My eyes smarted but I held my tongue. Logically I knew that I was emotional from last night and the inevitable hangxiety from all the gin wasn’t helping any but, damn, her words stung like whips dipped in acid. Crying would only give her ammunition to humiliate me further so I smiled and said coolly, “Anything else you want me to do?”
She waved me off. “No. Wouldn’t be able to trust you and I think you need to go meet Maxine anyway for a review of your poor performance with this.”
Humiliated, I exited the kitchen with the tears kept firmly at bay. Jaz and India’s dislike of me was inexplicable. Some of my more uncharitable friends would label it as chippiness but I thought that was a cheap slur. Today cut deep, the hangxiety probably not helping any, but I could do this. I had formulated a plan last night, and sure, it featured Xander, but little did he know he was the one being used. It also went against the plan the others had advocated but inspiration tended to strike when my brain was gin-soaked. It would be foolproof and we would break free to be together.
Little doll no more, I thought with satisfaction as I strutted to the tube. No one was going to bring me down. Not Xander. Not petty, self-serving bitches like Jaz, India, and their lackey Phoebe. It had been a longtime coming but I was finally gaining the confidence to believe in myself, to live my life and not go through the motions as I had for the past twenty-three years. It was scary as anything but I could do it.
My bravado was dimmed when I stood on the platform edge. Memories from last night came hurtling back. I glanced nervously from side to side. It was only moderately busy, tail end of rush hour and all, but that wasn’t enough to calm my racing heart. Memories of when Xander used to call me ‘Little Doll’ rushed to the fore and it was with relief that I collapsed into a seat when I entered the tube, putting my head in my hands, and trying to still my racing heart. I needed a plan. I didn’t need to hyperventilate and indulge in hysteria. It amazed me still that I had accepted Xander for the monster he was, but on reflection, I was besotted with him. A pliable doll, open to his manipulations. Again, hindsight is a wondrous thing but I didn’t regret it. If I hadn’t been with him, I wouldn’t have ended up with the amazing friends and memories I had from university.
I also wouldn’t have an invite to the engagement party on Saturday.
Going to an engagement party for a boy you liked and your arch-enemy was never going to be bucket-list material for any girl, but in my drunken state last night I realised it was the perfect way for me to go and get to the bottom of everything. I needed to be at the party to work out if there was any way possible to reclaim Blaise. If it had been any other girl, I might have been rational. Yes, it would hurt but I could get over it. Isadora and I had too much history for me to let her keep Blaise.
Her hatred of me was as confusing as India and Jaz’s hatred. Often, I wondered if there was something wrong with me for people to hate me so viscerally and so cruelly but then I reasoned that I had amazing people in my life. The haters were anomalies. It was easier to put up with it rather than question. I always hated the people who questioned things and only made their lives harder in doing so. In my opinion, television, films, stories did it for dramatic effect. In reality, people should just roll with the situation, and protect themselves.
I now recognised that as another element of my passivity and of my unwillingness to question why Xander did the things he did. It was easier to love him and excuse him of any flaws.
Not anymore. That girl had been well and truly buried. Alive. Gasping out her last pathetic breath. I was taking control and I was going to see Xander tonight. I had stashed his favourite silver mini-dress in my bag and his favourite heels. That would be more than enough to convince him to take me, I thought smugly.
“Xanthe?” Maxine called from her office as I entered. It was an open-plan loft with the cluster of desks on the right as you walked down the small, cream-painted entryway from the front door. Maxine’s office, well the one she occasionally used, was behind the cluster of desks and afforded little privacy thanks to the glass walls. It was soundproof which was why she used it. It came in use for important client calls and for private, HR related discussions. Especially for less-favoured colleagues, as the glass walls afforded as much privacy as a fishbowl.
“Yes, Maxine?” I asked, hovering by the entrance to the office.
“Come in, come in,” she said in exasperation. I sat opposite her and waited for her to finish typing out the email before she looked up at me. “Now care to explain about the mess-up Jaz was explaining earlier?”
