Something Borrowed (10 page)

‘You don’t say?’ His eyebrows rose, and he laughed.

So did she, because there was, she realised, a certain amount of truth in the bridezilla comment, but it had stemmed from being a perfectionist and not from being a spoilt bitch. Although, it may not have come across like that at the time. ‘Well, okay then, I’m a lot bossy. But I struck out and started up my own business. Jenna’s was my first wedding. Then one of her friends wanted me to help her, and it snowballed. It’s a great job. I can choose the hours I work. I meet generally nice people and go to wonderful venues and create a fairy tale. It’s fun. I love it.’

Loved
it.

‘And now? It’s a trial because clients are few and far between?’

Yes, let’s stick with that and not the whole fallen out of love with love thing
. ‘I need a pep, yes. Actually, I need a fairy godmother with a magic wand. Basically, Jason cleaned me out when he left me with a full mortgage to pay and a business to run.’ She stopped short at trying to explain the Jenna and their mum conundrum.

‘And you just offer wedding planning? Not other events?’

‘What kind of other events?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Chloe. You have to think out of the box. Something wedding related? Honeymoons? Proposals?’

‘I think there are plenty of people who have cornered those markets already.’

‘Engagements? Baby showers? Divorce parties? Okay, that last one was a joke.’

‘Because it would be funny to organise weddings
and
divorces wouldn’t it? Hilarious. Yep, we cover you from the fairy tale to the nightmare and beyond. Funerals too? Why not? Yes, let’s add those to the list.’ It probably wasn’t funny, but she laughed anyway. And so did he. Their eyes met as they both swayed forward a little, and for a moment, they sat there just looking and smiling and there was a feeling… something new… in her gut. And heat.

Was there…? Was she imagining heat in his eyes too? She didn’t dare to think. That was a stupid idea. He was her ex’s cousin. He was committed to life alone like a martyred poet or something. He was everything she didn’t like in a man. He was Vaughn Bloody Brooks, for God’s sake.

She swatted any idea of his lips and his eyes and his heat away and focused on the conversation. ‘But a general party planner, I guess that could work. I do need to develop, but I’d have to change the name of my company. And then there’s my mum and sister to think about. They need to be doing the flowers and the dresses so they can make a living.’

His smile slipped. ‘And all the responsibility for your whole family falls to you? I presume you’ve talked to them about the financials?’

‘No. I couldn’t. Really. I can’t tell them. It’s the way we work. I run the show and drum up business, and they do the other stuff. We do what we’re good at.’

‘Which puts a lot of pressure on you.’

Yes, it did. But Chloe didn’t want to come across as some kind of victim or airy fairy whinger. ‘I can handle it. Jenna has little Evie to worry about. And Mum… well, Mum hasn’t had an easy time. When Dad died, she had to look after us on her own. She didn’t have a network of family, and she barely had any friends. They hadn’t been over from Ireland very long, and she couldn’t afford to take us back and find a life there. She has mood swings, depression. But the sewing steadies her. I couldn’t make her give it up and get another job. But you do have a point; we need to diversify. Maybe costumes for parties, bespoke ones, obviously. Perhaps party planning… yes. Proposals, engagements, venue sourcing, wedding-related things—I like the sound of that. Maybe advertise that we relish taking on special themes. That we specialise in the strange and the wonderful.’ There was no way she would tell him about the frogs yet, if ever. ‘I’ve just been so stuck in one headspace I haven’t been able to see round it.’

He grinned and sat back, satisfied. ‘Glad it helped. You need to work out a point of difference or run some special offers. Talk to venues and suppliers and get some dual deals organised.’

‘Oh yes, what a great idea.’ She sat up straight and looked him in the eye. ‘Right, Mr Brooks, what kind of deal can you do for me? If I bring clients here, what discount will you offer?’

He threw his hands up. ‘Whoa. I’m just starting out here, too.’

‘In London, yes. But you do have two other restaurants, which means this is part of a freaking chain. You are a corporate restaurant baron, Vaughn Brooks, and I’m just a lowly wench dragging myself up. And I’m actually starting to feel a little excited about things for the first time in forever.’

