, she must be reading this situation wrong.

  “Will you go out with me? Dinner or something?”

  “No, so really, absolutely not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, my life is an utter, unencumbered mess. It would be the absolutely worst time for me to start dating someone.” Particularly someone as needy and lost as he was, she omitted. And, oh, mismatched to an extreme degree. “And you, having this very morning extricated yourself from a relationship, should probably not immediately jump into a new one. Maybe you need to take some time and think about what you really want, than to grab the first person who opens their door.”

  “Oh, harsh.”

  “But good advice.”

  “You know, not a lot of people say no to me.”

  And with those gorgeous, pleading puppy eyes, she understood why, but she had gotten herself into enough trouble in her life to see trouble coming. “You need to be single for a while.”

  “Maybe the problem is that I was single all too long.” He was actually laying it on thick now.

  “Stop it,” she said. “My answer is no, and I am saying that for both of our sakes.”

  He smiled and took a sip of his coffee. “There’s someone else.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You won’t even look at me.”

  “You’re giving me soppy eyes. It’s grossly unfair.”

  “Who?”

  “No one.”

  “Your ex?”

  “God, no,” she said as if it was the most absurd thing.

  Roan sat for a moment considering her. “I hadn’t banked on your heart already being taken.”

  Cheryl didn’t know what to say. Obviously, she could deny it again, but that would sound like she was encouraging him. Roan looked around. “I don’t think you should leave Marbella. Is it this guy you’re running from?”

  “I told you, there is no guy,” she said with exasperation. “And it is some person who is intent on ruining my reputation that I am trying to outrun. I obviously pissed someone off.”

  “I don’t think you should go.”

  “I have to. The well is poisoned.”

  “Then let’s un-poison it.”

  “You can’t un-poison a well.”

  “Cheyenne just used me to get in with the people she wanted in with. Do the same.”

  “I can’t use you.”

  “Sure, you can. Let them gossip about you with me. People will be lining up at your door just to ask you questions. You can tell them all the juicy details about how good I am in bed. I’m not opposed to you taking a bit of liberty on that account, although, for the record, I’m not bad. And you’re a good hairdresser. I just about fell asleep when you did my hair.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a sign of a good hairdresser.”

  “Look, you have nothing to lose. I know you’re really sweet on someone else.”

  She went to argue, but he cut her off.

  “And you would really be doing me a favour by keeping the hyenas from my door. These women are brutal enough while they think I’m in a relationship. I’ll have to go into hiding if they think I’m single.”

  Cheryl couldn’t help the chuckling at the hilarity of the image of him fending off the women of Marbella.

  “Deal?” he said, holding out his hand.

  If what he said was true and he could rehabilitate her reputation, it would definitely be worth it. It would mean she could restart here in Marbella. The boys would not have to leave their school and she could simply restart her life. She would be helping him a little, too. After a moment, she cautiously put her hand into his extended one. “We’re helping each other, not using.”

  “Uh huh. Well, then, I better run. This will be good. Let’s go out. In the process, I might convince you that this other guy ain’t worth salt.”

  Chapter 44

  Twisting her racquet around, Cheyenne waited for the first serve. It was early in the afternoon and the misters were all turned on, gently pumping out aerated water to cool the players down. Julia served, the ball smashing across the court.

  Cheyenne had engaged a professional to spruce up her technique, because like everything, when these ladies did something, they did it well. They all had their own trainers, working to give them an edge in what was supposedly a social, friendly match.

  Julia had a good volley, too, but Cheyenne did alright. It took all her concentration to keep up. Her backhand was atrocious and it was one of the things she needed to focus on with her new trainer—a former pro who had outlived his peak performance. Unfortunately, not handsome enough to sleep with.

  Samara returned beside her and they scored a point.

  “So, I hear all is not well with Mr. Hotness,” Viola said.

  Cheyenne knew this was going to come up. It had hardly gone unnoticed that Roan had moved out of their hotel and taken himself off somewhere. He hadn’t left town, though. This did represent a problem, because he had enabled much of her rise, although she refused to accede that all of it was due to him. Getting into this group was her own work and she refused to give him credit for it.

  However, she wasn’t stupid enough to not realise that there was danger now. They could see her as less than without him. It was unfortunate, but it was time to do some damage control.

  “Well,” she started. “It got tiresome. He got tiresome, so it was time for him to go,” she said as haughtily as she could. “Pretty just isn’t enough to keep me interested. Actually, not a lot is enough to keep me interested. Men are only good for one thing—money and sex, and I don’t need money.”

  “Oh, oh,” Samara said. “Does Mr. Movie star not measure up in important ways?”