“Well, India had said to get there for nine, so I aimed to get there for 8.45 to allow for traffic but she had clearly got the times mixed up. Look – here’s her email confirming everything.” I opened the email chain regarding the organisation of the tasting event and showed Maxine the email.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Arrive at Embankment Kitchens by 9 a.m at the latest.
* * *
“See? I’m not sure how much clearer it can get.”
Maxine was quiet for a moment before saying quietly, “Can you please get India?”
Feeling satisfied, I headed outside and said loudly to the amassed audience. “India? Maxine wants you.”
Not bothering to wait for her, I headed smugly back into the office with India in tow. “Yes, Maxine?”
“Apparently you emailed Xanthe telling her to be there for 9 a.m. This is most unlike you.”
She simpered as per usual. “I am so sorry about that. I know it must be confusing for our colleagues who struggle with the basics but I really thought that Xanthe was proving herself. Clearly not.” There was a brief pause as she looked at their sycophant, Phoebe. “I told Xanthe in the kitchen that she actually needed to be there by 8.15. Phoebe was kindly helping her prepare the meeting room because, as usual, she had left it too late.”
“I remember, India very clearly said Xanthe should be there for 8.15.” She shot a smug look at me. Bitch was after my job and alliance with India and Jaz was the quickest way to promote herself from intern to event assistant.
Maxine looked bored and said, “Phoebe, India. I’m sorry to waste your time over this. Xanthe and I will have a quick chat now.” They left and she continued. “Xanthe, I really wanted to give you a chance because your mum is such a dear friend, but I’m really getting to the end of how much I can give without damaging my business. Besides, I’m not sure how much patience I have in looking past these mess-ups. If Jaz can’t manage today successfully and to our client’s exacting requirements… well, you know the consequence.”
“I do, Maxine.” I replied, fuming on the inside. It was outrageous but HR really sucked at Mint Catering & Events.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing more to say other than get out of here and do what I pay you to do.” I got up to leave and as I was just exiting, the door wide open, she looked up. “Oh, and Xanthe? Try and do it right for once.”
Cheeks burning, I slunk to my desk, avoiding the gazes of everyone else in the office, and the bitchy glances from Phoebe and India who were gossiping in the kitchen. The day dragged past at a snail’s pace and thank fuck everything went okay with the tasting. I knew it would. Jaz and India only sabotaged me when they knew the situation was salvageable. God forbid they’d put their own jobs at risk.
When 5.30 p.m rolled round, I headed to the bathroom on the left of the entryway and slipped into the dress and fixed my makeup, slicking my go-to deep, matte mauve lipgloss on and brushing mascara over my lashes. I ran a hairbrush through my silky, straight hair before brushing some highlighter onto my cheekbones. Satisfied, I donned the heels and left the bathroom to find Phoebe just leaving, dressed in exercise gear.
She paused, looking at me in astonishment. “Now, where are you off to?”
“Probably her prostitute job, looking like that,” India commented as she entered the bathroom. They giggled conspiratorially befo
re she turned her attention to Phoebe, bored of me already. “You’ll have to come to the pub with me and Jaz next time. You exercise too much!”
They giggled again and I rolled my eyes as I exited the bathroom. Of course I had been excluded from this week’s plans. Nothing much surprised me anymore.
La Fée Verte. The name glared up at me in gold cursive. I hovered outside the address which was an incongruous corner shop in London’s bustling Soho. It must be the correct address. It was a secret bar but the ones I was used to were barely secret; usually a dark corner in a restaurant or behind a fridge in the London Breakfast Club’s case. I wished I had Noelle here with me but I pulled myself together and entered the store, channelling non-existent confidence.
The cashier looked at me and I asked, “La Fée Verte?”
“Are you on the list?” he replied, bored.
