25. DIANA
DIANA
Oh, holy shit. What have I done?
My heart is beating so hard, my chest feels like it’s going to explode. His lips are stiff, unyielding, and I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
He’s staring at me, his gorgeous mouth half open, his eyes wide. He looks stunned, and not in a good way. More like he’s been shot up the arse with a cattle prod.
This feels worse than fucking him. Because this is me and him. Diana and Mr Bastion. Diana and Rafe. This is real.
I want to run away, but I force myself to stand my ground and face the mess I’ve made.
“Sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what I was thinking.” I’m stammering like a nervous fool, and he’s still not saying anything, staring at me like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. “You were being so kind. I-I’m sorry.”
He drags a hand through his hair and rests it on the back of his neck. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that little furrow between his eyebrows look this deep. Maybe I’ve broken him. Shit.
“It’s okay. It’s fine,” he says again.
“Really?”
“Yes.” He rubs his fingers over his lips, then his thumb trails back the way they came, his focus shifting inward as though he’s raking over thoughts he can’t share before he snaps back to me. “I know you didn’t mean it. I know…”
His sentence drifts to nothingness, and another apology slips from me. “I’m sorry.”
“Please.” He makes a slicing gesture with one hand. “Stop saying you’re sorry.”
I wet my lips and nod, worried I’ve pissed him off.
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing back the way we came. There’s no softness in his expression. “We should go in. Lizzie will be wondering where we are.”
“You go,” I say. “I’ll see you in there. I want to…” I gesture towards the bathrooms further down the corridor.
He doesn’t move, warring emotions skating across his face.
I suspect he wants to stay, perhaps wants to say something to make this better, but what is there to say, other than what we’ve already said?
What can he do now, while people are waiting for him to show his face at his daughter’s goodbye party?
He lifts his chin, signifying, I assume, that he’s willing to accept my request. Sliding one hand into his pocket, he walks away.
I burst into the ladies’ bathroom like a whirlwind, wishing I could splash my face, my entire body, in cold water.
But it will ruin my makeup.
I grip the sink and fix my reflection with a hard stare.
Get your shit together, Diana. You do not crumble under pressure.
I need a drink. Two. Maybe three. Anything to numb the awkward pain of this scenario, and the booming voice of my inner critic that’s rearing her head like a nasty little bitch.
He doesn’t want you. He didn’t kiss you back.
But he didn’t push me away.
I give myself a five-minute time-out to calm down, and then I head into the party, grabbing a glass of champagne on my way in.
The room is decorated with pink balloons and streamers, and eight circular tables are set for ten.
The tablecloths are pale gold, and the chairs are gilded too.
It’s all so pretty, but I can’t appreciate it.
I don’t feel worthy of my invitation. I’ve betrayed Lizzie in the worst possible way, accepting her generous hospitality while harbouring secret feelings for her dad.
Not only that, but acting on them too, and now here I am, celebrating with her?
I feel terrible.
I try to focus on the decor, the music, anything but Rafe and the feel of his lips on mine.
It takes me all of ten seconds to search the room and locate him, standing with Lizzie and Henry.
He has his back to me, but simply staring at him from behind makes me feel a myriad of things I shouldn’t.
I love how broad his shoulders are, and the way his dark hair is a little too long at the nape. I want to twist my fingers into it.
I take a long gulp of my drink, and then another. There’s no way I’ll be able to get through tonight without it. First Dad showing up out of nowhere, and then Rafe going all protective, and then me kissing him like some kind of love crazed school girl.
I’m an idiot.
I gulp down my first glass of champagne and swap it for a second from a passing server. I’ll be drunk after glass two. That’s usually how it goes. But I don’t care. I’m still staring at the three of them when Lizzie catches my eye and beckons me. I cannot go over there. No way.
Henry and Rafe follow her gaze, and now they’re all staring, that little furrow between Rafe’s brows nearly as deep as it was after I kissed him.
I raise my glass in a toast, hoping I look relaxed and sophisticated, rather than anxious, regretful, and like a woman quickly trying to get drunk to distract herself from the unpleasant—and inappropriate—mix of feelings swirling around her insides.