To be honest, just thrashing out ideas with someone else had made her more positive about her work again. Lately, sleeping had been put on the back burner while worrying filled her nights. Sometimes she felt as if she was going to explode with all the exhausting thoughts in her head. She didn't want to worry her mother and sister with the dire state of affairs, but these thoughts, looking forward with new ideas, were actually quite exciting. How the hell she’d execute them, she didn’t know.

She realised she was grinning inanely. Or even insanely. Somehow they'd ended up chatting so animatedly they were facing each other, knees almost touching. Almost too close. She looked up into his face, at those steady, dark eyes and the smile. Vaughn Brooks could smile a beautiful smile. Who knew?

A silence fell, and it felt as if the air shimmered around them in the soft orange half-light. As if something magical could happen, as if anything was possible. She was acutely aware of the rise and fall of his chest. Of the closeness of his mouth. Of the heat in his eyes. Yes, definitely heat. And a need that was thick and...
there
, shining brightly between them.

For the second time that evening, she thought about placing her mouth against his, of how he would taste. Of how much she wanted to kiss him.

And of the many, many reasons why she shouldn't. Couldn't. Wouldn't kiss Vaughn Brooks.

The thumpety-thump began to hammer in her chest, and her hands became as sweaty as TheBigCarlhuna's. If this was how she felt without even touching the man, then God help her if she ever had any kind of physical contact with him.

Not going to happen.

She stood, brushing her skirt down, willing her limbs to stop shaking. ‘Righty-oh. I’ve been here way too long. I should go.’

There he was looking at her again, with a question in his gaze. Searching. Then he nodded assertively and the spell between them was broken. ‘Absolutely. I'll take you home.’

‘No!’ There was no way she was going to sit with him in a car, so close. She turned away and picked up her bag. The atmosphere that had been charged and heated and expectant started to cool into awkwardness. ‘No, really, a cab will be fine. You have to go out there and finish up. Give Collini a good send off.’

She followed him to the door, through the restaurant and to the street. Every step was difficult, forced, taking her away from a bubble of intimacy she'd relished. Taking her away from a risk. A chance. A danger.

Once outside, the cool air breathed around them. She didn't know what to say, so she smiled and clutched her bag to her side.

And he stood next to her, tall and graceful and steady, his breathing wasn’t all over the place like hers was. He seemed completely calm. As the cab rolled up, he opened the car door. ‘Thanks for tonight, Chloe. You helped me out of a fix.’

And helped her right into one. ‘Make sure you go straight to a temp agency and get someone to come tomorrow to finish off all that paperwork. And then get a permanent office manager.’

He gave her a salute. ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’ Then he leant forward, and his lips grazed her cheek.

Heat slammed into her, but she stayed stock-still, frozen.
No complications.
It was a good motto to have and one she’d do well to adhere to.
There was absolutely no point in getting carried away with the way he made her feel, because if anything intimate came of this attraction, she had no doubt that a few days or months down the line he would be making her feel very alone all over again. And a little less together.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. ‘I’ve been meaning to say… I am very sorry about what happened in the church. You didn’t deserve that. It was a cruel thing to do. I made sure I told Jason what I thought.’

He’d stuck up for her? ‘Thank you, Vaughn. I doubt it made any difference to him, though. Jason can be very single-minded when he wants to be.’

‘The man’s a bloody idiot, what can I say?’

And before she could read anything into that, Vaughn closed the door, and the cab was pulling away.

Yes, her ex was a raving lunatic, that was a given. But his cousin? He was a completely different puzzle. And definitely not one she was about to try to solve.

T
he taxi pulled
up outside her apartment building, and Chloe was surprised to see a light on in the lounge and… was that a twitch of her curtains? Strange.

She paid the driver, and as she got out of the cab, she noticed a police car parked on the road, too. Not unusual, not really, in this part of London, but in conjunction with the light and the curtain twitch, it made her heart speed up.

What the hell?

Was everything okay? A break-in? Mum? Jenna?

Shit.

A million scenarios gunned through her head, none of them pleasant. Dashing up the steps, she simultaneously dug around in her bag for her key, but as she was about to thrust it into the lock, the door swung wide open.

