Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Like I said,” Topaz mumbled. “It’s none of my business really.”
“Cut the bullshit.” I pushed the fridge door closed until she had no choice but to look at me. “You know things that I clearly don’t, and that’s not a situation I’m ever comfortable with. Knowledge is power, Topaz, and right now you’re fucking lording it over me.”
“I’m not lording anything!”
“Good, then you won’t mind sharing,” I smiled, then took a seat, indicating the ever-ticking second hand on my watch. “Faye will be back in fifteen minutes,” I said. “You’d better start talking.”
***
Chapter Fifteen
Faye
It was just a short walk to the bank. A couple of streets in broad daylight, with plenty of passers-by for camouflage, but that made no difference to my jittery nerves. My eyes darted all around me, scouting every shadow, every doorway, every sound behind me, every set of footsteps crossing my path.
I breathed a sigh of relief once I’d crossed the bank’s threshold, taking a moment to calm my breath before joining the queue. I hardly registered the cashier’s small talk, handing over the cheques with barely a smile.
My legs didn’t want to carry me back onto the street. They balked and protested, pooling into gangly, useless excuses for limbs. Come on, Faye, get a fucking grip. I pictured Andy’s condescending expression, the roll of his eyes, and then I gritted my teeth and got the fuck on with it.
It had started to rain and I had no umbrella against the drizzle, and in my strop I’d neglected to pick up my coat. The rain pricked at me, tiny little needles, bathing me in the kind of cold sweat that makes your teeth chatter. I was scared. The kind of scared I’d felt as I’d run from Italy, the writhing pit of snakes in the bottom of my stomach, slithery and cold and full of dread.
I’d run away from one horrible mess, only to create a brand new one. I could already feel it unfurling in my gut, the urge to spin on my stilettos and bail. I’d always been a runner, cracking under the first sign of real trouble and disappearing like a whippet into the sunset. I’d never been short of people telling me as much, either. It drove my parents insane, the cycle of all-consuming passion, through disillusionment, always to end up in dramatic abandonment. I’d quit everything I’d ever started; every expensive hobby, every college class, every fledgling relationship, bailing out as soon as life didn’t live up to the pretty Faye dream.
Explicit should have been different. Venice should have been different. But they weren’t, and here I was, on the edge of bailing again, only this time I had nowhere to go, nowhere else I wanted to be.
I slipped between two buildings, ducking under an overhanging ledge to escape the rain. I wasn’t ready to go back yet, not to the bar and Topaz’s well-meaning questions, and certainly not to Andy. My heart was thumping, and my brain was already cycling through my options. A train down south, back home to Mum and Dad’s. Maybe I could head west, over to my sister Karen’s place in the Cotswolds, she’d been harping on for a visit. But everything I owned was at Andy’s place, and I always travelled light but travelled essential. I couldn’t just bail without so much as a spare pair of panties. That would be a whole new all-time low.
Vincent would still find me, regardless of what move I made. Andy probably not, I imagined he’d breathe a sigh of relief and change the locks the moment I was through the door, but Vincent was a different beast. A more persistent beast. A more invested beast.
I hate Cynthia and Richard. I hate Cynthia, specifically. The full realisation of just how much I hate them comes rarely, but when it comes it makes me feel sick, like I could lose my shit and go all batshit on them, tell them to get out of my fucking home, and my fucking life, and my fucking Vincent. Only I don’t. That would never do. That would never please Vincent, and Vincent’s word is law.
Today there is hope. It feels beautiful, like sunlight through rain. Vincent will love me today, above all others. Above them. Oh, how good that feels.
I’m not even nervous today, it matters not how crazy shit gets, or how many guests I have to entertain with my pussy, or even how brutal things can get in the name of love. Today I will be loved by him, and it won’t be in secret, and it will be fucking wonderful.
I’m ready when Vincent comes for me. He looks divine in black, like a dark God, tailored in luxury mohair with a dark glint in his eyes. He stares at me, stares at my nakedness, and I spread my legs for him so that he can appreciate my cleanly shaven slit. “My beautiful bird,” he says. “You take my breath.” His words make my pussy flutter. “Come.” He offers a hand. “Our guests have arrived.”