Little Doll: Queens of Chaos 1

by L. J. Findlay

  It might be adult but that didn’t mean I had to like it, I thought sulkily as I descended the stairs to my waiting family.

  Predictably, when we had arrived at the Watson’s house, the family greeted us and we exchanged platitudes and congratulations on Miranda’s engagement but Isadora just stood to one side, glaring.

  My mother reached out to her. “Everything okay, Isadora?”

  She glanced nervously at me. “It’s nothing, I don’t want to make the situation worse.”

  I remembered my mother had rolled her eyes, presumably tired of adolescent drama. “Xanthe is a grown-up, she understands your friendship with Xander.”

  She slanted a loaded look at me and I replied obediently. “I really do, Izzie. Let us just be friends?”

  She glared at me and said, “At least you could sound sincere about it.”

  My mother had sighed and looked at me reproachfully. “You could have tried harder. They are such dear friends.”

  Thankfully at that time Xander and the rest of his family had arrived and I embraced him tightly, seeking comfort in his presence. We headed into the party together and Isadora glared malevolently throughout as her mother was calling for everyone’s attention. She gave a short speech thanking everyone for their attendance and wishing her daughter Miranda congratulations for her engagement. The powerpoint documenting their relationship then started.

  It was completely fine until the screen blacked for a moment, causing confused murmurs to ripple around the crowd, before it started up again and the confused murmurs were replaced by shocked gasps. The pictures had been replaced by graphically provocative pictures of Isadora in full HD and they just kept on coming. I remembered feeling so confused as to why she would want to do that to herself? Surely that was just shooting herself in the foot? Wasn’t it so embarrassing?

  Xander had looked at me with clear suspicion written over his face and I wanted to scream. How on earth would I have got those pictures? Why would I broadcast them at a family party? My innocence must have shown through, thankfully, because the suspicion soon cleared from his face and he tucked me under his arm.

  Isadora’s mother had cancelled the show, the screen going dark before glaring at the room. “Who has dared to violate my daughter in such a way? Ruining my other daughter’s happy day too, by the way.”

  The gaze of the room fell on me and I remembered feeling confused again. They blamed me? Why? I didn’t even have access to those photos.

  Isadora returned, tears streaking her cheeks. “It obviously was Xanthe. She’s always skulking around these parties, not bothering to make an effort. It wouldn’t be difficult for her to get these photos.” She glared at me and before I could defend myself she continued on. “Look, I am sorry I invited Xander to my eighteenth but guess what? He’s my friend and he’s a thousand times the person you’ll ever be, and this little stunt just demonstrates it.”

  “Isadora! You know this is ridiculous… I would never, ever do that! And why the fuck would you even have photos like that on your…”

  “Xanthe, just don’t. We’ll deal with this at home,” my mother gritted out, her grip a vice on my shoulders. “Alison, I am so, so sorry. Trust that I will deal with this, we’ll be in touch.”

  I was guided out of the party and I think my parents had believed that I hadn’t had a hand in the ridiculous stunt, but it was a convenient excuse to leave me out of parties so as to avoid another scene. Like I said, family is complicated.

  * * *

  “…believed you,” Xander was saying conversationally.

  I knew this but I accepted the bait. “Really?”

  “Of course, I love you and I know that you wouldn’t do anything so underhand. Hopefully this whole spat can be resolved at the engagement party.” He smiled at me. “In exchange for me ignoring your little moment of hysteria last weekend, okay?” I nodded, trying to appear hopeful and thankful as I sipped my wine. “Mark my words though, if anything happens like that again I will not be so lenient.”

  I shivered but said nothing, praying that my plan to get into this party would solve everything. That somehow I would be safe soon.

  Blaise

  I reclined on our brown leather couch in the sitting room, nursing a pint of beer that Isadora gave me in the guise of being an obedient fiancée of course. Marriage wouldn’t be so bad if she continued treating me this way, even though it did rather alarmingly resemble sickeningly submissive servitude. I could see her fluttering around organising the catering staff because this was not just any party. It was an engagement party and therefore we had to pretend we were like our elders who revelled in the show of fancy canapés and dressed up waiting staff. So. Fucking. Tiresome.