  “Fine, I suppose, but I get bored. And as pretty as he is, he’s not much for having a conversation with.” That part was true. There was a certain lack of sophistication and he was clueless about things like art and culture. She didn’t necessarily relish such things, but it should be something a person knew about. He was much too American in that sense. Alexi hadn’t necessarily had a vast depth of knowledge either, but he’d been working hard to gain it, knowing it was something he lacked. Roan had no clue and was more interested in old-fashioned Americana than anything sophisticated. He didn’t even know who Pollock Jackson was, and that was his own neck of the woods.

  “So out with the old and in with the new,” Viola said, her racquet resting on her toes.

  “Not in any hurry,” Cheyenne said. Her stance belied how nervous she was. This could all go badly. The women would start giving each other looks with shared, silent messages.

  “Sometimes they are more trouble than they are worth,” Samara said.

  Cheyenne was grateful for her stepping in. Her relationship with Samara was stronger than with Julia and Viola, and Samara, it
seemed, was not going to sink her. It was an important step. Biting her lip, Cheyenne considered the woman. For being a venomous harpy as many people called her, belying her beauty, she was actually very kind. It was something new and almost unexpected. Cheyenne had never had a female friend before, and Samara was too confident to be jealous.

  “Maybe you should pursue a more toy-boy persuasion,” Viola said and Cheyenne wondered if that was secretly what Viola wanted.

  “Eh,” Cheyenne said. “Increasingly, young and stupid doesn’t keep me interested.”

  “There are no eligible men out there. They’re all boys in men’s clothing. Even the ones that look good, look like they all have it together, are just immature children underneath, still in awe of their own willies,” Julia said tartly.

  “Please, Julia, don’t let your bitterness show through.”

  “I’m not bitter. Only realistic. Most of the men around here, it’s pathetic what goes through their heads. Englishmen are the worst. They never grow up at all.”

  “Not all Englishmen are like your ex, Julia,” Viola said.

  “Of course, they are. They’re all the same. They put on this front of sophistication, but as soon as you dig deeper, out comes the trashy mistresses and pathetic fetishes. I went out with this one man. He wanted to take me to a bondage bar. A bondage bar, can you believe it?”

  “You should have gone,” Samara said in her lazy drawl. “You might have found it enlightening.”

  Viola couldn’t help sniggering.

  “Where’s the pride?” Julia continued. “Crawling on the floor right along with him.”

  “Bondage is fashionable,” Samara said dismissively with a wave of her hand.

  “I was out of there like a shot,” Julia said.

  Cheyenne grimaced. “You did give up your chance to whip him.”

  “Good point,” Julia said, pointing at her. “Screw your safe word, bitch. This is what you get for taking me to a revolting dump like this.” She mimicked wild whipping.

  “That’s the spirit,” Viola said.

  “God, I hate men.”

  “Bondage should be right down your alley,” Samara stated.

  Any worry Cheyenne had felt at being rejected had now passed. They had taken the shedding of Roan in their stride. In part, this meant that it was her they accepted. This was a big deal. She had truly made it. This was her group, and she actually liked these bitches. This was all extraordinary, and she could hardly fathom her good fortune. It could be that she had actually achieved her ambition. She was a part of the loftiest clique on the coast and it was all on her.

  Chapter 45

  The downside to having a girlfriend was the insistence on a full and colourful social life. Bianca had ground to make up, set on establishing herself on the coast. In a way, Dominic couldn’t blame her. A woman like Bianca, this was her profession, her calling. Being in the thick of things was part of success. Things were different for Dominic.

  Strictly he wasn’t opposed to socialising. He enjoyed chatting with people and getting his mind off work. At home, he tended to focus on the problems he needed to address, but when out during the evening, it was time to truly decouple from work.

  Bianca, her hand at the crook of his elbow, followed him as they walked into Marsha Wollencraft’s splendid house. The American heiress held nothing back with her parties and they were known across all of Europe. It wasn’t an evening Dominic would have missed, even without Bianca.

  Smartly dressed waiters served champagne and a full cocktail bar had been set up. Bianca wore a midnight blue Valentino dress with a long string of pearls hanging down the plunging back. She looked stunning.

  Everyone else was finely dressed and milled around in groups. There was a jazz band playing melodious tunes somewhere, drowned out by the din of murmuring.

  Bianca smiled at people they passed, particularly those who nodded or greeted them. “The climate here really does add something special to parties, doesn’t it? A certain exoticness. Plus the Russians can’t drag their furs everywhere. Some places in London have had to install proper, old-fashioned coat checks to deal with them all. It is a bit strange that the height of sophistication should entail dressing oneself like an animal.”

  Dominic smiled. Bianca had always had a certain abrasive way of looking at the world and the people around her. Like Sophie, she had a stalwart appreciation for Britishness and true British values. Furs didn’t have the right degree of muted luxury, were instead blatantly showy, signifying someone who didn’t quite know the right way.

