Текст книги "Vulture a Stepbrother Romance"

Автор книги: Emilia Beaumont

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

4

Sara

The sound of birds singing managed to penetrate the double-glazing and woke me. Joyful cries sounded as the sun rose in the sky. They chirped as if everything was normal with the world, when it was anything but.

As I lifted my head from the pillow, though, blinking the grogginess away, I had to admit that the colours in the room—the turquoise satin curtains, the golden hues of the shimmering wallpaper—were brighter, richer. Maybe it was just the way the light reflected off the windows.

It had nothing to do with yesterday’s events, I told myself. Nothing to do with the relief I’d felt and that now filled me with guilt.

I dug the heels of my palms into the mattress and heaved myself up into a sitting position, resting my back against the thick pillows.

I should be distraught, a wreck. Why am I not crying? I’m still in shock, I thought.

But before I could examine the lack of emotional response any further, a rustle of clothing caught my attention. Turning my head to the side, I watched in surprise as Harvey stirred in the wingback chair. He must be in agony, what with the ninety-degree angle that forced the sitter into a rigid posture. The chair was merely there for decoration, positioned in the corner of the room, never intended to sleep in. But sometimes doubling as a clotheshorse, much to my annoyance. Eric had bent me…

I cut myself short. I wasn’t prepared to revisit that memory. Not now, maybe not ever.

“You’re awake,” Harvey interrupted, looking at me with mild interest. His normally slicked-back, business-styled hair was now rustled and out of place, as if he’d run his fingers through it. His thick, dark lashes fluttered over his azure eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, you OK?”

“It’s nothing, just surprised to see your ugly mug in the morning.” He cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t about to reveal to him what I’d been trying desperately not to think about. He’d be the last person I’d ever consider pouring my heart out to. Just the thought was comical. And though he was plenty serious, Harvey was not the type of guy you would confide in. I never expected him to stay with me during the night, let alone be here when I woke up. Didn’t he have an important business meeting to go to, or a gorgeous twig-like model to fuck?

Surely the woman from last night would be missing him in her bed this morning.

“Why are you still here, Harvey?” I asked, regretting the anger that was very present in my tone.

He mouth remained unmoving, his gaze eating away at my skin the longer he stared. Debating, perhaps, his response. I fully expected him to say something rude and calculating to counter my words, and then he’d leave me in peace.

Twiddling with the blanket in my hand, I glanced down at my nails, unable to look at him anymore. How could I, when I had been nothing but an obvious nuisance to him last night? And now I was being an ungrateful bitch. I was never good at staring matches anyway, but his eyes were like the sun—stare too long and you’d go blind. And I couldn’t stand the itchy feeling that prickled upon my agitated skin when he looked at me like that, making me want to throw off the blankets and claw at my flesh; it was unnerving. The silence was oppressive, thick, and his glare was unwavering. I almost screamed at him.

“Want some breakfast?” he said, surprising me, as if he was oblivious to the intensity in the room.

“No,” I replied, my voice hushed and soft.

I puzzled over how I’d ended up in my bed. I couldn’t remember making it up the stairs. Did he carry me? The thought made me self-conscious. The extra pounds that plagued me made me blush with embarrassment.

I cleared my throat and sent an apologetic look his way. “I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

His words came out in rumble. “Don’t worry about it.”

I nodded, feeling stupid as we continued to sit there, not knowing what either of us should do, but a clattering from below made caught our attention. Light footsteps made their way up the stairs before Harvey even had the chance to get to his feet. The bedroom door opened, and my mother entered, her face creased with worry. Her white hair was dishevelled, and her eyes widened in concern.

“Sara!” my mom cried as I gave Harvey a thunderous stare. Why had he called her? “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”

She flung her arms around me for a moment, and I barely registered the light squeeze, her attempt at comfort. It was devoid of any emotional intent, lacklustre. At least Harvey’s embrace had been full of real feelings. I tried to shake the mental thought away and instead decided to focus on my mother’s high-pitched blabbering. She would insist on knowing every single detail of Eric’s death, from the moment the police turned up on my doorstep right up until the time I last laid eyes on my husband’s battered body in the morgue. She’d make me relive it. Over and over again, without a thought to how it’d make me feel.

