Hate to Love You(35)

Curious, I flicked the switch at the top of the bed and heard a low purring sound. The bed vibrated, rotating slowly. I couldn’t resist lying down and trying it out, laughing at James’s sense of humour while I watched myself spin in the mirror. Maybe I needed to re-evaluate my colour prejudices, because this room was fucktastic!

Caroline would be horrified.

The smile dropped from my face. “Mrs Caroline Rose Scott-Thomas.”

Her suitcase was where my mother said it would be and the sundress wasn’t half as bad as I’d feared: white linen with a square neckline. It hugged my hips without suffocating them and showed my cleavage in a chaste kind of way—something I hadn’t been since I was thirteen. It was too staid for my tastes but at least it wasn’t a dick-deflator.

I looked like one of Caroline’s elegant work buddies: poised and classy. Even more so after I gathered my hair into a loose coil at the back of my neck. The expensive clothing made me feel like another person, a woman full of confidence. I snorted at my self-delusion but all the same I enjoyed the pretence. Maybe the dress would help make my case to Father Martin, draw his eye to my anatomy in a wholesome, innocent way that would still titillate his forbidden fantasies.

I made a face. The rose on the bridal bed smelled of Caroline—of triumph, and I wanted to tear out the petals and crush them. I was about to arrange the perfect flower artfully on the pillow again when the door opened and I sprang back, startled into dropping it on the floor.

James walked in and started when he saw me by the bed. Without a shield of wedding guests between us I felt raw, exposed, as if he had only to look inside me to discover my secrets. Our encounter in the maze was foremost in his thoughts, a silent replay we shot back and forth as we faced one another.

I smoothed down Caroline’s dress, feeling more awkward in virginal white than in slutty red.

“What are you doing in here?” he said.

“Putting on something appropriate, like you wanted.”

He perused me slowly, from my gathered-up hair to my bare feet. I fidgeted, waiting for him to say something judgemental. “You look lovely.”

Up went my eyebrows. I know you should say thank you when you get a compliment but I wasn’t used to it, except from Marcia and she didn’t count. We’re friends and boosting each other’s confidence is part of the job description. Besides, her compliments were more along the lines of “fucking good comeback, hon” or—#p#分页标题#e#

Oh God, my brain was babbling and my silence was stretching into social ineptitude.

“Wow, a compliment,” I said stupidly.

“The truth.”

Something made me want to give James a truth of my own. It had to be the sex. Shit, had it turned me into a wimpy, apologising goody-goody? Why wasn’t I taunting him about his hard-on in the maze or swinging my hips and going for vampy seduction? After all, we were in the perfect place for it.

I cleared my throat. “Sorry about before. I was vulgar and I acted immaturely. Bad habits I’m trying to get rid of.”

He shrugged. “Forget it. I’d like us to be friends.”

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile. “Friends.”

He didn’t apologise for his own bad behaviour but I let it go. My chest felt compressed, heavy with the same sadness I’d felt in the church.

James looked at his watch. “There’s a pause for the quartet to play before the speeches and I’ve got to change for the first dance and talk to the DJ.”

Translation: please leave. So why the hell was I standing there staring at him? My hair had come loose and I gathered it up again, wanting to look elegant. I straightened my back, determined to make my exit as classy as I looked. All I had to do was put on my shoes and—

“Fuck and double fucking fuck!”

James closed the distance between us, alarmed. “What is it?”

“Your bloody rose attacked me.”

Gingerly, I pulled the thorny stem out of my foot and sat down to assess the damage. James handed me his pristine handkerchief and turned on the main light so I could see better.

Well, since we were “friends” and all...

“I like the porno film décor,” I teased, looking around the room. “Are you the vampire sultan?”

His smile was self-mocking. “I was aiming for Zorro.”

“Nah, this bed is hard-core. And the mirror...” I looked at the ceiling and laughed.

James flushed under his tan and pulled out a black shirt from the wardrobe. Paired with his black trousers he really would look like a romantic hero. Maybe I should pretend I needed help with my zipper and see if that zinged the Zorro into action. I discarded the thought immediately. I didn’t want clichés or obvious seductions. I wanted—