  “Blaise. Blaise,” Isadora called, snapping her fingers like I was her bloody lapdog.

  “What?” I snapped back.

  “Can you not at least help me?”

  “Looks like you have it under control, dear.”

  I heard an irritated huff from behind me and then Isadora stood in front of me, arms akimbo and looking every inch the cross, trophy wife; clad in an expensive sage green cocktail dress with sharp, silver stilettos. It was a shame that the dress did no favours to her figure. I could see every lump outlined and it stretched painfully across her thighs, riding up in an unflattering manner. She could at least wear something that suited her. One might have thought that was possible given her desperation to be nothing more than a trophy draped over my arm.

  “Blaise. Please can you at least do me the courtesy of presenting a united front?” she hissed. I arched an eyebrow in return, already bored of her whining. It was so predictable. If everything was okay in public then we could be strangers in private. What a sad way to live a life. What a sad little girl she was if she thought that was even remotely okay. “You’re embarrassing me lying there and doing nothing to help,” she continued, her voice wobbling and an ugly red flush rising on her cheeks. Oh dear, looked like my darling fiancée was going to throw a temper tantrum. Now that was embarrassing.

  “I didn’t ask for this. It’s pretentious. Our friends are all in their twenties. We could easily have had flowing champagne, a few crisps, and that would be fine. We didn’t need this whole catering farce for something that isn’t born out of love,” I drawled, gesturing with my pint to underline the whole ridiculousness of this eve.

  Hands appeared around Isadora’s waist and Ludo drawled, “Leave the poor man be, Isadora. You’ll have all the time in the world to torture him when you are happily wed.”

  She glared at me but complied, stamping her foot. Such a fucking toddler. She disappeared through the door down to the kitchen, presumably to boss the staff around and to feed into her narcissistic, pretentious façade.

  “Not that I’m complaining, Ludo, but why did you rescue me from our beloved fiancée?” He arched an eyebrow at the use of our beloved fiancée. I sighed. “She belongs to us because it was our task to pass, I took the burden and now,” I saluted him with my drink. “Continue.”

  He looked tempted to make a comment but knew it would be to no avail. He sat in the plush, velvet wingback chair by the couch and took a long sip of his drink. Something was fucking up. He was almost as bad as Delacourt. Flippant, insincere. Too concerned with enjoying life. Fucking wasters, the both of them. When they were quiet like this there was always something up.

  “Spit it out,” I snapped.

  He fixed me with a serious gaze before slouching back, chewing his lip. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this but I had some very interesting clients at La Fée Verte last night.”

  La Fée Verte was the latest of his enterprises. Unsurprising to the audience it was a secret, exclusive bar in London’s Soho and I did not doubt it had an interesting clientele. “What? Some depraved couple performed sexual acts on the bar for your voyeuristic pleasure?”

  That snapped something. He slammed his drink on the table, whatever liquid comprised the cocktail going flying. It was probably a negroni. Hi
s drink of choice but that was scarcely relevant to whatever he wanted to tell me. I was growing bored of this conversation too.

  Ludo leant forward and hissed, “For fuck’s sake, you need to be serious about this and act like an adult tonight.”

  “When have I ever not acted like an adult?” I retorted, stung. I denied myself hedonism for the sake of liberty. They all fucking knew that. How dare he have the cheek to assume that I was the wildcard? “I am neither you nor Delacourt, as you very well know.”

  “Look, I am doing this as a favour for you because forewarned is forearmed.”

  “So, it does pertain to this eve.” I interrupted, gazing pensively at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “So, logically speaking it is something that would be a favour to us all?”

  “Just listen, okay,” he sighed. I waved a hand, indicating him to continue. “Anyway, the clients were Xanthe and Xander.”