“It’s OK, Mom,” I answered, waiting for the interrogation to start. I tried to catch Harvey’s eye, but he’d wandered over to look out the window. Trying to be considerate, I guess.

“It’s not all right, darling,” she reasoned and pushed back from me to look at my face. “You’ve just lost your husband. Of course you’re not OK!”

Her words sank into me. She was right, I shouldn’t be OK. I shouldn’t be able to hold a conversation, let alone sit upright in bed. Widows were meant to be in a ball of agony, unable to think of anything but the loss of their loved one. I nodded my head and brought my gaze down, just as my twin sister, Anita, came hollering at me. Her loud, whiny voice cut through the migraine that was beginning to settle in my skull.

“Oh my gosh, Sara!” she screeched. She flopped down onto the bed and placed her handbag down on the carpeted floor. “We were all so worried about you.” At the age of thirty-two, my sister lived the perfect life I’d dreamed of; she had a normal husband and two wonderful kids. My niece and nephew meant the world to me, but my relationship with Anita was always teetering on a knife’s edge as the years went by. She criticised every aspect of my life, and though she never quite got around to saying it, I knew my mediocrity made her feel better about herself. If I fucked up, she would insist on telling me how she would’ve handled the problem, but then again, she wouldn’t get herself into the messes I somehow managed to get myself into. “Married an abusive husband did you?” she’d say, “Well that was silly of you, wasn’t it? You must’ve done something to provoke him…”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be there yesterday,” my mom said. “Your stepfather had a work thing, so I had to wait till Anita could bring me. And then we had to find a sitter for the grandkids, of course.”

“It’s OK,” I reassured her again, pasting a weak smile on my face. It was probably best they hadn’t arrived last night, I thought. They would’ve hovered around and pestered me with their lukewarm, drama-induced sympathies.

Facing away from me, my mother looked over her shoulder and sent a grateful but cold smile towards her stepson. “Thank you for looking after her, Harvey,” she said, her voice taut and forcibly polite.

“No problem, Victoria,” he replied without looking at her. I could feel the tension in the room rise and felt helpless to do anything from my weak position in the bed. Trapped between my mother and vile sister.

“Well, we’re here now. There’s no need for you to stay,” my mother continued.

My mom divorced my father a long time ago, and there’d been a string of relationships, and more than a few marriages until she met Harvey’s father, Russell. But my mom and Harvey had never seen eye-to-eye. He saw her as just another gold-digger, a woman who used marriage as her meal ticket. And like a career, each marriage proposal was equivalent to a promotion, a rung up the never-ending ladder.

From my position on the bed I saw a flicker of annoyance cross the side of his face. He turned. “Fine, I’ll go.”

I mouthed a “thank you” as I watched him leave and close the wooden door to my room, leaving me with two women that would, as soon as Harvey was out of earshot, peck at me and ask me how much Eric’s life insurance policy was worth.

5

Sara

Days flew by in a blur after Eric’s death. Later in the week, I found out that the cause of his death was a head-on collision with a concrete lane barrier about ten miles down the road. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of losing him forever. That he was actually gone. I fully expected to see him walk through the front door at any moment, or to be there lying on the bed staring at me with his curled up lips when I woke up first thing in the morning.

I stood by my husband’s coffin, a dry tissue clutched tightly in my hand as I watched a couple of bystanders lower his cold body into the ground. A light shower spattered against the polished wood surface. Mud, tears, and sniffles surrounded me. How could they cry for a man they didn’t truly know?

But I nodded my head and accepted their condolences while they patted my arm.

Mourners stood beside me, their hands gripping their handkerchiefs and swiping at their tear-stricken faces. My mother dabbed at her eyes; she made a great widow, I thought. Her husband before Russell gave her the opportunity to play the part so well—she knew exactly what to say, knew exactly how to act around the mourners. But I couldn’t be as tactful and was in danger of slipping off the handle at any moment. If anyone else told me “Eric was a good man”, I was likely to scream in their face.

