‘Yes, dear Ivana,’ I said sarcastically.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said softly, refusing to take the bait. He once told me, as hateful as Ivana was, he could never be anything but grateful to her. She had unwittingly led him into his most fabulous dream.
‘Oh yeah?’ I said, imitating his accent.
‘Yeah,’ he said, all macho and gorgeous.
He slanted his eyes down to me. ‘Well, aren’t you craving to water the plants? Or something?’
I grinned. ‘I’m craving something. See if you can guess.’
He laughed. ‘That’s too fucking easy,’ he said as he went behind me and started unzipping my dress.
‘Be careful with that. I’m saving this dress for my daughter,’ I warned, my pulse humming under my skin.
‘Our daughter,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Our daughter. Our son. Our family.’ I felt his mouth settle on my nape as light as a butterfly.
I closed my eyes, happy, so unbelievably happy. This is my revenge, Ivana. To see me ecstatically happy. I tilted my head slightly. His eyes were directed down at the zip, his lashes casting a shadow on his cheek, and my breath caught at the beauty of the man. I took a mental photograph. I wanted to remember him like this forever.
‘Now I think about it, don’t worry about the dress. I hear they have a really good dry-cleaners in Belgravia.’
His laughter was muffled against my flesh. It mingled with the sound of my dress falling on the gray slate tiles. If they couldn’t save it, she could jolly well buy her own.
THE END
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Coming next…
SEXY BEAST
GEORGIA LE CARRE
The Mouse On The Bar Room Floor
Some Guinness was spilled on the bar room floor
When the pub was shut for the night.
Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
And, in the pale moonlight,
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,
Then back on his haunches he sat.
And all night long you could hear him roar,
‘Bring on the goddamn cat!’
—An Irish Tall Tale
ONE
Layla
Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.
—Karl, Age 5
‘What are you standing there for? Go use the upstairs bathroom,’ Ria said, when she spotted me at the end of the queue to use the downstairs cloakroom.
She was right. The queue was long. ‘I’ll just use the portaloo outside,’ I said.
‘Don’t be so silly. There’s a humongous queue there, too.’
I bit my lip. Ria was BJ Pilkington’s second cousin. We were in BJ Pilkington’s house for a party he was throwing for my brother, Jake, and his new wife, Lily. And while I liked and socialized with Ria, BJ and I shared a stinging mutual dislike for each other.
In fact, I did not even want to come, but my mother had forced me to. ‘It’s in your brother’s honor,’ she had said in that displeased tone I knew not to disobey. ‘It’d be ignorant not to, and God help me, I didn’t bring you up to be ignorant.’
‘Are you really sure it’ll be OK?’ I asked looking doubtfully at the long, curving, dark wood staircase. Nobody else seemed to be going up it. It was understood that the party was restricted to the four reception rooms downstairs.
‘Of course,’ she insisted confidently.
I gave it one last attempt. ‘I don’t even know where it is, and I don’t really want to go wandering around by myself.’
‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she said, and, taking my hand, made for the stairs.
‘Thanks, Ria,’ I said, following her meekly. I did need the bathroom rather badly. At the top of the stairs I looked down and saw all the beautiful people dressed in their absolute finest. That’s the thing with us travelers. We love our color. Peacocks we all are. There wasn’t a plain black gown in sight. Ria took me down a corridor and half opened a door to a blue and white bathroom.