8. Am I interrupting something?
Am I interrupting something?
Vicky
The thoughts whirling through my mind were slowly quieting.
Mike’s huge body enclosing mine was bringing me back to myself. I’d dreamt about being in his arms so many times—how strong he would be, how warm—but the reality was so much better.
Tight hugs were always calming for me. Sometimes, they were the only way to bring me out of a meltdown, the only way to calm the storm that my mind became when I was overwhelmed, but I’d never felt this level of peace before in someone’s arms.
But then, very gradually, reality started to creep in.
The realisation of how I’d lost it when he kissed me. That I was so defective, so totally weird, that I couldn’t even let a man I wanted more than my next breath kiss me spontaneously.
This was not the way to convince Mike Mayweather I was a normal human being.
I felt completely mortified.
“Vicky?” His tone was concerned. He’d clearly felt me stiffen in his arms. He was probably worried I was going to freak out again. And who could blame him? I’d made it clear I wanted him two weeks ago, and now, I’d reacted like he’d assaulted me, when all he did was touch his mouth to mine.
The memory of that kiss tore through me like fire. It was, hands down, the best moment of my life, and I’d proceeded to ruin it. “Hey, princess. You okay?”
Princess.
As soon as I pushed against his chest, he loosened his arms, and I stepped back. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, other memories invaded:
Well, I’ve got news for you, princess. I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole.
You can stop with this bullshit, staring at me all the time.
You want some fun with a bit of rough, and I’m not interested.
You, you’re like a beautiful vase—great to look at but empty inside.
The trouble with my memory was that I could recall everything with absolute accuracy.
Every word Mike had said to me was still burned on my soul.
I wasn’t lying when I told Mike I didn’t blame him for his unkind words.
I knew how I “wound people up” as Rebecca would say—it was one of the reasons I didn’t push myself on Margot, Ollie or Claire, and why I only came to Buckingham House when I was specifically invited.
I didn’t want to use them up. I didn’t want them to tire of me. I could be very tiring.
Now, for some reason, Mike had kissed me.
I analysed the facts for a moment. I was very physically attractive, I knew this—it was simply a fact.
I could never understand beautiful women who denied what they were.
If you were physically attractive, the attention you garnered was obvious and constant.
I may not have been able to read people very well, but I knew when men were attempting to get in my knickers, as Lottie would say. I wasn’t that oblivious.
So if you combined the fact that I was physically attractive with the other facts about the situation, it made perfect sense for him to kiss me.
Number one, I’d been in just a bikini. It was something I already knew Mike found arousing—there was no hiding that physical reaction either.
Number two, I was still only half-dressed, and number three, the last time I saw Mike, I’d made it clear that I found him extremely attractive, and his interpretation of this declaration was that I wanted an immediate sexual relationship with him.
Due to my poor communication skills, I hadn’t been able to correct this assumption.
I had my answer.
I’d had a particularly uncomfortable session with Abdul in the aftermath of my previous confrontation with Mike. When I told him what had happened, he was open-mouthed with shock for a full minute.
“Let me get the straight, Vicky,” he said slowly. “You order furniture from this man, and when he delivers it, you launch straight into how you find him attractive and want to propose something to him? But he cuts you off before you can get any further?”
“Well, yes. I thought the direct approach would be the most expedient.”
Abdul sighed. “Vicky, have you ever watched any pornography?”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Pornography? No, I have not.”
“What you’ve just described is a pretty standard scenario of a rich woman wanting to have casual sexual relations with an attractive, blue-collar delivery man-slash-plumber-slash- builder, take your pick. He probably felt like you were just wanting a quickie, and he got offended.”
“Oh.”
Abdul sighed again. “Look, Vicky. I know you like this guy, but from what you’ve told me, he’s not interested.
And I’m sorry, but he sounds like a bit of a di–.
” Abdul broke off and cleared his throat.
“He sounds like an unpleasant individual. What he said to you was not okay. I don’t think you’d be safe with him. ”
I shook my head. “No, he’s not dangerous. He ? —”
“I don’t mean physically unsafe, Vicky. I mean emotionally unsafe.”
I took another step back. My mind flashed to the hours I’d spent under that coffee table. I didn’t think I could go through that again. I still wasn’t managing proper meals, but then the added stress of Darrell and the upcoming wedding was contributing to that as well.