The preacher’s voice sounded in the background, muttering a few words, recalling Eric’s lifetime achievements.

Not listening, I studied the circle of people dressed in black. The only other person without a trace of emotion or tears on his face stood opposite me. Harvey lifted his head and caught my eye. He didn’t give me a reassuring smile, or nod his head in respect—he just stared at me, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

A shiver ran up my spine, and I forced myself to look away.

Finally the service was over. Rain dripped down my black umbrella as we walked back to the cars.

An elderly woman, a distant relative—a great aunt of Eric’s if I remembered correctly—walked towards me. “I’m sorry for your loss. Absolutely dreadful what’s happened. Do they know what caused the crash?”

I smiled gently and muttered a weak “thank you” as she continued to question me. Just as my head was about to explode, her watery, blue eyes boring into mine imploring for me to respond, Harvey took my elbow and interrupted the old woman.

“We have to get Sara back home now; it’s been a long day,” he said politely, his authoritative tone putting a stop to her enquiries.

“Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to pry…”

Without letting go of my arm and expertly dodging other mourners who wanted their five minutes with the supposedly grieving widow, he led me to his car instead of the funeral car reserved for the family and settled me inside, away from everyone. My mother’s and sister’s faces flashed by the window; they called for Harvey to stop but he ignored their pleas to slow down. He drove back to my house, the journey taking much longer than it should, as he deviated—literally going all around the houses—as I sat quietly, with my hands covering my face, desperately trying to shut out the world.

Grievers had already set up shop at the house, gathering to pass the time and reminisce with strangers, family and friends who’d known Eric. I tried to mingle as if it were just an ordinary social event, but instead I hid away in the kitchen, laying out food for the hungry guests, unable to talk about my deceased husband in glowing terms.

I tried to walk away from the horde, but none of them would let me, and the kitchen was full of persistent bodies.

“Could you make sure to take out the next batch of sausage rolls from the oven, Anita?”

Her sharp eyes narrowed at me. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Upstairs, I need to lie down.”

She shook her head. “No, you have to stay. People want to talk to you. They’ve come all this way for the funeral. You can’t go hide in your bedroom. Look, I’ll go get you a chair so you can sit.”

I turned away from her and braced myself against the kitchen counter. The last thing I needed was to get into a fight with her today.

Huffing, she dragged in one of the dining chairs that had been moved from the kitchen to the living room to make space.

“Here you go,” she said, as it it’d been my idea for her to get the chair.

“Thanks…”

Wedged in the kitchen, an endless stream of requests and enquiries came my way. It felt like it went on for hours.

A light tap on my arm, a bump from someone reaching behind me to get a napkin, brought me out of my hazy thoughts. My head shot forward, and I caught Harvey’s gaze. He stood by a group of mourners, dressed impeccably in his black suit. People moved to make way for him as he strode towards me.

“How you doing?”

“As well as expected, I think.”

“You don’t look so good. Do you want to get some fresh air? It’s stopped raining.”

I smiled; nothing would be better right that moment. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he questioned, frowning down at me.

“Anita said—”

“Fuck Anita,” he said loud enough to cause a middle-aged woman beside us gasp.

I laughed. Strands of dark blonde hair fell across my face. I reached out and tucked it behind my ear. “I guess it would be OK for just a moment, but who’ll take care of the guests?”

He frowned again he eyes darkening in anger. “Who’s taking care of you?”

“I-I…” I stammered, unsure of what to say. No one cared or worried about me, a fact that I was used to. It was always the other way around. I was the worrier. Harvey’s question caught me off-guard.

“They’re not wild animals, Sara. And who cares what anyone thinks? If you don’t want to be here, then leave.” His bluntness was refreshing, like a cold shower on a hot day.

A shred of clarity began to peek through the haze.

“OK,” I replied.

Harvey grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the house, escaping via the back door before I could change my mind. The sharpness of the fresh air made my eyes widen, and my lungs inhaled the blissful scent of drying rain. It’d been so stuffy in the house, it’d been a wonder I’d been able to breathe.