Relief washed through me as I realised it was the correct address. I was amused; poor man probably had to deal with so many idiots passing through. “Yes,” I said. At least I assumed Xander would be on the list.
“Go through the white door at the end of the aisle where the takeaway drinks are,” he instructed, already returning to his paper.
“Thanks.” I wandered down the aisle and nervously pushed it open to find another door painted deep green with an elaborate knocker. I knocked and hovered in the small space, my heart thrumming. What the fuck was I doing? Xander could very well kidnap me and no one would know.
“La Fée Verte,” a voice presently floated out. “Name?”
“I’m seeing Xander Burton-Fox.”
The door swung open to admit me to a worn, industrial-style spiral staircase. When I had descended, I could see that the room opened up to a bar running along the far side. A wide array of different bottles were illuminated by a dim yellow light, the bulb long-dusted over, and backed by a tarnished mirror. Deep green, worn velvet booths clung to the remaining three walls of the tiny space, affording patrons a modicum of privacy, enhanced by the low lighting and long shadows dancing over any debauchery. I swallowed nervously. This was clearly a place where what was deemed inappropriate in a public setting was permissible. It reeked of a faded opulence as if it were trapped in a time-capsule. A relic from the shady prohibition venues. Illegal. Unguarded. Illicit.
In short, a place where Xander would be free to have his wicked way with me, should he wish, and there would be nary a person to stop it. I pushed all my worries aside and descended to the bottom, scanning the booths, my heels clacking on the cracked, tiled floor.
“Little Doll.” Xander’s voice floated from a booth in the far corner. Not even the bartender could protect me should he be so inclined.
I slipped in opposite him and inclined my head, acknowledging his presence. He was sprawled against the booth looking feral, leonine with his hair glowing golden in the muted light, and the sharp planes of his face accentuated by the shadows cast by the small lamp with a velvet shade and dancing tassels along the bottom. Lust flared in his steel eyes at my appearance. I knew he would appreciate the dress.
“Little Doll,” he said again, his voice thick with desire. “I can see you have come to repent.” He leant forward to pour me a glass of the red wine he ordered. Red wine was his favourite and he always had a case handy. It trickled into the dusty glass like a stream of blood. I accepted the glass and clinked it with his which was aloft. “To us.” We both drank deeply, the liquid satisfyingly potent, giving me much some needed Dutch courage. “I appreciate the dress… does this mean you have overcome your bout of hysteria?”
The question hung heavy between us. I leant back, sipping the wine in consideration of the question. Could I do this? Did mine and Blaise’s supposed connection merit such a risk? Or was it just forty-eight hours of madness? Was it just some insane plan cooked up last night? Would my girls be horrified that I had regressed?
“I am sorry. I’m not sure what came over me,” I murmured, casting my eyes down in submission. “Meus ad infinitum.” I raised my eyes, fixing his gaze with determination. “Sempre et sempre.”
Satisfied, his face split into a Joker-esque grin. “Is work getting to you?”
I laughed airily. “It must be.”
He sighed. “You know I would look after you. You don’t need to work. You could be my little doll with our little children.”
I shuddered at the picture he painted but kept the revulsion off my face. “I could, Xan. You know that I don’t want to be dependent…”
He leant forward at that, capturing my hands in his. “You know that doesn’t bother me. I’d rather you stay at home as mine. I don’t like other men looking at what’s mine.” He paused before saying coldly, “Never really wanted to add homicide to my CV.”
I swallowed at that, the words cutting too close to his threat last night. “If it doesn’t bother you then I suppose I could consider it. We have been together for so long after all.”
He ignored that, clearly needing something else to address. “You didn’t fuck any of them?”
“Hm?” I asked, confused at the tangent.
“The boys in Paris. You looked awfully close to one, Blaise…” He arched an eyebrow at me.
“It was a moment of madness,” I replied but instantly regretted the honesty.