‘Chloe! Thank God, you’re okay!’ Jenna’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a tight hug. ‘We thought you were dead. Oh, God, thank goodness you’re okay.’

‘Dead? Why the hell would you think that?’

She followed her sister, who was shouting in wobbly but relieved tones to rapturous applause, ‘She’s fine! She’s alive!’ into her lounge to find two police officers—one male and one female—squished into her sofa with china teacups in their hands. Snuggled up against them was her mother. Who had lost her usual soft smile.

On various dining and comfy chairs pulled into a half circle facing the sofa, sat Mrs Singh, who was her mother’s next-door neighbour, Faith from the pub, Saskia from the yoga studio and Kat, Chloe’s oldest friend from school. At their feet were sagging cloth bags bulging with books. Opened bottles of wine on the coffee table vied for space with cheese and crackers and dips and a large box of chocolates.

Book Group.
Was that tonight? Damn, it was. She’d clean forgotten. Not that she’d had time to read a word of the latest crime bestseller—ironically, about a woman who’d disappeared after Internet dating.

‘Thank the Lord! You’re safe.’ Her mother stood, her mousy hair falling into her eyes, eyes that were blotchy and red-rimmed. She ran trembling hands down Chloe’s arms. ‘And back just in time. I thought we were going to have to talk about books. Now, we can just keep going with the gossip. Tell us now, where’ve you been? What the hell’s been going on?’

‘I’m fine, Mum. Honestly. I was just—’ Chloe looked around the room at the gaping mouths, all of them hanging on her every word.

And cops? Had someone arranged a show and tell to go with the crime theme?

The female officer spoke into her collar. ‘Copy that, yes, she’s returned. Unharmed by the looks of it. No, she hasn’t clarified who the perpetrator was.’

‘Perpetrator?’ Chloe squeezed past the book group personnel wall and looked at the officer. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Your sister filed a report that you may have been abducted by a…’ The officer glanced at her regulation, small, black notebook and frowned. She sounded almost disappointed now that Chloe had been found. ‘Male, caucasian, going under the name of
DrewsAmused
.’

‘What? No? Don’t be ridiculous. That poor man. You haven’t… Oh, you haven’t arrested him or anything?’ Sure, he was a little odd, but he was hardly abductor material.

‘He’s helping with enquiries, ma’am,’ the male cop answered.

‘Oh, no. Please leave the poor guy alone. We weren’t a great match, but he wasn’t too upset by it. He certainly wasn’t dangerous. This is so ridiculous; it’s not even funny. You can’t go around thinking people are like that. He was actually quite nice. I left him hours ago. I’ve been at—’

Chloe stopped.

There would be questions. Lots and lots and lots of questions, she knew there would. They would read things into the situation that just didn’t exist. They would make wild leaps of imagination and such a fuss. They would want every tiny detail, and they would all be entirely happy creating scenarios in their heads that hadn’t happened. Even though she had to admit to having fantasised about kissing Vaughn, telling them about it just wasn’t worth the hassle. She turned to Jenna. ‘Why didn’t you just call me instead of the police?’

‘I did. A thousand times. You never miss book group. You never don’t answer.’

Chloe pulled her phone out of her bag. It was switched to silent mode. And with a long line of missed calls and texts getting more and more frantic. ‘I see, yes. I must have, er, left it on silent.’
While I got cosy with Vaughn Brooks in the back room of his restaurant.

‘So where were you?’ It was Jenna. This time a little more intent than before. ‘We were worried sick. I mean, really, really worried. I thought you were—oh, Chloe, you have no idea what was going through my head.’

Sadly, Chloe did. She remembered the day Jenna’s husband hadn’t come home. How her sister had sat, white-faced and numb waiting for information, as if she knew, deep down, that he wasn’t coming back. Jenna had the same look on her face now. The one that said she knew bad things happened, that this had been a hard reality for her, not a little inconsequential flirtation. The look begged her not to send her world into another devastating tailspin.

Chloe felt guilt shimmy through her. The poor woman had been through enough, small wonder she panicked out of proportion. She would explain it all to her sister in private. Later.