We walked towards the small cut that led through to the dense wood at the back of the house. Making the most of the sun, which appeared through thick white clouds, I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and let it coat me in a blanket of warmth that streamed down upon me.

“Feel better?”

I smiled and nodded. I felt the corners of my lips tilt up as I opened my eyes again.

“Yes, much.” I paused to look at him. For all his faults, his selfishness and whoring around, I had to wonder how he could be so kind to me.

“Harvey? How did you know I needed to escape the wake?”

“Does it matter?” he replied simply.

I guess not, I thought, in the great scheme of things. I shook my head.

We walked deeper into the woods, and comfortable silence fell between us. Birds chirped up in the trees, their voices singing along our route. Their little wings flapped up to the sky while flocks scattered around the treetops. Sunlight became our torch, straining to illuminate our way through the dense canopy.

With Harvey by my side, or in some case where the path narrowed, behind me, I suddenly had the urge to voice my thoughts and feelings. It was as if the vacuum he created by keeping quiet was forcing me to spill my secrets. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, nibbling at the skin. “Harvey?”

He turned his head and looked at me. Eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

“Have you ever felt the sense of not knowing what to do? Of feeling lost?”

“Not really,” he said, his eyes darting away.

“Oh.” Feeling the need to explain myself I continued. “It’s just now that Eric’s gone, I’m alone, and I guess I feel like I’ve lost my place in the world. With him I knew what my life was all about, and I’d accepted it. Came to terms with everything. It was all planned out, you know? My life was on this unstoppable train, but now—shit—I can’t help but feel like I’ve been derailed, and I’m stuck in limbo.”

The words slipped freely from my mouth. My voice came out hoarse and tired from holding back the emotion that was building in my chest. My eyes started to burn for the first time that day. Droplets spilled down my cheeks, and I immediately wiped them away, feeling ridiculous. How could I be mourning a life with a man who’d routinely belittled me, beat me, and violently raped me?

“You must think I’m a fool,” I said, thanking him when he offered his handkerchief.

“You’re not a fool, Sara. You have every right to cry for your dead husband. For what you’ve lost. No one is holding that against you, and if they did, screw them—”

“I’m not crying for him,” I suddenly blurted, shocked at my own words as I realised the truth of them.

“What do you mean?”

Could I tell him? How would he look at me if he knew? The relief I experienced, the weight that had lifted from my shoulders the moment I’d seen Eric’s bruised body. Even though I was finally free, I was terrified that without the weight to keep me tethered I would just float away and disappear. I needed to share it with someone…

But Harvey wasn’t the right person to spill all this to. He wouldn’t understand. Harvey didn’t do feelings, not in all the years I’d known him. The only feelings he knew were the ones he got when he closed a business deal, or the victory and thrill of the hunt when he managed to plant his flag in an unsuspecting female.

I still remembered the streams of tears from one my distant cousins, Becky, at our parents’ wedding party. He’d told her exactly what she wanted to hear, that he’d take her away from her boring little life with her fat, useless husband, he’d take her places… see the world. Instead, he fucked her every which way from Sunday in a not-so-private alcove during the wedding party and didn’t even have the decency to apologise for the lives he’d ruined.

“Nothing, I didn’t mean it. Forget I said anything.”

We continued our walk, looping back around the trail and approached the back door. “Sara, you know deserve all the happiness in the world, right? Don’t let what’s happened make you think otherwise.”

Fresh tears began to flow. Maybe I’d judged him too harshly. Maybe beneath all the bravado, the slick suits and all the women he used and discarded, perhaps there was something more to him. Or perhaps not, as his attention wavered to the same stunning women I’d seen at the hospital, who now stood at the top of the back door steps.

“And you have me. I’ll be at your side as much you need me. But not right now, there’s something I need to deal with,” he said and went towards her.

Thankfully most of the guests had left by the time I walked back into the house. A few people lurked in a corner near the remaining open bottles of alcohol. Their heads turned to watch me, judge me, as I entered the room. Clearly my absence had been noted.

My eyes caught sight of my mother, my stepdad Russell, and Anita and her family in the kitchen. I turned instead towards the drinks table and poured myself a 3-fingered glass of whiskey, no ice.