  I sat up at that, uncaring of my beer sloshing all over the couch as I righted myself, I fixed Ludo with a glare. “This better not be a fucking joke. Tread very carefully, brother.”

  He paled. “You really need to get over this infatuation you know? I get that first love is lovely, but it has no place in our world.”

  “But it does for Delacourt?”

  He ignored that, continuing. “You only spent forty-eight hours with the girl, so unless she has some magic pussy I fail to comprehend the obsession.” He raised a hand to stop my fury spilling forth and I gritted my teeth. “You are getting married. She is patching things up with her ex, who has been nothing but decent.”

  “Something isn’t right about him,” I interjected, remembering how she froze when I attempted to give her a morning delight in Paris. There was something very fucking wrong about him.

  “I’ve only met him on occasion at parties but he’s always seemed like a decent guy…” Ludo tailed off, seeing the murderous look in my eye before sighing and continuing in exasperation. “Regardless, I don’t care. You shouldn’t care. She’s not your business. Isadora is. I am telling you this not to rile up your psychopathic obsession but to warn you. She is coming here as his date. I heard the two of them discussing it last night. You will accept it and you will not do anything to fuck this task up. Okay? Take this as some kind of sign that your infatuation is over.” Ludo stood, towering over me as if to intimidate me. It was a nice try at least but it didn’t work.

  I rolled onto my back like some languorous housecat. Dissonance and disillusionment would be an ideal cloak to wear this eve. I’m not sure what I would do when I saw them together. Prior to tonight, I had been content to let my obsession with Xanthe cool off. Accept the task and get through life until I have freedom. Of course, it was bloody annoying that this was delayed by five years but I could wait until then. My disappointment that I wouldn’t have my girl was safely filed away but the news that she was now coming to this party changed the whole board game. Ludo was wrong. It was a sign she belonged with me and the dissident devil in my head roared his agreement at that.

  “I understand. What I don’t understand is why Xander is coming tonight?”

  “Xander is a dear friend of mine from childhood,” Isadora said, appearing in the doorway.

  “We really are going to have to do something about your eavesdropping. There are some things we discuss that are not suitable for delicate female ears,” I commented, processing the information she deposited. Of course they were friends from childhood. Everyone in our world was interconnected. The South was only a small fraction of the UK. Everyone knew everyone. In this case it was a boon to me. It gave me the opportunity to restart my affair, to explain the sordid situation in hope of redemption.

  Isadora bit back her anger and continued evenly. “I thought it would be nice to have my friends here, for you to meet them, seeing as, you know, we are going to build a life together.” She paused, chewing her lip, hovering in the doorway before asking nervously. Her hesitance was a sign she was learning, thank fuck. “Is anything the matter?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.” I waved my hand in dismissal and she scurried off, leaving us in blessed peace again.

  Ludo regarded me with ill-disguised disgust. “You could do much worse, you know?”

  “And?” I replied, ignoring how he blatantly overlooked her flaws; namely her pathetic, materialistic desire to marry me for my wealth. Happy to be sold like some kind of whore. It was disgusting really, to say the least. He sighed, uncharacteristically nervous. I gritted out. “Spit whatever you have to say out.”

  “I could marry Xanthe.” I scoffed at that, too tired to fight him. “I’m fucking serious, Blaise. If you’re so hung up on her then I’ll bring her into our fold and no one will question it if she’s always with us.”

  “Would you fuck her?”

  He went silent at that. I knew he liked Xanthe. He’d liked her when she used him to make me feel jealous. He’d continued to like her throughout Paris. Now he was waiting in the fucking wings for my obsession to cool off so he could express an interest. Thank God, she couldn’t give two damns about him.

  “And would that really bother you while you’re off sleeping with Isadora? Only fair for you to get a little possessive in return.”

  “And what? We just have some kind of little sexual commune?”

  “Or until Isadora has provided an heir.” Ludo paused. “I mean, in that time, Xanthe might realise what a psychopathic dickhead you are and stay with me.”

