The Santiago Sisters (30 page)

Stockholm

I
n her parents’ mansion a short drive north of the city, Scarlet Schuhausen grabbed the divorce papers that had arrived that morning and tossed them into the fire.

Good riddance. I’ll sign over my dead body.

He’d like that, wouldn’t he? If she’d succeeded in taking her own life. Give him a clean divorce, an easy way out, then he could resume screwing his way across Europe, across America, across every fucking continent on the globe.

Scarlet fell to her knees in front of the hearth. The family’s snoozing greyhound, Pippi, peeled one eye open. She held on to Pippi’s fur and cried.

Hidden behind the mantelpiece was her secret addiction. It should have been drugs; it should have been liquor—but it wasn’t. She pulled out the envelope. The rest of the photographs Henry Doric had sent. Cuttings she herself had collected.

All of the same, hated woman …
That slut.

What she longed to do to that whore! From the second she had identified Tess Geddes in the pictures, the woman had possessed her. Had Tess met him through Steven? Had she gone crying to Vitto about her husband’s perversions, and
together they had conjured up perversions of their own?
I’ll show you perversions, you tramp.

Scarlet had already dispatched her team of trusted moles. They were following Tess right now, tracking her moves, steering her into that final corner from which she would be unable to escape. Scarlet would meet her there. Then she’d have her fun.

The time had come to take back what was hers. Oh, yes.

Tess Geddes was going to pay.

England

A
thousand miles away, Tess woke early and stumbled downstairs in her stone-built Cotswold cottage. She flicked on the kettle and listened to the radio; winter sunlight streamed into the kitchen, bathing the surfaces and bouncing off the wooden floor.

Escape.
She had sought it, and she had found it. Already she felt safer, no longer prickling at the slightest creak or shiver, or jumping at her cell or whenever the door buzzed. Out of the city, her paranoia eased. Her suspicions waned. Too long she had been in the vortex of the public eye. Thank God she’d got out before she’d had another breakdown. This was it, then. Peace. Anonymity. Safety.

Tess opened the door to welcome the morning. A robin landed on a nearby branch, where it hesitated a moment before darting off. Down at the gate, a cold stream of blue threaded among the rockeries, shot through with darting fish and mossy clumps of riverweed. Tess shivered, still in her nightdress, and was about to check herself for venturing into plain sight before remembering that here, in this refuge, there were no paparazzi lurking to take her picture. Who cared what she looked like?

Over breakfast she read yesterday’s paper. There was a
piece at the back about Vittorio—months on from their own break-up, apparently he was divorcing Scarlet and marrying someone else. The paper made cryptic reference to ‘a new woman in Da Strovisi’s life’, and ‘the promise of marriage to this mystery belle compels him to take the leap …’ Tess felt sorry for whoever had fallen prey to his advances. Vittorio had conned her, led her to believe that anyone with whom sex was that good—the first great sex of her life—had to be right. Wrong. But then Steven had been terrible at sex and he’d been wrong too.

Tess closed the paper just as her post dropped through the door. She had asked Maximilian to hold all her mail unless it was urgent, and had given this address only to a select number of people. She went to check the mat, and saw an envelope from Mia.

Inside, a plain white card was stamped with black script:

Tess digested the words. She was thrilled for her friend; Mia was the dearest person to her and she wanted her to be happy. But something stuck. She hadn’t seen Alex since before her car crash and only faintly remembered him being at the hospital—but maybe she had dreamed that part. After all, she had dreamed the part about her sister coming. Emily Chilcott had
later admitted, lamely, to never having crossed the Atlantic.
‘Things were super-busy …
’ she’d claimed.
‘But I knew you’d be all right …’

Alex’s care and concern for her had once been an aggravation—but Tess saw now, too late, that she’d liked it. Nobody since Calida had cared for her that way, the real her, the girl inside, her uncertain soul and her weakest parts. Alex had.

But he didn’t care for her any more. Why should he? He had a beautiful, brilliant fiancée who deserved all his time and attention. ‘We want a long engagement,’ Mia had told her when she’d first shared her news. ‘It has to be perfect, every detail.’ Tess could only imagine how lovely it must be to plan a day like that, to take the time and care to make it right, because you knew that the person you were marrying was your forever.

Tess placed the invitation on the mantelpiece. Before leaving the room, she turned it so it was facing the wall. For some reason, she couldn’t stand to look at it.

The New Year arrived. The land remained cold and frosty; lights glowed in windows in early evening and the trees gleamed, bare and brittle. Maximilian ramped up the pressure to get her back in LA. To appease him, Tess cited the spring.

A fortnight before she was due to leave, she received a call.