Chloe looked at them all in turn and tried for a smile. ‘Hey, can’t a girl go out without being subject to an interrogation?’

Eight pairs of eyes blinked back at her as if she were completely out of her mind. ‘No,’ they all replied in unison.

‘Maybe she was on a booty call.’ Mrs Singh nudged Chloe’s mum and giggled. ‘Naughty girl.’

‘Not our Chloe. She wouldn’t do that.’ Her mum patted the policeman’s hand, almost spilling his tea, which Chloe was absolutely sure her mum must have made because that was what she did.
Manners maketh a man,
girls
. Sadly, keeping daughter’s love lives private didn’t make a woman. ‘She’s a good girl, despite what the papers say. She’s tried Timber, but it didn’t work out. And so Jenna’s set up this internet dating thing—I don’t think anything will come of it. Not in the long run, anyway. Unlucky in love we are; we’re cursed. Sorry to have been a bother. Thank you for coming so quickly.’

The officers stood in sync, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes. The female one gave a wry smile, and now that Chloe thought about it, she seemed vaguely familiar. ‘Yes, well, we make it a priority to come out for single women. Especially ones with form. Now, have a good evening. And, Chloe, do your family a favour and check in with them every now and then. It makes all of our lives a lot easier.’

The thumping in her chest got harder. ‘Form? You said I had form? What does that mean?’

‘Previous. You know, you’re known to us, Miss Cassidy.’ She leant in and winked. ‘From the church? The assault on the best man? Best call out I’d had in a while, that was.’

‘I see.’ Chloe felt the heat in her cheeks burning like a beacon. ‘I thought it wasn’t on record.’

‘Oh, no, it’s not, not officially anyway. But we do have very good memories.’ They walked to the door. ‘Have a good evening.’

That was unlikely. Bad enough to be reminded about The Jilting all over again, and her humiliation, and Vaughn Brooks and the bouquet, but there would be more questions now. And the only people better at interrogation than the police were a group of bored women, two glasses of wine down and with very vivid imaginations.

‘Now, to the nitty-gritty, Chloe. Jenna tells us you had a date? And it was from that internet?’ Their mum had a habit of clarifying things loudly. ‘Who was he? If he didn’t abduct you, then how did it go?’

‘He was nice. He has a dog. He just wasn’t my type. He was quite a lot older than me too.’

‘Sugar daddy. Yum.’ Mrs Singh again. That woman was incorrigible. She fixed Mum in her sights. ‘You should do this internet thing, Bridget. You’re always on about the Cassidy curse, but it’s just plain rubbish. You need to find a decent man and keep a tight hold of him. You all do.’

Their mum folded her arms and pursed her lips. Never a good sign. ‘It’s not as easy as all that.’

‘Phooey. You brought that
curse
on yourself, Bridget. Graham wasn’t all bad. Maybe you should have tried to work things out with him instead of kicking him out. I said so at the time… you could have talked to someone, a counsellor… a priest… marriage… guidance.’ Mrs Singh came to slow halt.

And the room began to spin.

Mum’s face was fuchsia pink as she fussed around with her bag. ‘Well, it’s been an interesting evening. I’ll be going now.’

Faith, Saskia and Kat stared, open-mouthed. Because, like Jenna and Chloe, they’d all heard time and again, at countless book groups when discussing romances with lovely hopeful endings, about poor Mrs Cassidy’s curse. About the wonderful husband that had died a premature death and left her with two little ones to deal with. About her broken heart. About her loneliness and her struggles.

Never, not once, had she mentioned that she’d
kicked him out
.

Chloe tried to keep her voice level, but emotion spilt around her words. ‘Mum?’

‘Early start tomorrow.’ Flustered and turning from pink to scarlet, Mum stood, grabbed her bag and made her way through the chairs and the people and the bags of books towards the door. ‘There’s some work to be done on that dress before Friday.’

‘Mum!’ Jenna now. ‘You can’t. You just can’t go. Not now.’

Mum turned to face them, slowly now, every inch the tired and lonely fifty-eight-year-old. She glared at Mrs Singh, who shook her head and looked away. Then she stared at each woman in turn. She looked guilt-ridden but cowed too.