His face darkened murderously but he didn’t move from his position, idly tilting his wine glass from side to side, watching the liquid dance with the shadows. “I’ve treated you kindly, little doll, because I care about you.” He gazed at me, the murderous glint melting from his eyes. It scared me how easily he could revert to the boy I fell in love with. “How about a party? I know how you love them.”
“Whose party?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Blaise and Isadora’s engagement party. You were nothing more than a cheap fuck to him and now he’s marrying Isadora. How about that for coincidence?” Xander chuckled mirthlessly. Cruelly. Attempting to remind me that he would be the only one to care for me.
“Wow. Weird world.” I laughed, trying to lighten the tension.
“So weird. She always was keen for your seconds.”
I ignored the jibe and said tightly, “I wouldn’t really count Blaise as my seconds. It was only a forty-eight hour long mistake. When’s the party?”
“Saturday.”
“Wow, so soon.”
“You didn’t get an invite?” Xander asked, knowing the answer.
“Nope. You know she hates me.”
“Well she might like you now that she’s got one of your boys.”
Fine, I thought angrily. I would bite. I would, for the first time, ask for answers rather than ignore cryptic jibes. “I always wondered why she was so obsessed with you and why she hated me so much. It’s not like I did anything to her.”
He chuckled. “And this is why you’re my little doll. So blissfully naïve. Mine to guide,” he paused. “She was jealous. I remember when we were little she used to hate you going off to do whatever cooking game you had. Brazenly displaying the confident disregard for fitting in with everyone. She always tried to emulate her sisters and hated that you really didn’t care. She hated that adults used to coo over your looks, the little doll.” He chuckled coldly, regarding me like I was some butterfly he’d pinned to his collection. I squirmed uncomfortably. It surely wasn’t like that. That would be ridiculous. Maybe I was naïve. “Then of course you initiated our relationship.” He paused again, letting the gravity of that sink in as he topped our glasses up and brushed his hand over mine. I had to restrain my shiver. In his opinion, I had signed a non-breakable contract. My mad weekend in Paris was exactly that; mad, a moment of hysteria. Something Xander could overlook in return for the continuation of good behaviour. “She had orchestrated that whole party to try and finally get with me but you made the first move, spurred on by jealousy. I was waiting for you to do that and you finally did, and now you’ve almost ruined what we had. I could have moved on to Isadora had she not been engaged.”
“Is tha
t why she sabotaged Miranda’s engagement party?” I asked, flinching at Xander’s casual reference to Isadora’s sister’s disastrous engagement party.
“Obviously,” he said in exasperation. “She invited me down to her eighteenth at her family home in West Wittering to try and provoke you to retaliate but because you’re so fucking innocent you didn’t do anything. The stage, however, was perfectly set to make people believe you had just reason to retaliate and I’m sure you can remember the rest.”
I smiled at him but my mind was years away, back to when we were eighteen and I was madly in love with Xander. Just a hopeless innocent child who was blinded to his flaws and only looked forward to our new life at uni. We had been dragged to a family friend’s engagement party, Isadora’s sister, and I had tried desperately to get out of it but to no avail.
* * *
I glanced at my reflection, smoothing down my grey dress, the chiffon dancing around my knees. The empire cut of the dress and the floaty material accentuated my doll-like features. I smiled. Xander would be pleased.
“Xanthe! I know you don’t want to come but can you at least show them support, please.” My mother’s exasperated shout resounded through the house.
My mood immediately soured. I hadn’t wanted anything to do with Isadora after she had invited Xander to her eighteenth and not me. She clearly wanted him to herself and that only just compounded years of her nasty behaviour. It had got worse from the night of her fifteenth birthday party when she realised that Xan and I were together but otherwise I really didn’t know why she was so mean. I knew I just had to tolerate it. When I came crying to my mother, she just told me I was overreacting and I just needed to grow-up. I couldn’t stop Xander and Isadora from having a friendship and I just needed to accept it with grace and not with a vulgar tantrum.
Little Doll: Queens of Chaos 1 Page 18
