Chapter 7
MAYA
I spend a lot of time getting ready for my father’s party on Wednesday night.
Not because he’s celebrating his big five-O and has really pushed the boat out, inviting what seems to be the entire embarrassment of riches that constitutes London’s high society, but because Ben will be there.
The last couple of days I’ve spent around him have been incredible, but each morning I’ve woken up with a deep sense of foreboding, knowing that the time we have together is rapidly coming to a close.
The party’s already in full swing when I saunter into my father’s house, in a little black number that hugs my body like a second skin, and I’m aware of a number of male gazes on me as I push my way through the throng, holding my head high and fixing a wide smile on my face.
I’m a pro at this kind of thing now, after years and years of being wheeled out and exhibited in front of the nobs and notables my father wants to impress.
My expensive schooling has paid off, because I know how to work a crowd, how to say the right thing, ask the right questions, slip in just the right amount of fawning compliments.
I make sure to do the dutiful daughter bit in full view of my father, so I’ll be able to slink away later and actually have some fun.
With this in mind, I look around for Ben, but I can’t see him amongst the well-heeled crowd. Perhaps he’s decided to be fashionably late.
I try not to let the jitters in my stomach distract me as I partake in a bit of tedious small talk – flashing my winning smile and laughing at my conversationalist’s jokes – until I’m suddenly aware that someone is looking at me.
I can feel a gaze boring into the side of my head and I turn, heart jumping, hoping to see the one person I’m hanging all my hopes on for an entertaining night.
But it’s not to be. It’s a guy I’ve dated a couple of times, but I’ve not been able to summon enough interest to sleep with him. He’s pretty, but as boring as hell.
Unfortunately, he seems intent on go number three, and he sidles over with a glass of champagne for me, flashes me a wolfish sort of grin, then launches into some inane banter.
I’m sure it works a treat on the dull dilettantes he regularly beds, then dumps for the next one in line, but it doesn’t do a thing for me.
He seems insubstantial and pale after Ben’s dark looks and intense charisma.
Ugh, where is Ben?
Maybe he’s changed his mind and isn’t coming after all.
Frustration, quickly followed by a sick sinking feeling, rolls through me.
‘Sorry, but I need to dash to the bathroom. Too much wine,’ I say to wolf-boy, thrusting my now empty glass at him. Without waiting for his response, I turn away and walk swiftly towards the kitchen and freedom.
I’ll go and skulk away in there for a bit, with the waiting staff, and then if Ben doesn’t show I’ll make a bid for freedom and meet my friends at the club they’re off to tonight.
More booze and some wild dancing is exactly what I need right now, to blot out the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I’m just passing the door to my father’s home office when I suddenly become aware of someone coming up behind me.
Dammit. Wolf-boy just doesn’t want to take no for an answer.
I stop in my tracks and spin around, fixing a cool, distant expression on my face, ready to shut him down fast.
‘Look, I’m very flattered, but I’m really not in the mood to…’ My words peter out as I turn to face my stalker and realise it’s not wolf-boy after all.
It’s Ben.
My whole body comes alive at the sight of him, rushing with heat as I stare into his dark eyes, which are narrowed in amusement.
‘Not in the mood to what?’ he asks with a wry smile.
My insides do an ecstatic flip-flop.
‘To make any more boring small talk with my father’s cronies,’ I reply, matching his smile.
‘And do you include me in that grouping?’
I shake my head, my gaze remaining steady on his. ‘Absolutely not, boss.’
He shoots me a reproving frown. ‘I thought I wasn’t getting any special treatment tonight?’
‘That depends on what you mean by “special”,’ I murmur, gesturing for him to follow me into my father’s mercifully empty office.
I shut the door firmly behind us and flip the lock, then turn back to slide my fingers into his hair and kiss him hard.
I press my body up against his, delighting in the feel of his hard, muscular frame against me.
We fit together so perfectly – it’s as if we were made for each other.
I revel in that thought, taking my time to explore the hard planes of his back with my fingertips as I kiss him, totally absorbed in my greedy inspection.
So it takes me a moment to realise that something’s wrong.
He’s resisting me.
* * *
Benedict
‘We shouldn’t do this here – not right under your father’s nose,’ I say, drawing away from her even though the whole of my being screams at me to keep kissing her and be damned.
But I can’t do that. I mustn’t. It’s too dangerous.
