by Bloom, Anna
What I am learning quickly is that what you see on the surface with the Faircloughs, is not what’s underneath.
I’m going to become one of them. I will be a Fairclough. I made an unbreakable promise when I knelt on the floor of the Tate and asked Eli to be mine no matter my flaws.
So the woman who has hidden herself under the artwork of her mistakes on her skin is about to join a family where you can’t be who you really are.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad.
Have I ever truly known who I am?
I just have to trust that Eli and I can find me together.
Two
When the door clicks softly, I’ve been laying on my back staring at the ceiling in my pink room at Bowsley for some time. I don’t know why I’d expected the walls to be white—for all remnants of my stay here during the summer to have been removed—but it is still pink. The girly white-framed bed is also still in situ. I’ve been recalling our nights spent in here and the evenings when Eli would appear and lean against the door, hesitating, unsure whether to come in… and now I’m going to be his wife. Life is crazy. End of.
My stomach gurgles as he comes closer. “You don’t have to be out here, you know.” I turn and watch him as he drops onto the bed and stretches by my side. “You can have a room in the main building.” Lifting gentle fingers, he tilts my chin so he can meet my gaze. “Or my room.” Leaning forward, he places a kiss softly on the corner of my mouth. “I’m sorry I left you for so long. Mother needed someone with her.”
“Don’t apologise.” I blink up at him and run a hand though his short hair, before lowering it and swiping my thumb across the fine trace of creases under his eyes. Not that you can really see them with the dark bruising blooming across the delicate skin. “What did she say about your injuries?”
“Not much. I told her I got mugged.”
“Sorry.”
He smiles as much as his bust-up lips will allow. “Sorry I got beaten by a guy who should be in jail? Or sorry I got my arse handed to me and you had to step in to protect me? I’m going to have to work on my manliness.” His fingers lift to the bruise across my right cheek. It doesn’t hurt that bad, or maybe I’m just numb all over. I don’t know.
“I didn’t have to step in. I couldn’t bear the fact you were being hurt. It was my fault.” If I’d reported Aiden for what he’d done to me years ago then he might not have been out roaming Brighton late at night and happened along our path. His fists and feet wouldn’t have collided with Eli’s beautiful face. I repress a shudder when I think what Aiden might have been prowling the dark rain-sloshed streets for. “He’s going to prison, I hope.”
Eli shifts closer, his body fitting alongside mine. “I’m going to make sure he does.”
“What do you mean?” I glance over his bust-up face in the darkness.
“I’m going to be your lawyer.”
“Uh, no.” My head shakes fast, from side to side. “No, you can’t. Isn’t that a conflict of interests? I don’t want you being involved with that.”
“I want him to go down and I’m the best.”
I lift an eyebrow. “That might be. But I also want you to be my husband. I’m not going to wait just so you can be my lawyer. I’m not hiding anything anymore, from you or anyone, but I don’t want you to have to know everything. It’s not fair on you, or me, and definitely not fair on our marriage.”
“I love hearing you talk about our marriage.”
I grin, stupid and wide, which is totally ridiculous given the circumstances of the day, but I can’t help it. “How are you? I mean, apart from the bruises. How were things with your mum?”
He sighs and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “She’s in shock. I’ve never seen her like that.”
“Did Connie come down?”
“No.”
“Surely she should be supporting your mother? She’s a goddamn bitch, but she’s still her mum.”
He shrugs as much as his injuries will allow.
My stomach gurgles again, loud and clear.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. Elaine was upset, I didn’t want to interfere. Tabitha went to bed early. She said she had a migraine coming on.”
Eli nods. “I went and knocked for her. She always gets migraines when she cries too much. I’m glad Lewis is here for her.”
“Yeah. Honestly though, Eli, I don’t know how much more those two can take. It’s like a relationship of doom.” He watches expectantly for me to elaborate. “Well you know what I mean. First, they meet under the circumstances of his mother's death and Lewis being arrested. Then they get pregnant after knowing each other a matter of weeks—I mean seriously, who does that? Then they lose the baby, and now this? She’s eighteen. It’s not normal. She should be out with her friends, getting drunk and being stupid.”
“You don’t think they will make it?”
I shrug. “I think they are young. But I’m worried more heartbreak is coming her way.”
“We’ve made it though.” His hands catch mine. “Despite everything. We’ve made it.”
“We’re older.”
I hold in my next words. We haven’t made it yet.
Things are going to get real. I’ve got my degree. The TV Show. Eli has Melanie’s case in a couple of weeks. And now we have to deal with him being heir to the title of the Fairclough Baron—whatever the word is. I mean, come on, I don’t even know what it’s called and now I’m marrying into it?
“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.
“That I love you.” I smile and roll over, gently wrapping my arm around his tummy. I want to strip off and lay my skin alongside his. I want to consummate our promise with touches and kisses, and him filling me the way only he can. But I know he’s too injured, so I make do with a cuddle.