‘Tess? It’s Alex.’

She was stunned; said the first thing that popped into her head. ‘Is Mia OK?’

‘She’s fine.’ A pause, before: ‘I’m staying in Chalmley. Mia told me you were in hiding out nearby … I thought maybe I could take you to dinner?’

‘What are you doing in England?’ she blurted.

‘Visiting my mother.’

She was confused. ‘I thought your mother was …’
How would I know anything if I hadn’t been snooping on you
? ‘I mean,’ she tripped, ‘I didn’t know if—’

‘Mum’s buried here,’ Alex said easily. ‘She was British—it’s where she grew up. It’s her birthday next week. I always come to the UK this time of year.’

He said it so plainly that it broke her heart.

‘Is your dad with you?’ she asked.

Alex made a noise that sounded like a laugh. ‘No.’

‘Is Mia?’

‘She had to fly out to Switzerland.’

‘Right.’

Another beat. ‘So,’ he resumed, ‘do you want to?’ There was that tone again, the amused, entitled tone she used to find so exasperating but was now thankful to hear. They were friends, catching up; that was all. Mia had put them in touch.

‘OK,’ she agreed.

‘There are some good places between us …’ Alex said, and she waited because she sensed he hadn’t finished. ‘Or better still, I could cook for you at my house?’

‘You have a house?’

‘My aunt’s—she’s away.’

‘You can cook?’

He laughed. ‘I can try.’ She felt his smile. ‘I’m always willing to try, Pirate.’

On Saturday evening, Tess left at seven, her cab winding through pitch-black country lanes, the moon full in a ghostly sky. She felt silly for taking so long in deciding what to wear—since their phone call, if she was honest—and had eventually elected to play it casual, heels and a slip-on amber dress.
Play it? You’re not playing anything, you fool. This is Alex. He’s
Mia’s fiancé. He’s
that cocky, up-himself kid at the
danse d’éntrée
who watched you hurl into a plant pot.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t suppress the net of butterflies whose wings fluttered in her belly. She tried to find her gold locket, wanted to wear it, but it was nowhere.
I probably left it in LA.

When she arrived, reaching the cobbled building and hearing the cows moo softly in the dark, she was surprised. She had expected a grand estate to match Alex’s heritage, but this was modest—not much bigger than her own rented place. She thought about how Alex’s parents had met, what had drawn them to each other, and which one he was most like. Tess recognised the cavalier alpha associated with Richard Dalton’s oil empire, but there was another side, too. A deeper side; a side she hadn’t explored.

Alex looked handsome when he answered the door, in a green-checked shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He didn’t look vain or arrogant any more. The impression had been a trick, and Tess felt cheated and excited at the same time, that this person had been beneath all these years and she hadn’t seen him.

She had refused to see him. Determined to categorise Alex Dalton as she had categorised everyone else, as a means of containment, of keeping people away.

A fire blazed in the hall. Alex helped her out of the coat and showed her to the living room, which was cosy; books and papers were everywhere, a pair of muddy wellies in one corner and tartan blankets strewn over the chairs. She could smell chicken roasting in the Aga, and the warm scent of thyme. Tess thought of Alex’s mansions in America, of the supermodels he entertained on his yachts.

‘This is a bit simple for you, isn’t it?’ she said. She hadn’t
meant it to sound rude and, before she had a chance to qualify that she
liked
it—she liked this version of him; to hell with it, she liked
him,
and why hadn’t she told him before that she liked him?—he just laughed and said: ‘Always one for saying what you think.’

‘I like it. It’s just not what I expected.’

‘You’re not what I expected either.’ He passed her a glass of wine.

‘I’ve changed?’

‘I mean generally. You aren’t. You weren’t. Shall we sit?’

Alex wore a delicious, heady aftershave. Tess fought the urge to lean into him, to feel his arms around her as she had at the Beverly Mounts. His kindness.

He’s
so kind, Tess.

‘How’s Mia?’ she asked, fighting to get back on track. Her body was zinging, as it had been with Vitto but more; lower, richer, swelling in her chest as well as between her legs. It had been physical with Vitto, just physical.

‘Great,’ Alex nodded, ‘already busy planning.’

‘Are you having a big wedding?’

‘Not as big as yours.’

‘I know you think my wedding was shit.’

‘Is your marriage any better?’

She thumped him. Decided that instead of spending her life wanting to thump Alex Dalton she should just thump him. She was sure Mia wouldn’t mind.

‘None of your business,’ she said, but she was smiling. Suddenly she didn’t care if Alex knew that her marriage had crumbled. There was no point pretending with him; he saw straight through it, he always had.

