Chapter 28 #2
‘Xav mainly rescued me,’ she confesses. ‘He’s good with them. He has this kind of quiet confidence that puts them in their place, but without being rude, if you know what I mean?’
I nod approvingly. ‘Glad to hear it.’ I do know what she means, and I’m relieved.
Xavier’s entitlement, his social accreditation, is precisely the kind of indisputable, Teflon-coated armour he and Ivy could use right now.
I realise as I’m saying it that, while I don’t exactly like Ivy, she was by far the person around tonight’s supper table with whom I was least pissed off, so there’s a warmish kind of…
goodwill building in my heart towards her.
‘The useful thing about people like that,’ I find myself confiding, without really meaning to, ‘is that they’re so thick-skinned that you can actually be quite rude back without their realising it. You kind of have to brazen it out.’
She grins at me, and I understand all over again what it is about her that drew Xavier to her: the Versace-encased breasts aside, that is. She really is very pretty and very natural. Sincere, I suppose.
‘I’ll try that,’ she says, then her face grows serious. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you okay? After dinner, I mean.’
I frown. ‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s only… speaking of thick-skinned, I thought Benedict was a bit dickish earlier. Everything seems to roll off him like water off a duck’s back, so I genuinely think he doesn’t realise when he’s trampling all over other people’s feelings.’
Her psychoanalysis of my husband is as unwelcome as it is accurate. ‘I didn’t realise you knew him so well,’ I say stiffly.
‘I don’t at all. I just felt like—the way they were telling the story about how Xav and I met, it all felt so deceptive, like it was this big cover-up, and it really wasn’t. It just kind of happened. But I don’t think they were very diplomatic this evening, and I wasn’t very impressed.’
I blow out a breath. ‘Thank you,’ I say ungraciously.
‘If he upset you, you should say something. He needs to know.’
‘No. Absolutely not,’ I insist. The very thought of confronting Ben is horrifying. ‘It’s early days. I don’t want to rock the boat.’
She scoffs. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that.
I had a massive go at Xav even before we got together, because I thought they were both being ridiculously overprotective of Flora to the point of being really toxic.
You have to call them out on this shit. Also, you guys were forced together so quickly.
You haven’t had time to rub each other’s corners off yet. That happens now.’
Easy for her to say. Clearly, she doesn’t have the misfortune of reacting to every confrontation as though it’s a near-death experience.
Anyway, I am absolutely not taking relationship advice from a twenty-four-year-old former hooker.
I’m viewing these first few months of marriage as a massive PR exercise.
A giant sales pitch. Rather than bossing Ben around or trying to rub his corners off, I’m trying desperately to persuade him he made the right decision.
No one is out of the woods yet.
‘Not happening,’ I tell her with a tight smile. ‘I’m far too busy trying to make sure he doesn’t run for the hills.’
Her mouth drops open. ‘Selena! That’s an awful thing to say. Of course he won’t run.’
‘You’re one of the very few people who knows the truth,’ I say, ‘which is that he didn’t plan this.
So forgive me if I’m not willing to nag him until he throws in the towel.
It’s easy for you to say. You’re in a love match.
Xavier clearly adores your feistiness, whereas Benedict mainly knows me as an uptight pain in the arse. ’
I knew she was his type, my husband says in my head.
‘He adores you,’ she protests, eyes wide. She crosses her legs and winces. ‘What the fuck are they doing in there? I really need a wee.’
‘Coke, probably.’
‘Jesus. You don’t get any of that shit at Alchemy.
But seriously, Selena, Benedict adores you.
Like, adores you. He’s completely obsessed with you.
I was watching you guys in the kitchen, because I’m curious, obviously.
He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.
And I’ve noticed he keeps saying my wife tonight.
It’s clear you two were meant to be together. ’
For a second, just a second, I let her words wash over me like warm treacle; I let myself stand there and luxuriate in the thought of Ben and me being fated, of him looking at me in wonder.
Nope.
I refuse to let in the little kernel of hope. It’s a nice data point, but it doesn’t stack up against all the other shit he’s said and done tonight. I roll my eyes at her.
‘I’m serious,’ she says. ‘And why wouldn’t he?
I can tell you now, I’ve never felt so shitty and insignificant in my life as when I rocked up to Harry’s party and you were there with Xav in that beautiful red dress.
You looked like a movie star.’ She gazes at me, her blue eyes large and guileless.
‘I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. So yeah, if you ask me, Benedict seems completely besotted. He’s also smug as fuck, and so he should be. ’
That gives me pause. I’ve been so busy these past few months, putting myself right at the centre of this narrative, seeing the whole shitshow from the perspective that Xavier and Ivy were doing whatever the hell they wanted behind my back, that it honestly never occurred to me that the path to true love may not have run that smoothly for Ivy, either, or that she may have felt threatened by me.
I’ve assumed that she operates on some kind of parallel, authentic-cool-girl level where insecurity and hypervigilance are rendered unnecessary, but maybe not.
