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“So, when do you get out of here?” she asks, moving herself back to the end of the bed and grabbing some grapes. She throws one at me, a smirk on her face. “Snotbag.”
“OMG. What the hell is this?” Teresa screams, hurtling around the corner into the private room. “I mean, who dresses in Givenchy in late autumn.” She launches a magazine onto the bed, hand feigning shock against her forehead at the thought of such horrendous decisions. “I need a drink. Vodka anyone?” We both stare, mouths open, as she produces a hipflask and starts filling up plastic tumblers with liquid. “What? It’s not like you can’t anymore.” Well, there is that, I suppose. “I say we all get shitfaced and head out to a club.”
“Teresa, Beth’s just had a-“
“Yep, I know. And there’s no point dwelling on it, is there?” She hands Belle a glass, then thrusts one at me. “I mean, what are you going to do? Be morbid and live your life in the past again, or move onward?”
“Honey, you need to calm whatever this is and-“ Teresa glares at Belle.
“And what would you fucking know? Half way round the world, about as much use as a pig not in shit. I was here, Belle. Not you. Get a grip and drink the drink. Both of you. This is not happening again, Beth. You will survive this and move the fuck on.” I’m agog. Even Belle appears to be dumbstruck. “Honestly, I can’t even at the moment. We move on, right?” Belle nods. I don’t know whether it’s because she agrees or if she’s in shock.
“Where the hell did spitfire come from?” she asks, still looking at Teresa. Teresa shakes her hair around and plants her hands on her hips.
“Well, someone’s got to be in charge. If both of you are going to be all mournful,” she looks at me, “Which you can have for a few days if you want, honey. Love you and all that,” she glares at Belle again. “Then I’ll have to be top dog. Alpha. Kinky, you know?” I snort, watching as she pretends to crack a whip. “Talking about kinky. Where’s Alex, by the way?”
“Not here,” Belle chimes in.
“He’s on his way from New York.”
“Really, how did she get here quicker then?”
“Exactly my point,” Belle snarks.
“Belle’s here quicker than me because I’m an uneducated moron.”
Alex.
I look up and watch him walk in, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand. “One who hopes you’ll forgive him.” Belle snorts and stands up. Teresa huffs about something. I gaze, unsure how I feel about the statement, the situation, or the man in front of me at the moment.
He places the flowers on the side table and comes to stand beside me, hands in his jeans pockets as if he’s not sure if he should touch me or not. It’s probably a good call, because I’m not sure if he should touch me or not either. I’m so mad at him. Still. No phone calls. No texts. No getting here as quick as he can. “Ladies, can you leave us.”
“No, they stay,” snaps out of me. I’m not sure why about that either. I just need snappy and angry with him. “Whatever you have to say you can say it in-“ He glares at me, a look of unadulterated sin crossing his brow. It’s the same look he gets with Pascal. The same one he never directs at me.
“Out,” he mutters. They both stay planted exactly where they are, arms crossed. Good girls
“Well, fuck you, Mr White,” Teresa spits.
“Quite,” Belle grumbles. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Please, Elizabeth,” he seethes. Ooh, a please. He really has fucked up, and knows it. I stare and shift myself up the bed a little, wondering where he thinks he’s going to take this conversation. No amount of him looking good and bringing flowers is going to produce relaxation in me. He’s been an arsehole. He can admit that more than he currently has done. And then, maybe, the girls can leave.
“What, Alex?” I eventually say.
He scans the room, head lowered as if he might explode or cry. I’m not sure which. I watch him still, sensing the nerves that never really come out to play. He’s worried about something, bothered about what he’s going to say. My heart melts a little, as I imagine that boy in the rain, confusing whatever anger I was hoping to portray.
“Get dressed,” he eventually says. “You can come home.” Home? That place feels less and less like home than it ever has by the day. It’s as empty as me. Cold and lonely.
“Why? You’re never there.” He nods at that and swings his head to Belle and Teresa again.
“Please, ladies.” Two pleases. Wow.
He looks at the door, indicating that they should go. Belle carries on glaring, flicking her eyes to me. I suddenly don’t know what to do. He’s either about to say something private, which should definitely not be talked about in front of the girls, or he’s about to blow up into a rage. My arms cross, eyes narrowed at whatever this is. I’m not having an argument here. He’s the one in the wrong, not me. “You’re right, Elizabeth. I should have been here. I need a chance to explain.” Does he? My eyes watch him look straight at me, not one inch of remorse on his face, and then they flick to Belle and Teresa.
“You can go,” I say, quietly. Belle’s eyes widen, Teresa leaves without a backward glance.
“Belle,” she hisses, coming back in grabbing at her arm. Disdain pours from Belle, heavily aimed at Alex. I’m not surprised. She doesn’t even know half of what we’ve been through lately, and that half alone is enough to set her teeth on edge about him. She thinks he’s a monster. A rude, self-serving monster that doesn’t deserve my love. I’m not sure she’s wrong lately to be honest.
She does leave on a grumpy huff, hand snatching her bag from the bottom of the bed and shoulder barging Alex. He doesn’t move. His eyes stay firmly fixed on me, as if nothing else is important. I suppose I should thank him for not erupting at her for daring to touch him. I snort at the thought and look at him again, pulling my legs up so I can sit cross legged. The moment I do he sits on the end of the bed, far enough away from me that I suddenly begin to worry that this conversation might not be one I want to hear.