‘You’re way out of his league.’

‘Steven gave me confidence.’ Tess was startled at the
admission, the rawness of it and the fact it had spilled from her lips. ‘I mean, he made me feel I was good at something. I never thought I was. He respected me. He treated me well.’

‘You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?’

‘It’s better now.’

He took her hand, held it, and didn’t let go. Tess sensed there was no option to let go. He would just keep holding it, even if she struggled. ‘Tess—’

‘Has Mia chosen a dress?’

‘Um, not yet, I don’t think.’

‘Are you excited? You must be really in love.’

‘I am in love,’ said Alex, looking straight at her.

She broke the moment, felt as if he was stripping her.
Talk about Mia; think about Mia, your best friend …
But her heart was thrashing. Her palms were hot. Still, Alex held her fingers. She reached with her other hand to collect the wine glass and it slid from her grip, splashing across the table, and she retrieved it, mortified.

‘Leave it,’ he said.

Alex took the glass from her and placed it on the table, which was such a small movement but spoke volumes. Tess thought it was the most exciting thing a man had ever done. That sound of that glass meeting the table … Then silence.

He kissed her. It should have come as a shock, she thought, as his lips explored hers, but it didn’t. It was the inevitable thing to do.

Alex was an excellent kisser. His kiss was hot but his face was cool, as she touched a hand to his stubble-rough jaw. He tasted of the wine, rich with cherries. Electric currents sparked up and down, inside her blood, between her thighs, making her tingle. Her breasts longed to be touched; her nipples stiffened.

Oh, Alex. It’s
you. It’s always been you.

‘Wait,’ she said, pulling away, ‘we can’t. We can’t do this.’

She was transported back to that bedroom with Calida, all those years ago. Their fight, and Calida’s words:
‘You knew how I felt … how I feel …’

She was doing it again. Hurting the person she loved.
Don’t do it.

‘Tess,’ Alex murmured, taking her chin in his hands, ‘it’s OK. I’ll fix this. I promise you I’ll fix this. But right now I can’t—I mean, you’re just … I can’t …’

Alex’s lips met hers and this time it was dangerous, tongues entwined, deep in each other’s throats so she was grinding against his teeth, hungry for him, and they moaned and gasped and pulled each other’s hair. Tess couldn’t think of Mia. She couldn’t put Mia into this equation because although it was wrong and terrible, Mia wasn’t a part of this. Mia was part of a later Alex, not the one Tess had met in Paris, not the one who had spoken to her at the Plage d’Aqua, not the one who had messaged her all through the holidays, who had pissed her off at her wedding, who had held her at the spa, who had come to her in hospital … Mia’s Alex wasn’t Tess’s Alex. It was the only way she could think of it, and in doing so fail to think of it at all.

Alex guided her waist so she was sitting on top of him, her knees either side of his lap. His hands came up to her breasts. Tess felt his hard-on against her thigh. Reaching down, she stroked it before carefully unbuttoning his fly.

‘You’re amazing …’ Alex’s cock appeared between them, swollen and thick. She drove her hand up and down the shaft, from the smooth warm tip to the rock-hard base, drawing it out, pressing lightly then gripping firmer, using both hands so she could cup and stroke his balls. The movement squeezed her breasts together, her cleavage spilling over the neckline
of her dress. Alex buried his head there, savouring her, biting her, licking her, until he peeled down the fabric, shed her lace bra and sucked ravenously at her bare flesh. ‘Christ,’ he breathed, ‘your tits …’

Tess loved the feel of his hair beneath her chin, his rough skin against her soft. They both knew this was it. There was no going back. The world would end tonight if they did not have sex. Tess had to have him inside her. She was wet and waiting for him—she had always been waiting for him, this complicated man to whom she’d been blind, unwilling to let him in because he made her feel like she needed him. So what if she needed him? It was OK to need someone, and it was OK to be needed.

‘Hold on,’ murmured Alex, unwilling to stop kissing her, ‘don’t move …’

He dragged himself away. She knew what he had gone to get and already she could imagine sliding it on and easing him into her and how miraculous that would feel, and hastily she removed the rest of her clothes. Unable to wait, she followed—and met Alex coming downstairs. A second while they took each other in, so many barriers over the years to reach this final point of not a single one, skin on skin, eyes on breasts, sweat on sweat, and never had anything been so unavoidable.

Without a word, Alex eased her on to the steps, face front, her legs spread.

‘I’ve wanted this for so long …’ he murmured.

In a paralysing bolt, he entered her. Tess screamed, her knees hitched up and spread to accommodate his girth. ‘Fuck!’ she cried. ‘Oh, my God!’