Unveiled
Page 33‘Take care, Livy.’ Sylvie looks guilty. She shouldn’t. This isn’t her fault, and in an attempt to ease it for her, to make her see I’m cool, I paste a huge smile on my face as I curtsy.
She laughs, turns on her biker boots, and sashays back to the counter, leaving me to shut the door on my old job and the people I became so fond of. My feet are heavy as they carry me across the pavement, and when I finally look up, I see a waiting car and Ted holding the back door open. I slide in without a word, the door shuts, and Ted’s up front in no time, pulling into the afternoon London traffic. My low mood is obvious, as expected, yet I seem to have a taste for lowering it further.
‘You knew my mother.’ I utter the words quietly and get only a nod in response. ‘I think she’s back in London,’ I say casually, like it’s of no consequence if she is.
‘I have instructions to take you home, Miss Taylor.’ He ignores my observation, quickly telling me that Ted is going to remain tight-lipped – if, indeed, there’s anything to know at all. I hope there’s nothing to know, which begs the question why I’m digging at all. Nan will never cope.
I concede easily to Ted’s coolness. ‘Thank you for saving me,’ I sigh, showing my white flag in the form of some gratitude.
‘Anytime, Miss Taylor.’ He keeps his eyes on the road, avoiding my stare in the rearview mirror.
Gazing blankly out the window, I watch the big, wide world go by as an even bigger black cloud descends, blanketing my favourite city in a gloomy darkness that matches my current state of mind.
Chapter 10
July 17 1996
Peter Smith
46 – boring by name, wild by nature. The older man again. Married, but clearly not getting what he craves. I think he might crave me now.
Date one: Dinner at the Savoy
For starters, the best lobster salad I’ve tasted, but I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve eaten at the Dorchester. For main, fillet steak and some well-aimed coy looks. For dessert, a tiramisu, rounded off with a diamond bracelet. Of course, I showed my gratitude in the penthouse suite before I slipped out. I think I might see this one again. He can do incredible things with his tongue.
I snap my mother’s journal shut and toss it onto the couch next to me, annoyed with myself. Why am I putting myself through this again? Nothing I’ll find could possibly make me feel better. I remember William once saying that she wrote this journal to torture him. And amid my own self-pity, I feel a little bit of sympathy for the man who’s currently adding to my misery. She really was a wicked woman.
Plumping one of Nan’s frilly cushions, I rest my head back, close my eyes, and try my damn hardest to blank my mind and relax. My hardest isn’t enough, but I’m distracted when I hear someone come through the front door, then urgent footsteps approaching down the hall. Even before I open my eyes, I can picture the expensive leather shoes and the bespoke suit. Someone has his armour back.
Sure enough, there’s Miller – in all his suited glory – standing on the threshold of the lounge. His dark waves are in disarray and despite his impassive face, his piercing blue eyes harbour fear.
‘You bought more suits,’ I state quietly, remaining reclined on the couch, regardless of the fact that I’m desperately craving his attention and touch.
His hand rakes through his hair, pulling the wayward wave off his forehead, and he sighs his relief. ‘Just a few.’
Just a few? I bet he’s replaced each and every one of the masks that I shredded.
I see him sag. He didn’t think it appropriate for me to be working in a cafe, yet I know for sure he would never have forced me to stop. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
He strides forward until he’s towering over me, his hands resting lightly in his trouser pockets. ‘I was worried about you.’
‘I’m a big girl, Miller.’
‘You’re also my possession.’
‘And I’m also a person with a mind of my own.’
He fails to prevent his lips from pursing in mild annoyance. ‘Yes, a mind that overthinks, and not too clearly right now, either.’ He crouches by the sofa next to me. ‘Tell me your troubles, sweet girl.’
‘You mean aside from the fact that someone tried to mow me down today?’
His eyes flash danger as his jaw sets, and I think for a moment that he might put it down to my lack of attention. But he doesn’t speak, telling me everything I need to know.
‘Me,’ he breathes, reaching for my cheek. The warmth of his skin on mine has my eyes closing and my face nuzzling into his touch. ‘Don’t give up on me, Olivia. I beg you.’
My chin trembles and I take his hand and tug my demand for his thing. He doesn’t deny me, even though he’s kitted from top to toe in the finest clothes money can buy, and he’s only just bought them. His warm body comes down on mine and the softness of his lips finds my neck. I don’t need to affirm my promise with words, so I let my body do the talking and cling to him everywhere.
I find that peace.
I find the serenity.
I find a familiar deep comfort that can be found nowhere else. Miller wreaks havoc on my mind, body, and heart. And he chases it away just as well.
We’re still in the same position an hour later. We’ve not spoken, just happy to be together. It’s dusk. Miller’s new three-piece suit must be a crumpled mess, my hair has been twisted into various knots, and my arms have drained of blood, leaving pins and needles prickling at my skin.