And now, Mike had witnessed how, behind the mask, I was vulnerable. Masking— that was how Abdul described it. With Lottie’s help, and if I avoided becoming overwhelmed, I was able to do it pretty successfully.
But I knew that long diatribes on the inaccuracies on analogue timekeeping and wrenching away from someone when they kissed you, even though they knew you were outrageously attracted to them, was not successfully masking. Not even close.
And that didn’t even include me running away from the pool like a mad woman earlier.
But I simply couldn’t stay to hear Ollie tell the others how painstaking it had been to teach me to swim. He’d had the patience of a saint back then, slowly getting me over my aversion to water, one meltdown at a time.
I couldn’t bear the thought of Mike thinking I was a freak, of him seeing behind the mask any more than he already had.
Maybe if I’d known I could be safe with him it would’ve been different, but after what happened two weeks ago, and with Abdul’s advice ringing in my ears, I knew that wasn’t the case.
I couldn’t trust Mike.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I whispered at my feet.
“What?”
I shook my head from side to side, trying to find the right words. “You said it yourself. I’m not the right person. And that was before you knew that I’m…” my voice dropped lower. “Not normal.” I chanced looking up at him.
His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was frowning down at me. “Who says you’re not normal?”
I tilted my head to the side in confusion. “Um… everyone.”
He shrugged. “Well, I don’t give a fuck about normal.”
“I’ll stop staring at you,” I blurted out. “I can get really focused on… some things. But I’ll try to stop focusing on you.”
“What if I don’t want you to stop focusing on me?” he asked, his frown melting into a small smile.
I shook my head again in jerky movements. “I am incorrect for you. You like your women ‘warm, cute, kind, able to express actual emotion, and equipped with a personality’.”
He blinked at me, his smile fading as I repeated his words back to him. “Christ, I’m a fucking dickhead.”
“No, you were honest. I actually appreciate honesty. It helps me judge situations better.”
Mike’s jaw was clenched tight. “Can we just forget what I said two weeks ago? I made some stupid assumptions, and I’ve already said I’m sorry.”
“And I’ve said you don’t have anything to apologise for.”
“If I’ve nothing to apologise for,” he said, frustration leaking into his tone. “Then why the fuck are you telling me this isn’t a good idea?”
“You have nothing to apologise for because you were simply being honest. And we won’t work because I’m not your type.”
“How about I decide what my type is, baby?” he said in a low voice as he stalked a couple of steps closer to me and frowned when I took another one back.
“You already did. You said?—”
“Fucking hell, can we just forget what I bloody said?”
I flinched at his sharp tone, and he let out a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, his voice soft now. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at my stupid self.”
“Mike?” Lucy’s voice sounded from inside the house, and both our heads whipped in that direction. “Legolas has gotten out again, and we need to… oh, Vics. What are you guys…?”
Mike turned back to me and closed his eyes for a moment as frustration crossed his features, and he swore under his breath.
Lucy was standing next to us by then and looking between us with a curious expression. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked cautiously.
“Yes.” Mike snapped at the same time that I said a firm, “No.”
“Okay,” Lucy said slowly, one of her eyebrows winging up, and a small smile on her lips.
She seemed happy. Happy that I was here with her brother.
That arrow of guilt shot through me again.
Lucy shouldn’t be happy for me in any capacity.
It may have been months ago, but I remembered with perfect clarity everything that had happened to her in our office, and how I had let her down.
Lucy had forgiven me. She was in love with Felix, who was head over heels for her, and who had managed to claw his way back to her after much grovelling.
But I would never forgive myself. And now, here she was, looking between me and her brother, her expression bright and hopeful, as if the chance Mike might be finally caving to my obsession was fantastic news.
I didn’t deserve her, and I definitely didn’t deserve her brother.
The Mayweathers were a close family. They didn’t need someone empty inside , someone who would never fit in. I took another few rapid steps back.
“I’ve got to go,” I muttered, nearly tripping over the chair behind me but righting myself at the last minute.
Mike made a move to come after me, but Lucy must have seen something in my expression, and she put a hand on his arm to stop him.
I knew it would look weird if I ran, but the Orangery was really, really long, and I was starting to spiral.
So, like the freak I was, by the time I was at end of the long space, I was full-on sprinting.