“You’re ridiculous. Why are you even here, Nate?”
He sits up a little straighter and waggles the paper and pen in his other hand. “I honestly want to help. I promise there’s no hidden agenda, I don’t want anything from you but honesty.”
I furrow my brow. “Yes, but why? I don’t understand why you want to help me so much?” Am I being an ungrateful, bratty bitch? Yes, I am. Why? I don’t know because as soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back.
But Nate takes it in his stride and shrugs. “Because I want to. Now, the list.” He poises his pen like a therapist, and some part of me wants to tell him all of the things inside of my head, but the other part is sick to my stomach at the mere thought of him knowing more about me than he already does.
Before I can open my mouth, my phone rings from inside the bedroom, and relief floods my system. I jump up. “I'd better get that. I’ll be two minutes.” Saved by the bell, but when I get to my phone, the name flashing across the screen sends a rush of adrenaline through my system.
Mother.
The longer I let it ring, the worse it will be when I do answer. But maybe I could say I was by the pool? Then Nate shouts from the living room. “Are you getting that?” I nod even though I know he can’t see me and slide the answer button across the screen.
I don’t even get the chance to say hello. Morgana Wallcroft talks first, as always. “Hayleigh, really. Keeping your mother waiting is not ladylike in the slightest. You’re required to be home this weekend for a family meal. Your sister has news.” There is no ‘how are you’ or ‘what have you been up to?’ No, not from Morgana. She’s to the point, and you listen; that’s how it’s always been.
“Hello, mother. I already told you, I’m away for the next two weeks-”
She cuts me off, as always. “Yes.” That’s it, one word.
I paste a smile on my face, a trick I learned in my first job answering customer service phone calls. “Well, mother, that means I’m not home yet.”
“Get a flight. We’ll pay, of course, as I doubt that silly little job you have pays much.” She clucks her tongue, and I have to bite mine. That silly little job she’s referring to is a job I worked hard to get, and as an HR manager, I’m pretty proud of where I’ve gotten to.
“Mother, that isn’t going to happen. I’m away with my friends.”
“Ah, yes. Emily. The cause of your engagement to break down. I mean, I have to say it, Hayleigh, I am disappointed in you. As a Wallcroft, there are certain expectations that we must uphold, and one of them is our outward appearance to others. The fact you let that-”
I’ve heard enough. “Don’t you dare utter those next words. I am well aware of what itmeansto be a Wallcroft. I had the best example out of the lot of you. I won’t be home when you tell mebecause I am in another country having fun with my friends. I’ll speak to Thea and explain to her myself.”
“My father was a sentimental old fool, not the best of us. She’s getting engaged. Let’s hope she manages to do something you didn’t. Make it down the aisle.” After she leaves the stinging barb, she ends the call, and I’m left reeling.
She’s cruel; I’ve had it all my life, but that was the lowest she has ever gone. Did she really blame Emmy for Pete being an utter fucking psycho and kidnapping her? That was why my engagement ended: he was a monster.
A throat clears behind me, as I close my eyes against the tears that are threatening to fall and ruin my very sexy makeup. I expect questions from Nate: ‘What was that? What did they say? Am I okay?’ All the usual questions the rest of the Petersons and work have been bombarding me with since it all came out about Pete.
Yet when I turn around, there is no pitying look, no pen or paper in sight. Only Nate Peterson is standing in front of me with two mini bottles of vodka from the minibar, a cheeky grin on his face. “Let’s get fucked up in Vegas and do some shots. You in?”
He tosses me the bottle before I can reply, unscrews his and gives me a pointed look. I unscrew mine, and somehow this feels more intimate than it should; this feels like I’m making a significant choice. I nod. “I’m in.”
**********
Ouch. My head hurts.
No, it doesn’t hurt; it feels like elephants are trampling all over it. How much did we drink last night? We had the meal, we said goodbye to Cas and Emmy, and I cried, then she cried, then Archie cried, ugh, what a mess. Then followed shots, lots of goddamn shots.
I look to my side and relief courses through me when I realise, I’m alone, I was worried I would’ve done something idiotic like have sex with Nate Peterson. I turn my head slowly to the nightstand, the clock telling me it’s after 8:00 am, so I pull the covers over my head and decide to go back to sleep.
CLANG.
What the fuck was that?
Footsteps in the living area.
Oh my god. Someone's in the hotel room.
I slither out of my bed as quietly as possible and hold a hand to my head because fucking OW! I grab the vase of flowers off the table; it feels light in my hands, but I don’t have time to analyse it. I creep slowly to the closed bedroom door, plaster myself against the side, and hold the vase above my head.
I’ll get the fucker. No one messes with Hayleigh Wallcroft.