“Where have you been?” A familiar female voice cut through me.

My sister, with her hands planted on top of her slim hips, fumed with anger. Her face flushed with annoyance. “We were worried sick!”

Taken aback, I took a huge swig, draining the glass, then reached for the bottle again.

“I went out for a quick walk. I had to get out of here one way or another, and you wouldn’t let me go lie down,” I bit back.

Anita snorted, her tongue tutting in disgust, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I don’t believe you! All these people were here to support you, and you just left. You can’t half be ungrateful sometimes, Sara.”

“I’m ungrateful?”

“Yes,” she spat. “I bet you didn’t even think about how I would have to look after everyone once you disappeared. People were asking where you were. It’s like you don’t even care!”

Hurt and fury boiled together like molten lava that made me see a flash of red. “Of course I care! Eric was my husband, Anita.”

“Then fucking act like it!” she screamed, walking towards me with clear determination in her eyes. She lifted up a hand and pointed it at my chest, probing me with her sharp nail.

I shook my head though my fingers trembled. “Just because I’m not falling to pieces before your eyes doesn’t mean I’m not grieving. I loved Eric. I did,” I whispered, failing to add the next thought in my head—that I also hated him, that I regretted not having the courage to kill him myself for all the pain he’d put me through.

“You know what?” she screeched, her nail dug so deep that I wouldn’t have been surprised if she drew out a trickle of blood. “Never mind. There’s no talking to you anyway. You’re selfish. Mom was out of her mind with worry. But you’ve always got to do your own thing and fuck the rest of us. You’ve always been selfish, and you’ll never change.”

I gasped. What had I done to deserve her vitriol? It didn’t make sense.

“That’s enough, Anita,” Harvey growled.

I watched him saunter over to us, his hand quickly bringing hers down. Pushing it away from me as he stepped in between us, shielding me.

“Oh come on, Harvey. Don’t let her pull the wool over your eyes, too. She walked out on her husband’s wake for Christ sake! My mother’s in bits. But Sara would know nothing about her health since she never had to look after her.”

“Anita, this isn’t the time or the place. And if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. I dragged her out of here away from all you fucking vultures that just want a piece of her.”

“But…” Anita’s words trailed.

I said that’s enough!” Harvey roared.

His voice shook the whole house, startling the remaining guests in the corner. My sister’s mouth parted, ready to begin again.

“Why are you defending her, Harvey?”

“OK, that’s it, I’ve had enough of you. If you can’t empathise with what she’s going through, then get the hell out!” he shouted, his pulse beating at the base of his neck. He took Anita’s arm and dragged her through the hallway.

“Sara can grieve however the fuck she likes,” he declared. “It’s not up to you. Eric was her husband, Anita. Not yours. Just because you fucked around with him before they got together doesn’t give you the right to tell her how to handle this situation. He chose her, not you! And don’t go around blaming Sara for taking a break from this family’s drama. How would you feel if you were in her position?”

“I…” Once again, my sister was left speechless.

He opened the front door. “Leave. Before I say something I will really regret.”

“Fine!” Anita’s green eyes, so similar to mine, narrowed in hatred. She turned and stormed off, her coiffed blonde hair trailing after her.

Jeremy, Anita’s meek husband, collected the kids’ coats and hustled them out the door, doing his best to avoid Harvey’s glare.

Harvey made his way back to the kitchen. My mother, who’d been silent throughout the whole shouting match, started to open her mouth. He gave her a simple look, and her mouth closed. The rest of the guests decided now was the perfect time to leave, too. They drank the dregs of their drinks and left.

“You’re making a nasty habit of coming to my rescue,” I whispered.

He stared at me, the remnants of fury still detectable in his eyes. But the longer he looked at me, the softer they became, his face relaxing. “You need to start standing up for yourself. You can’t let your sister or anyone push you around like that. It pisses me off.”

“I see that.”

“I’m not joking, Sara.”

“I know,” I replied, gulping down another shot of whiskey, a desperate attempt to calm my rattled nerves and the attraction I’d felt spark when he’d defended me.