  Although around here, one had to learn that Russians were Russians, and they had their own ways. To some of them, British women probably dressed like peasants. And looking at Rosalie Wallis standing next to Alexi, it was hard to argue the point. The woman couldn’t dress well in anyone’s book, but Alexi didn’t love her for her conformity with the fashion-minded set. She and her brother were still an automatic invite for any dinner party Dominic would throw, because they were interesting. Dominic understood where Alexi was coming from with this choice of life partner, and he respected the man more for it.

  “Oh God, that trashy little hairdresser is here,” Bianca said and Dominic automatically turned in the direction she was looking. Cheryl, it had to be Cheryl. “How in the world did she get invited?”

  “Maybe Marsha is one of her clients.”

  “No one is her client these days,” Bianca said loftily.

  Dominic sought Cheryl further along the lawn. Her blond hair was down and she was standing with a drink in her hand, chatting with some guy—who turned out to be that actor who had been slinking around her the last time Dominic had seen her out. She laughed at something he was saying, looking like she was enjoying herself and her company.

  “I really would have thought he had better taste than to drag that woman along,” Bianca said, reflecting, in a way, what Dominic was thinking, although along the lines of her having better taste than being here with him. The comment about Marsha inviting her was naturally untrue. It was the actor who had invited her as his date. “Some men can’t help being attracted to trashy,” Bianca said, turning her back and taking a sip from her champagne flute. “It’s so boring. If men are that way inclined, they really should hide it behind closed doors.”

  Bianca had also never been forgiving of people trying to encroach on her social circle if she didn’t see them as up to snuff, which was apparently how she saw Cheryl. Sadly, Dominic knew that quite a few people saw Cheryl that way.

  Returning his eyes to Cheryl, he saw that she had black, smokey eyeshadow. It certainly didn’t look bad, but it wasn’t a look that was acceptable in this crowd—too dramatic, costumey. Maybe that had something to do with why her business failed. Cheryl seemed to think it was rumours attacking her, but Dominic wasn’t sure. A person would never see that it was them people were objecting to. It was a shame that she was judged that way, and not appreciated for the subtle strengths she had.

  Apparently, that actor did, though.

  Bianca turned her back on them again, a look of disgust on her face. “Before long, she’ll probably start making a scene. People like that live for dramatics.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dominic said, getting a disapproving look from Bianca. “Not really her style.” Cheryl hated confrontation, but she forced herself to do it to protect herself and her family. At no point would she engage in drama just for the sake of it, or even do so around other people unless absolutely necessary.

  “You really don’t need to defend her,” Bianca said tartly.

  “I’m not. I’m just saying she’s not the type, and I do know her better than you. Why are we talking about this?” he said as way of appeasing her. Bianca’s reaction to all this was a bit strong, almost a little on the fanatical side. Granted, not all people liked diversity in their social group, but this was a little strong, wasn’t it? What did this stem from? Cheryl was offensive to no one and tended to mind her own business.

  “I’m s
orry,” Bianca said, taking his arm and leading him away. “Maybe I just feel that you shouldn’t have to deal with business issues when you are away from work, her being a tenant. I just want you to have fun and relax and not have to focus on things like that. You work too hard as it is.”

  Well, that was sweet, although unnecessary. At times, there were thought processes in Bianca that he didn’t understand. Yes, he did work too hard, but that was in no way related to anything to do with Cheryl. If she thought Cheryl was a stress on him, she didn’t really understand him or his life.

  Sometimes they seemed to be completely in tune, and other times, he didn’t understand where she was coming from at all. Granted, things had been like that with Sophie and her increasing anger and frustration. Maybe there was just a part of him that didn’t understand women, like why anyone would take offense to Cheryl. She was a bit different, but everything about her was harmless. There wasn’t a vicious bone in her body. Just a woman trying to get on with her life and make things work. How could that be offensive?

  Chapter 46

  Inns’ phone rang and he looked over where it lay on the bedside table. The only person who ever rang him was Esme, but it wasn’t her name flashing up, it was some British number. It wasn’t his parents, either.

  “Hello?” Inns said as he answered it.

  “Tadpole? Is that you?”

  Inns felt both elation and dread hearing the nickname he’d been given when he’d first arrived at school and it had stuck throughout his time there.

  “It’s Seb. How’s Siberia?”

  “Uh, fine.”

  “We’re swinging by. Freddie is celebrating receiving Dean’s list, so a bit of wine, women and song is called for. Put on a spread for us, will you?”

  “Uh, sure. When are you coming?”

  Sebastian gave him the details and Inns wrote them down. “I suppose I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Don’t be late.”