She’d lied for twenty-eight years. Almost three decades of untruths, of Chloe and Jenna believing something that simply wasn’t true: that their mum and dad had had a fairy-tale marriage. That he’d been The One. That no one would ever compare with Graham Cassidy. That there was a Cassidy curse that meant they would never be married or happy or both. But that true love existed. Something pure, ethereal and perfect.

It was the foundation for
Something Borrowed
.

It was all lies.

Mum straightened, and her voice was calm. ‘He was having an affair. It wasn’t the first, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t like being a family man. He didn’t want the responsibility of two little girls. Oh, he adored you, but he didn’t want to be the one who fed and clothed you, who had to be serious about your future. I put up with it for two years, and then one day I looked at you both, and I thought
what example am I showing them
? That you lie down and take it? Or that you stand up and fight? I didn’t know how much you understood. And he made it clear he wasn’t going to help out. I told him to choose between me and her.
You’re on yer own
, he said. And he went.’

Chloe’s mouth was dry, and she realised her hands were shaking. ‘But why lie? Why not tell us the truth about being a strong woman and kicking him out?’

‘You were so little. I didn’t want to burst that lovely bubble of adoration.’

‘But you said he’d died when he hadn’t? Is he—?’ Chloe couldn’t think straight. She had a dad somewhere out there? All this time? ‘Is he still alive?’

Mum shook her head. ‘Two years after he’d gone, he drowned in the Thames. Drunk as a skunk.’

‘In those two years, didn’t he ever come back? Didn’t he want to see us?’ Chloe thought about how she would have felt if someone had taken her niece away. How hard she’d have fought to see her, to have regular access. Hell, she’d force them to make Evie live with her. She wouldn’t just leave her to it. Forget about her. How could anyone do that to their own flesh and blood? ‘Didn’t he want to work it out? Didn’t he care about us? Why didn’t he ever come back to see us?’

‘Ah, love.’ Chloe’s mum dropped her bags and came back over to her daughter. She cupped Chloe’s face in her hands. Hands that had worked, stitched, cooked and washed until they were red raw. That had waved good-bye to her every morning as she’d gone off to school, then to university and then to work. Hands that had wiped away her tears and had held her tight as she’d sobbed for what felt like forever after The Jilting. Yes, Chloe knew her mum’s worth in her life and loved her unconditionally, but really? This was one hell of a lie.

Her mum continued. ‘I think he was relieved to be gone. He was too young to be tied down. Too selfish to think of what anyone else needed. I’m sorry, love. I mean, really, really sorry. About the lies and everything. About him, if I’m honest. The lazy wastrel. I thought it’d be easier if you thought he was a saint. I didn’t want you to have all that toxic stuff in your lives.’

Chloe extricated herself from her mother’s hands and shifted back on the sofa, just too shocked to know what to do. ‘So you internalised it instead? And held him up as some sort of idol?’

‘I hoped he’d see the light and come home. I loved him, Chloe. Too much, to be honest.’ She probably still did, which would explain why her mum hadn’t been near another man ever since. She’d also had to come to terms with her husband leaving and then his death only two years later. Two lots of grieving for a man who didn’t care about anyone but himself, allegedly, but then, he wasn’t here to defend himself, although his actions hadn’t exactly proved the opposite, had they?

Chloe’s throat felt as if sandpaper had been rubbed up and down it. Why had every man she’d ever cared for walked away? Why did none of them have the guts to face her and be honest? And now this, her mother’s lies.

‘I’m sorry, Mum, but that’s not good enough. Everything I’ve believed in has been a bloody lie. You lied to us over and over.’

It was harsh; God, it was a horrible thing to say and Chloe wished those words hadn’t come from her mouth. And maybe it wasn’t just about the lies her mum had told; it was about the fantasy world Chloe had created in her head about her father, the man who would have given her horse-riding lessons and taught her how to fish and walked her up the aisle… like that had even happened anyway. But he would have supported her, challenged Jason to a duel or some modern day equivalent. Her father would have protected her against all life’s difficult times, sheltering her from the hurt and the ugly. Except he hadn’t. And he never would have. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, Mum. I’m sorry. But… what a bloody mess.’