She withdraws from me and smiles, then shrugs, but it looks awkward and stiff.
‘Okay, but you realise I’ll be out of your company and out of your life any minute? Now that he’s back?’ she says. ‘After that, you can pretend I don’t exist.’
‘Don’t say that.’
I’m hurt that she’d think I’d be so cold as to want to do that.
She shrugs. ‘It’s fine. I get it. I’m not the type of woman you’d be looking to settle down with. It’s not my style anyway. I like the thrill of the chase, but I get bored easily.’
There’s something in her face, though, when she says this, that makes me think it’s a line she’s reeled out to protect herself.
‘Maya—’
She flaps a hand. ‘Look, don’t worry about my father. If by some miracle he finds out about us he’ll just assume it was all my fault anyway. He knows what I’m like – he’s not exactly my biggest fan.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, disturbed by how casually she says this.
‘Oh, I don’t know… I’ve always disappointed him. He and I have never seen eye to eye,’ she says, turning away and walking over to a mirror on the wall to check her lipstick.
Her posture is stiff, and I get a strong sense that there’s more to this than she’s letting on.
But I don’t push it. I can’t allow myself to get emotionally involved with her. I already care about her more than is healthy for a short-term fling.
While she wipes away a bit of mascara that’s smudged under her eye, I try to distract myself from the concern looming at the edge of my consciousness by walking to the bookcase on the other side of the room, which has a shelf full of framed photos, lined up in a neat row.
They’re all a bit faded, so must have been there for some time.
Most of them are of Maxim with people from the social scene, but others are actors or famous politicians.
It suddenly strikes me that there are no photos of his family anywhere in the room.
Not even one of Maya’s mother, who famously died ten years ago in a skiing accident.
‘It’s an impressive line-up,’ I say, nodding towards the photos as she walks over to join me.
I turn to look at her and breathe in her unique, alluring scent, my skin rushing with pleasure as I inhale it deep into my lungs. It’s the smell I go to sleep with in my nostrils every night. She’s somehow permeated every part of my life.
‘Yes, my father likes to collect people like trophies,’ she says, with a cynical lift of her eyebrow.
Her comment makes my insides squirm, and I wonder for a second whether he’s doing that to me.
Pushing away this disturbing thought, I say, ‘I was actually looking for a photo of your mother. I’ve heard you look a lot like her.’
To my surprise she visibly tenses and pulls her arms across her chest.
‘So I’ve been told. Many, many times,’ she mutters.
Her voice has lost its playful edge, and if I’m not mistaken it’s taken on a croak of emotion. She goes to speak, then seems to change her mind and presses her lips together again. Glancing down, I see that her hands are shaking.
Concern rattles through me. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.
It must have been hard to lose her at such a young age,’ I say, reaching out a hand.
She steps away from it to avoid my touch.
I feel stung by her rejection, but when she turns to meet my eyes again, I see that there’s real pain in them.
Shit. I’ve gone too far. Got too personal.
My stomach sinks so rapidly I feel nauseated.
What can of worms have I just opened?
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, shocked by how pale she is, as if all the blood has drained from her face.
‘I’m…’ She shakes her head, as if the words won’t come.
‘Maya? What is it?’
I step in front of her and instinctively I put my hands on her shoulders, gently drawing her closer to me. I want her to know she’s safe here with me.
‘It was hard,’ she whispers.
She’s got her arms wrapped so tightly around her body now I can see the tendons standing out in her forearms.
‘I was on the skiing holiday with her… when she died. It was just her and me. It was horrendous. The most awful thing in the world.’
She takes a shuddery breath, but her eyes still don’t meet mine.
‘I’d accidentally got onto a difficult run that I wasn’t skilled enough to be on. She followed me, then fell and bashed her head trying to catch up with me. Trying to keep me safe.’
Her voice is raw with emotion and her eyes are clouded over now, as if she’s retreated far inside herself.
I remember reading about Isabella Darlington-Hume’s death when it was splashed across the headlines ten years ago. It had been a front-page story at the time – the most famous socialite of that time, tragically killed in the prime of her life.
‘I didn’t realise you were there when it happened,’ I say quietly, horrified by the anguish I see on her face.
‘My father managed to keep most of the details out of the press,’ she replies, speaking in an indifferent tone now, which doesn’t match the look in her eyes at all. ‘One of the many benefits of being rich and powerful.’