“I love you.” We lapse into silence. I’m contemplating the man I didn’t know who lost his life earlier today and the other man by my side who now doesn’t have a brother. I’m thinking of the twisted demon who was once almost my brother and did things he shouldn’t, and I’m thinking of the man who has always been a brother to me but is now lost, swept away from me on a tide of regret and grief. The worst bit is I don’t know if I can even talk to Eli about all of this. Now he knows I slept with Dan it will always be there. I’ll never be able to be open again about my concerns and worries for my lifelong friend. That’s on me. I did that with my foolish mistakes. If I shut my eyes, I can see the flash of betrayal in Dan’s gaze. This isn’t your home anymore.
He was right. Brighton isn’t my home anymore. Eli is.
“I’m starving, reckon we can go and make some food without Elaine being cross that we’ve invaded her space?” I break the heavy silence.
“I think we can manage that.” He groans. “Although that means I’ll have to move again.”
“We’ll go and find some painkillers.”
“And whisky?”
I chuckle, subdued and hushed. “And some whisky.”
“Will you move into the main house with me while we are here? My wife should be in my bedroom, not in a guest room.”
I shake my head as I scramble from the mattress, helping him to sit up. “No. I’ll stay here. It’s for the best right now. I’m still here for you, but I don’t want to be sleeping down the hall from your wicked grandmother.”
He stills, pensive beneath the bruises. “And I don’t want to sleep without you at all. I’ll move out here.”
I go to shake my head, but he cuts off my words with a fleeting caress of his lips against mine. “Together.”
I smile against his mouth, my tongue tasting the metallic tang of fresh blood which must still be leaking through. “Forever.”
* * *
I’m not going to lie. I didn’t sleep and neither did Eli. We both lay there in the darkness, both ensnared in our own tangled thoughts.
When daylight begins to creep through the curtains, I roll over and lift up onto my elbows; my
ribs and bruised flesh aches with a dull spreading pain at my sudden movement. “Shall we stop pretending to sleep now and go find some breakfast?”
One of his eyebrows lifts and he shifts his attention from the ceiling and down onto my face. “For a woman as skinny as you, you seem to be constantly talking about food.”
I mull over his words for a moment as I stretch under the duvet, my toes pointing, my muscles aching. “I am hungry. Maybe it’s because I’m not maintaining my vital nicotine intake.”
He snorts a little and then winces as his ribs obviously cause him pain. “Possibly.”
“Listen, I know today is going to be shit, but I think we need to get your injuries checked.”
He just groans and lifts an arm to cover his face. “No. Don’t fuss.”
“Eli, it’s not fussing. It’s called caring.”
I sit up and pull his arm back down before dropping my focus to assess his bare torso. The bruising is bad. More than bad.
I want to slice Aiden’s dick off with a carving knife. Okay, I’ve wanted to do that for years but now I want to cut it off and then make him eat it like a hotdog. He’s ruined my Eli. I know the bruises will fade, but their memory will linger between us, unspoken, but never truly evaporating.
He rolls slightly to get up, masking any pain he is experiencing. I can only imagine he is cussing like a bitch on the inside. “Okay, Faith. Stop faffing and let's have a tactical discussion before we get into the main house.”
“A tactical discussion? Is this a battlefield?”
He arches one wry eyebrow—I can only imagine that must hurt, too. I don’t really know how it’s possible to look so handsome when your skin is the colour of an aubergine, but he’s managing to pull it off. With sleep smudged eyes, bed hair and bruises I wish I could erase with my touch, he is still astonishingly breath-taking. From the corner of my eye I can see my own reflection and all I see is ink. “This is Bowsley, everything is a battle,” he says, unaware of my internal musings.
“Eli.” I sigh and switch myself back into our conversation. “Your brother has just died. I don’t think these are normal circumstances.”
His face freezes. Those lips I normally love to kiss when they aren’t swollen and covered in scabs, crimp into a straight line. “I know he did.” His voice echoes with a shattering emptiness. “But a couple of days ago my mother, or grandmother, whoever it might have been, tried to sabotage us, again, by inviting your useless father to my birthday dinner.”
With a sigh I shift closer and slip my arms carefully and gently around him, staring into his eyes. “How are you?” I meet his gaze only to find a tortured fear in their depths.
Before I can search the depths of emotions in his eyes, he drops his head to my shoulder, his breath fanning along my skin, rippling a flush of goosebumps across the exposed surface of my ink. “It’s unreal. I can’t think about it.”
I nod. Dan was like this when Al died, and Dan had warning; he knew it was coming, knew it was imminent, despite not wanting it to happen.
Peter is just gone.
There one minute with his sardonic smile.
Gone the next.
I don’t know what to say. So instead of saying anything at all, I plant a gentle kiss on his shoulder. He leans into me, the warmth of our skin touching filling the place words leave empty.
“I don’t want them to hurt you again, Faith.” He picks up my fingers, staring at the diamonds and gold. “Peter wouldn’t want it, either. He liked you. The night of my dinner when you ran; I hate to admit it, but I stood there frozen. For a long moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. The second you turned and walked away with that look in your eyes, I thought we were done for good. It was Peter who came up and handed me the keys to his car. He said, 'What are you waiting for, prodigal son? Go get her'.”
A resonating crack splits his words.
My lips land on his shoulder again. What else can I do?