  I sat up at that and pinned him to the chair. He should know better than to push me too far. He spluttered under my chokehold. I smirked at the terror that crossed his face. “If you so much as touch her, I will fucking end you, brother.”

  He raised his hands and choked out, “Loud and clear.”

  “Everything okay in here?” Damien asked, entering the room. “Oh dear. Looks like someone still hasn’t learnt how to share his toys,” he tutted.

  Bastien trailed in behind him and said conversationally, “You really have to stop this, Blaise. I mean really. Put him down, you don’t know where he’s been.”

  I released him, downed his negroni, and scowled at my friends before stalking out of the room.

  Xanthe

  Saturday eve arrived and I found myself in a bar by Clapham North, waiting for Xander. How times had changed from last week, I thought in amusement. What a meteoric shock the boys had left on our lives. If they hadn’t barged in, then who knows if I would even be ‘back’ with him just a week on?

  The girls were still in the dark with regards to my plans for tonight. We had discussed the possibility of my attendance the other night with Bastien. Unsurprisingly, he had vetoed that with Gemma’s support. Noelle, little snake, had agreed as well. To be fair, I could understand why. She thought if I came then I would show my hand too early. In her words, we needed more time to work out a plan. She would be at the party because she apparently needed to support Gemma. Fine. I knew she had to support her but it still stung that I hadn’t been invited.

  Anyway, they thought I was having supper with Grace, an old school friend, but little did they know that I had dolled myself up in a sheer, metallic shirt dress, my favourite black lingerie, and thigh high velvet boots. I had dressed up to win my man back. Engagement or no engagement there was unfinished business between myself and Blaise. Especially now that he was engaged to Isadora. The girl was a nasty piece of work through and through, not least because of our argument. I didn’t even want to see the girl, let alone celebrate some fake engagement. Especially after what I had learnt from Xander last night. I mean, how sad was it to project jealousy in such a malevolent way? She deserved to suffer when I stole Blaise back from her. She could have Xander for all I cared. She could learn how dangerous and abusive he was. It was what she deserved really.

  I sipped at my negroni, loving the tart taste of alcohol equipping me with some pseudo-confidence and watched the other people in the garden, imagining what brought them here tonight. I suppose that was why I seemed s
o passive, such a little doll, I mused, as I regarded the others laughing and joking, bathed in the angelic glow of the setting, summer sun. Always happy to watch rather than participate.

  I just hadn’t realised it was my own life I was watching fly past as well.

  At that moment, he appeared through the door to the garden, shading his eyes to search for me. Before alerting him to my presence, I looked at him through my new lens: he remained extremely good-looking with soft, dark-blonde hair and a slim but toned physique that stood easily head and shoulders above the crowd. Some might say his resemblance to a Norse god of old was uncanny. It was an easily lovable container, it was just a shame that the contents were toxic waste.

  “Xan!” I called, smiling and waving my hand.

  He looked over and his pouty lips pulled into a smile of recognition. He swaggered with ease and confidence over towards me and I stood up to allow him to pull me into a hug, forcing my muscles to not tense up in revulsion. Satisfied, he pulled back and cast a gaze of admiration up and down my body, stripping me bare before him. Of course, he thought the outfit was for him. How fucking foolish was he?

  “Looking good, little doll. Isadora won’t know what’s hit her.” He chuckled and my brows knit in confusion. Isadora?

  “Hm?” I asked, settling back down.

  “You obviously are dressing like that to put her in her place. Obviously, since I clued you into her jealousy last night.” He laughed at my confusion, taking a deep sip of his red wine before gesticulating with it airily. “She’s not hideous, obviously, but she pales into comparison to you. Little doll, you are just luminous.” He tried to press a kiss to my lips but I averted my face, unable to go that far just yet, so his kiss fell on my cheek. He frowned at this but decided to overlook it, sitting back in uncomfortable familiarity pressed up against me with his arm around my shoulders.