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Chapter Four
Unable to sleep, Susan tossed in her bed. Royce’s kisses replaying in her mind created havoc in her heart. She’d always been a rational person, thinking, pondering, debating before acting. What had happened to her tonight? What had happened to Royce?
They’d been best friends for eight years. He’d never displayed any emotion around her, never allowed himself any out of place gesture. What was the meaning of his kisses? Not just one kiss, that she might label a mistake, or a playful flirtation. No, he’d showered her with kisses, soft, and gentle, warm and loving, passionate and scorching. Unable to withstand the heat burning her chest, she threw off her covers and rolled over onto her stomach.
Why Royce?Why had he kissed her? Was he suddenly feeling some attraction toward her?
No way… Not after eight years of platonic friendship. Then what? Was he reverting to his old ways, flirting right and left, even with his best friend?
Oh no, that would be horrible.
Frustrated, she punched her pillow and rolled onto her back, crossing one leg over the other.
Should she call him and ask him to explain himself? After all, in the past, any time she’d had doubts, she’d called him, discussed the problem, and examined acceptable solutions. When they’d settle on one, they’d laughed together at their useless worries.
Lips pinched, she reached for the phone, ready to blurt out questions, and stopped short, her fingers tightening on the phone. How would she explain her blazing response to his kisses? She hadn’t hesitated to kiss her best friend. She’d even sat on his lap and melted against him.
Shame on you, Ms. Chen, kissing your best friend, when you’re engaged to another man.
Damn it, had she lost her mind?
Instead of demanding explanations from Royce, she should explore her own heart and ask herself the same questions she was about to ask him. Rubbing her sweaty forehead, she tried to calm her erratic breathing.
Too anxious to sleep, she switched off her phone and slid out of bed to get herself a glass of milk. In the kitchen, she opened the fridge and realized they hadn’t shop for groceries yet. Frustrated she scanned the cans of coke, beer, Frappuccino, the two bottles of champagne, and the bottles of water—the drinks Royce guzzled after running with Max.
Men didn’t need milk in the fridge, but they did have a dozen bottles of alcoholic boosters in the bar.
Okay Royce, I’ll do the same.
She poured herself a scotch on the rocks and took it to her bedroom. Sitting on her bed, she raised her glass in a toast, paused, and frowned.
What should she toast to?
Not for a wedding to Kasem. The sooner she got rid of him the better.
Not for her friendship to Royce. She doubted they could return to the easy camaraderie from before their crazy moment.
To my freedom. She raised her drink, sipped, and then emptied her glass.
Damn it. That was a heck of a strong drink. Her head fell onto the pillow, and the glass slipped from her numb fingers onto the side of the bed and onto the floor.
Yes to my freedom. She giggled and hugged her pillow. Freedom to do what? To work hard as she’d always done, to sleep on her own as she’d always done, to be lonely…
Tears rolled on her cheeks. She’d spent five years escaping Ruang, three years avoiding Kasem, and now would she try to hide from Royce? Why couldn’t she find a good man—not a money monger and not a womanizer—a decent man who would love her for herself?
Sobbing, sniffling, hiccupping, she cried herself to sleep.
***
In the morning, her phone alarm woke her from a dreamless slumber. Reaching with a hand, she grabbed the phone and shut it off. It was ten, and time to get out of bed. Just raising her head felt like someone hammering inside her skull. Scotch was definitely not for her, neither was Kasem nor Royce who’d led her to drink a full glass of it. Holding her head with both hands, she managed to sit on the edge of the bed and very slowly stood up.
The aroma of fresh coffee penetrated her nostrils. She followed the smell wafting from the kitchen.
“Morning, sweetie.”
“Morning, Mae,” she whispered. “I have a splitting headache.”
“Jetlag probably.”