Steeling myself, I pace towards them, but as I do, I notice Henry waving another woman over, ushering her towards Rafe. She’s wearing a bright blue dress, and her dark hair is chopped in a severe bob. She looks sophisticated. Older, but not too old. Maybe thirty-five? She’s gorgeous.
Is she here for him?
And then I remember Julian had arranged a date. This must be her.
My head feels dizzy, and my steps falter, but somehow, even though I’m heading straight for an emotional car crash, I manage to push through the sensation.
I reach the group just as Henry says, “Melanie, we’re delighted you could join us.”
Rafe doesn’t glance my way as he greets the woman, and Lizzie hugs me, yapping in my ear, but I can’t focus on what she’s saying. Something about being excited about her trip, and wanting me to meet the guy she fancies who’s also going.
My attention is split, and it takes all my restraint not to turn and stare at Rafe being introduced to this beautiful older woman.
She looks like his perfect match. She’s who he should be with. She’s the one who should be kissing him.
Not me.
Never me.
I drain the rest of my glass and let a passing server top it up again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Melanie put her hand on Rafe’s arm.
She smiles, eyes twinkling at him like he’s the most interesting person in the entire room.
He says something I can’t hear, and she laughs.
She fucking laughs. The sound is gilded and ladylike, and it scratches at my brain like fake nails. I want to scream.
Three hours later, I’m officially drunk.
Unacceptably drunk. I’ve had to listen to Lizzie wax lyrical about what a wonderful father she has, what an incredible support he’s been all her life, and how she’d never be who she is without him, during her speech that had the room roaring with approval.
Julian was even beating the table with his fist and whooping like he was at some kind of sporting event.
Lizzie’s grandparents are here too. I recognise them from photos I’ve seen in the Emblem penthouse.
They both gave short speeches about what an incredible young woman she has grown up to be.
Their American accents have softened by years spent in the UK, much like Rafe’s.
They make a handsome couple, and it’s easy to see where Rafe gets his good looks.
If I weren’t already drunk, I’d go and introduce myself, but what would I say?
Hi, I’m Diana. I’m Lizzie’s best friend. Oh, and I slept with your son.
They would be appalled.
I’m seated at a table between two young men I don’t know, both of whom are travelling with Lizzie.
They seem perfectly nice, but I can’t summon the enthusiasm to entertain them, and I’d probably slur if I tried to talk for too long anyway.
I’m done with tonight. My head is spinning.
I should go home. I will go home. I’ll order a cab and take myself off, go for a swim and a sauna in the morning, and everything will be fine again.
I’ll pretend I never kissed Rafe Bastion.
He’s sitting at his table, Melanie next to him.
She’s laughing, again, and I’m sure I can catch the annoying pitch of it through the chatter of the party.
Her hand lands on his arm, long, slender fingers clasped around the sleeve of his jacket.
Her nails are painted blue to match her dress; she’s all elegance and sophistication, and I find myself hoping I can be just like her when I’m older.
The thought boils my blood. She leans in and, with her other hand, wipes something off the corner of his mouth.
She touched his mouth.
She. Touched. His. Mouth.
No.
No, no, no, no.
The word rings like a siren in every cell of my body, and through the haze of my drunkenness, I cling to one thought.
He. Is. Mine.
My gut clenches, my mouth falling open as her hand continues its trespass to his cheek. A few inches more and she’ll be sliding her fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.
No fucking way.
The heat that rushes me, the anger that powers my actions, is a force I can’t resist. If Melanie Castow can be overt about what she wants, then so can I.
Keeping my hands beneath the table, I extricate my phone from my clutch and pull up my messages. Before I can second-guess myself, I bring up the contact Handsome Stranger. I might have thrown away the Delirium card, but not before I’d saved the number.
Just in case.
I start typing faster than my brain can process the words.
Hey there Stranger,
There’s a mask night at Delirium this Saturday.
I might let you come on my face this time.
Will I see you there?
And then I hit send.