The last bit of what she said—the bit about Ben being smug as fuck—at least, I can believe.
It’s easy, too easy when I’m in this emotional state, to reframe my favourite ‘forbidden fantasies’ game with Benedict.
All those things he likes to say to me when he’s inside me, those memories he likes to relive (or invent) about watching me from across a room when I was promised to Xavier and wanting to do all manner of filthy things to me.
The porno version of pining, which is probably as close as a guy like Ben gets to that kind of emotion.
It also sounds both hot and romantic when he says it.
But maybe he was just falling for the package. The mask. The painstakingly curated image, finished off with a gym-honed body and designer clothing and professional blow-dries.
Maybe he was a kitten, dazzled by the shiny, out-of-reach bauble. But, once he’d made a swipe at it and knocked it to the ground, it wasn’t all that alluring after all.
‘I’m sorry if I made you feel shitty,’ I say, scratching my nose.
‘It wasn’t a fun time for anyone.’ I pause, because this is an awkward thing to admit.
But she’s just given me a little gift, and maybe she needs one, too.
None of this is her fault. ‘I was miserable that night,’ I confess.
‘I was always miserable with Xavier.’ She lets out a shocked huff, and I shrug.
‘I’m serious. I’d rather be ignored by Ben all night than have Xavier being disgustingly solicitous when it was always clear he had zero interest.’
She purses her lips. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think Ben’s ignoring you. If you ask me, he knows he’s done badly, so he’s been cavorting around all night like a sugared-up kid and trying to avoid any awkwardness.’
She may actually be right. That’s classic Ben. I cock my head, considering. ‘He’s flirting a lot.’
‘Maybe that’s just how he is? Not that that makes it okay,’ she says hurriedly. ‘Like I said, you should talk to him.’
I ignore that suggestion. ‘Did you know him at Alchemy?’ I ask instead. It’s surprisingly hard to get the question out, and I find I’m bracing ahead of her answer.
But she shakes her head. ‘Nah. I recognised him when we came up to Belvedere for the party, but I’d never spoken to him before. I know he was popular there—generally speaking, I mean. I’m not saying he shagged everyone.’
I may have spent an evening at Alchemy, but it’s not exactly my scene.
The concept of people like Ben and Ivy, so secure in their sexuality, living it up at a place like that is both alien and painful.
Painful because I’m still unclear just how much my husband misses that life, no matter how much of a brave face he puts on for my benefit.
Eventually, we make it into the loo after two giggling girls have exited, wiping their noses furiously.
Called it.
The DJ has kicked it up a notch by the time we return to the drawing room, and Xavier has joined Ben, Lydia, and Jack.
He pulls Ivy against him and dips his face, dropping a lingering kiss on the crown of her head as he lets his eyes drift shut.
It’s a sweet, quiet moment of adoration, so intimate I almost feel guilty for having witnessed it.
My husband, meanwhile, is looking at me as if I’m supper. ‘What took you guys so long?’
‘Some party girls were doing lines in the loo.’ I shrug, feigning nonchalance. Only one type of neuron fires when Ben looks at me like that, and it’s not the type that supports the stringing together of words on an articulate thread. He’s so handsome it’s downright disgusting.
‘Come here.’
The sexiest sentence in the world?
I go, obviously, and he wraps his arms around me, one hand going straight to my bottom. He caresses the lustrous satin, sliding it over my skin.
‘I wish you weren’t wearing a thong,’ he mutters into my ear.
‘I can definitely fix that later.’
He pulls away and smiles at me. It’s goofy, and it softens into something approaching awe as his gaze trails over my face.
He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.
‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he says. ‘You actually hurt my eyes.’
I’m sure my smile is just as goofy as his.
Feel-good chemicals course through my bloodstream.
He may be an outrageous flirt. Charming the literal pants off women may be second nature to him.
But, when he’s standing in front of me and wearing my ring and giving me all his attention, I want to believe it’s more than that.
I really, really want to.
‘My gorgeous wife,’ he whispers, closing the gap between our mouths.
His lips touch mine, and he sways on the spot as he tightens his arms around me.
We’re dancing far too slowly for the Weeknd, which is who’s playing now, but I don’t care.
I melt against his body and I allow him to set the pace as I rake my fingertips through his hair.
As usual, there are so many Selenas participating in this scene.
There’s the version who’s right here in the kiss, marvelling at how unutterably perfect it can be to touch tongues with someone you’re crazy about, how safe and warm the cocoon of Ben’s body feels. She’s giddy with it.
There’s the version who can’t believe she finally got her guy—the guy she could never take her eyes off, not the guy she was promised to for so long. She feels weak with relief whenever she thinks of it.
And, always hovering and scanning the crowd and overanalysing, is the exhausted, hypervigilant version who’s wondering what everyone thinks, wondering if this little PDA will do away with any lingering rumours that this marriage isn’t the real deal, wondering if anyone here doubts that it can last the course.
But even she has to admit, when she looks over in the distance, that there’s an undeniable glimmer of light, right at the edge of the woods.