“It was my fault he was driving the wrong car in the rain the next day. I had his Range Rover.”
I lift my gaze to his, blinking into the blues. “That was his car in Brighton.”
He nods. “Yes. It’s like mine, but better. Peter loved the best of everything. It got me to Brighton in less time than the train took you.”
“You were there when I arrived?”
“I watched you let yourself into Dan's house.” The blues flicker at the mention of Dan, but that’s the only deep response I can find.
“Why didn’t you stop me before I went in?”
“Even before I knew what happened between you, I can’t lie, Faith. It made me jealous knowing how close you two were. When I saw you pull his key, still on your key-ring, out of your bag and slide it into the lock, it stung.”
I drop my head. This hurts.
“So when I say we are going into battle, what I mean is that the moment we announce our engagement they will come at us again.”
“Because they will never accept me?” I know this. But it still damn hurts.
He shakes his head. “No. Because you were my choice.” His hand reaches out, his fingers tangling with mine. “I’m the heir now. Whether I want to be or not. They will try to scare you away again.”
I meet his gaze with fierce determination, my heart hammering in my chest. “They can’t. I’m in. All in.”
Leaning forward, he cups my face in the palm of his hands. “Good.” For the first time since the events of Brighton, he kisses me properly. His lips planting on mine, rough and strange, their surface not the smooth warmth I’m used to. His tongue sweeps along my lower lip and begrudgingly—because I can’t help myself, but at the same time I know it’s hurting him—I part my lips to allow him in. His hand slides into my hair, knotting his fingers into the strands. Heat flares across my body, darting low in my stomach. I kiss him back, our tongues dancing, revelling in being together again. The beating of my heart booms a wild rhythm as I slide myself closer to him, pressing my breasts against his chest, desperate to feel any part of him.
“I love you,” I whisper the words into his mouth.
His fingers loosen in my hair and he pulls back to meet my gaze. “I don’t think I can do today.”
I offer him a sad smile. “You can. It’s going to hurt, but I know you can. You are strong, a fighter; think of all the battles you win in the courtroom. You can face down anything.”
Slowly he drops his head to my shoulder, brushing the air he exhales across my neck. We sit there, tight together, until a splatter of water lands on my skin, and another, then another.
I shift back to look at him, to find his beautiful eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry.” He dashes a hand against his cheek.
“Never be sorry.” My own eyes well with tears. “Your brother died. It’s okay to let the hurt show.”
He gives a half laugh, wry and bitter. “Emotion isn’t encouraged at Bowsley.”
“Just as well you have me then. I encourage emotion, arse kicking and ink. It fixes everything.”
His lips curve a little. “I can’t lose anyone else. First Dad, now Pete.”
I nod slowly. “I know. It hurts.”
My stomach rumbles again and a pang of sickness washes up my throat as I realise how hungry I am.
“I’ve never heard your stomach make those noises before.” He chuckles and it lifts the atmosphere.
“I’m glad my hunger amuses you.” I slide off the bed. “Come on, let's get ready.”
“No, no, this is your home now. We can do breakfast in pyjamas.”
I snort a laugh. “But, Elijah, you aren’t in pyjamas. You are as naked as the day you were born.”
He glances down, his arousal at our long overdue kiss still evident. “Wait. Wait. Now, Faith. I don’t want you to get overexcited.” He gets up, wincing a little and I take the moment to admire his body; even black and blue he’s still a sight to behold. He stalks for the bag he brought into my room last night when he ‘moved in’.
A s
mile grows on my face as I watch him root through the bag and then pull out some pale-blue striped grandad pyjamas. “Oh no, no. I will never look at you the same again.”
He chuckles, and I’m glad to see his grief lessen, even if it’s just for a brief moment.
“Wait. You haven’t seen the full effect yet.” He tugs on the top and buttons it up. “Now, what do you think?”
I snort. “Surprisingly still as sexy as hell.”
“Here you go.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a navy pair and throws them to where I’m sitting on the bed.
With a grin, I snatch them up. “Okay. Grandad pyjamas it is.” I pull them up, rolling them over at the waistband to make them short enough and tighter around my waist, and then I swiftly button the top. “Okay?”
“Surprisingly still as sexy as hell.”
I grab his hand. “Let's go eat. I’m going to pass out if I don’t get food soon.” The look he shoots me is troubled. “I’m just peckish. Here, look.” I grab my packet of cigarettes off the chest of drawers. “These will help.”
At the door he pauses, his eyes scanning my face. “Together?”
I nod. Just once. “Forever.”
I just wish my thudding heart was as brave as my brain speaking the words.
I slide my hand in his and we go out to face whatever day two of life without Peter has in store.
Three
Lunch is as awkward as breakfast. No one is really eating, apart from me. The quiche is surprisingly delicious. And I don’t usually like quiche.
Tabitha is still crying. Lewis is scowling and looking so awkward I think he’d rather be anywhere else. Every time he tries to make a break for freedom, she grabs his hand tighter and holds him close.
I’ve got a bad feeling.
“Has someone called your dad?” I ask. The spoon Jennifer has been using to stir her coffee for the last ten minutes hits the saucer.
