Hate to Love You(34)

For the umpteenth time I railed at myself, needing to get a grip on the insane possessiveness that had taken hold of me. Thinking of my taunting, immature behaviour in the garden maze made me cringe. No wonder James was showing me how little he wanted me. I didn’t realise I’d poured myself a glass of wine until I was gulping it down. A few raised eyebrows made me pour myself another full glass. Then Warren decided he was thirsty and soon enough the whole table was drinking. That’s manners for you, posh and common.

I forced myself to slow down and concentrate on my table companions. The five couples seated with me were James’s colleagues and their dates. As we waited for the dinner service to reach us they criticised everything about the wedding. A woman who looked like Zara Phillips leaned in conspiratorially. I dubbed her Horsey.

“How long before they file?” she said, sotto voce.

“Two years, tops,” Warren postulated.

The prematurely balding guy three places down sniggered. “Irreconcilable differences.”

Everybody jumped in to express an opinion. I mean table 23 really got into the spirit of it, laughing and drinking as they made bets on the length of James and Caroline’s marriage. Three years. Six months. Four years. One year.

As they argued I drank my wine. Then Horsey remembered I hadn’t given my flutter.

“One night.” I said, loud and clear. “Adultery.”

They laughed and toasted me. We argued about happiness and marriage all the way through dinner. They were lawyers after all, keen to hear the sound of their own voices. I kept my eyes resolutely at my table and gave myself up to the pleasure of enjoying a fantastic meal and delicious, expensive wine. My last drink of the night, I promised myself.

Liar, my mind sneered, zapping me so painfully I took another sip.



I had just finished my profiterole when I saw my mother walking towards me. Into the middle of the table went my full glass of wine, replaced by a hastily poured glass of water.

“What’s that?” she demanded.

I offered the glass up for her to sniff and her jaw relaxed. She looked me over and her face screwed up again.

“I need you to go up to the bridal suite and get the bridesmaids’ gifts,” she said, handing me an electronic key. “They’re in the Harrods bag.”

“Why can’t Caroline or James get them?”

“Because the bridal suite is a surprise for Caroline and James is busy.” She clutched my upper arm and leaned in to my ear. “While you’re in the suite you will change into the white summer dress Caroline bought last week. It’s in the grey suitcase by the bathroom door.”

I flinched at her venomous thoughts.

“Caroline is very upset. You’re an embarrassment to us and to James,” she hissed.

“I hardly think James gives a toss.”

“He’s the one who suggested Caroline lend you her clothes. ‘Something appropriate’ was the way he put it. He was being kind for your sake.”

I snorted into my water. “Pompous git.”

She grabbed my chin, and after a glance at my dinner companions, cupped it in her palm instead. For all intents and purposes a loving caress, but in reality a vice-like grip that made me wince.

“You will take off this harlot dress or so help me God I will allow your father to do whatever he wants to you tomorrow,” she whispered viciously.#p#分页标题#e#

She pushed my chin away with a sharp tap on my bruised cheek and watched me exit the banqueting hall. Thankfully, I’d had enough to drink to make me feel pleasantly woolly, but not tipsy enough to teeter.

As soon as I walked into the bridal suite I stopped and stared, wondering if I’d had more wine than I thought.

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

The room was huge, but that wasn’t why my eyes were wide or why I was laughing in delight. The bridal suite was brothel chic at its best. In stark contrast to the banqueting hall the colour scheme was black-on-black. From the circular bed draped in shiny satin to the velvet chaise-longues and luxurious brocade curtains. The candelabrums looked like something out of a Dracula film and the large black cushions and decadent rugs strewn in front of the marble fireplace spoke more of Arabian Nights than Wedding Night.

I parted the sheer black canopy over the bed. James had thought of everything. The single red rose on the beaded cushions was the same colour as those in Caroline’s bouquet. James had planned this room for the woman he’d made love to.

For me.

It was sultry and indulgent, and it exuded sex. A vampire-meets-sultan’s-harem that was just a little sleazy. Oh yeah, James got me all right, all the way up to the shiny mirror on the ceiling. The thought filled me with an uncomfortable mixture of pleasure and pain.