We started the dinner service with a congenial gathering around the crackling Georgian fireplace, tasting the effervescence of expensive champagne and sampling locally crafted chocolate truffles.
In the warm ambience of logs, flames and embers, I engaged in pleasant conversation with Davina, a dear friend and sister-in-law, whose company I had yearned for but had been hindered by the capriciousness of retrograde amnesia.
In a graceful, sweeping gesture, Davina introduced me to her fiancé, Hunter, a striking figure who commanded attention with his appearance alone. He possessed a rugged handsomeness, framed by a crown of dark, well-groomed hair that accentuated his chiselled features, piercing blue eyes and the kind of smile that broke hearts.
Darlene, the elder sister, reclined in an upholstered armchair by the hearth, her slender form draped in a flowing dress of midnight blue. Her long, wavy hair was pulled back into a neat bun, revealing her delicate features and expressive eyes, which sparkled in the firelight.
Darlene's husband, Jeremiah, sat across from his wife, his stare fixated on the crackling flames of the old-fashioned fireplace. He was a stout, broad-shouldered man with a well-defined jawline and melancholic brown eyes, his expression etched with lines of worry.
My mind glitched as I furtively kept an eye on Jeremiah, for I was worried about him. He was lost in introspective reverie whilst everyone else shared stories, his mind wandering to a faraway place. His posture was rigid, his shoulders tense, and his glass of champagne untouched.
It's safe to assume that he would rather be anywhere but here.
"How are the kids?" I asked Darlene and Jeremiah, then thanked the tailored waiter for the plate of seared foie gras with black truffle and brioche toast. "Daniel mentioned that Harriet has adopted the violin as her musical endeavour."
"Harriet is no Nicola Benedetti." Darlene placed an amuse-bouche in her mouth and chewed in practised silence. "In saying that, she has proven to be quite the prodigy. I have high hopes for her future."
"And what about Henry?" I inquired, realising that I retained limited knowledge of my niece-in-law and nephew-in-law, as our interactions had been infrequent. "Has he not received an offer to join a prestigious rugby academy? I find that to be excellent news."
"Oh, I declined the offer." My husband's eldest sister passed the plate of barely touched truffles to the waiter to discard. "No son of mine is to play such a savage sport," she added, and Jeremiah's eyes retreated to the depths of his skull. "He is to pursue a modelling contract."
"Not on my watch," Jeremiah mumbled into his champagne flute. "Honestly, Darlene. It's almost as if you want our son to be subjected to bullying."
"Sean O'Pry is an American model with a net worth of six million dollars," she all but chewed the poor man a new arsehole. "You never see the bigger picture. You always put a negative spin on my ideas."
Quite frankly, I was not equipped to deal with the marital difficulties of others, not with my mental faculties, so when Darlene and Jeremiah entertained contentious discourse throughout the evening, I deftly filtered their exchanges from my consciousness, reserving my participation in conversation solely for those who addressed me directly.
A team of smartly dressed servers wheeled Maine lobster with caviar and champagne beurre blanc toward the lavishly bedecked dining table. Everyone sat in time to enjoy a round of delicacies followed by cream with wild mushroom soup and pan-seared wagyu beef with rosemary and thyme, served with mashed potatoes and pan-roasted asparagus.
Fortunately, the portions were small, which allowed me to make room for the chocolate lava cake with raspberry sorbet and vanilla sauce for dessert. I savoured each bite, the crispy outer crust and the gooey interior melting on my tongue.
"So, where is my niece or nephew? I was promised a baby to shower with gifts and love." Davina's joke did not land with accuracy, for I did not want to be a mother yet, which reminded me that I had forgotten to sort birth control. "My brother said you have been trying for months, and nothing is happening."
Is there anyone Daniel had not informed about the vicissitudes of our attempts to conceive? He might find it hard to believe, but some aspects of marital life should be considered private and confidential. Yet, he is committed to all and sundry.
"Perhaps you might want to consider In-vitro-fertilisation." Virginia is on her second portion of the cake. "If you both leave it any longer, I might not be around to enjoy the grandchildren."
"You might consider extending an invitation to spend time with your existing grandchildren," Darlene emphasised that her parents had not been dedicating quality time to Harriet and Henry. "Your presence has been rather infrequent, limited to special occasions. My children are not mere commodities; they require more than financial support to establish a meaningful relationship with you."
Virginia's breath caught in her throat. "I devote a significant portion of time to my grandchildren."
"What?" Darlene cast a disapproving glance at Jeremiah when he tapped her elbow, silently telling him not to interject into matters beyond his purview. "No, I will not be quiet. I have every right to confront my mother when she demonstrates hypocritical behaviour!"
"You shall not disrespect your mother," Walter sternly reproached his eldest daughter, rising to his wife's vindication. He forcefully placed the silverware onto the table, the abrupt motion causing the vintage candelabras to shake and the flames to quiver. "And you will apologise for introducing contempt in my household."
Darlene's watery eyes travelled over the ceiling. "Mother," she whispered, and my heart twinged at the sight of her trying not to cry. "I deeply regret any distress I may have caused you."
Impatience gnawed at me as I waited for the night to end (I had never craved my bed so much in my life).
The prospect of reuniting with my in-laws was always a joy, but an unmistakable sense of apprehension filled the room, throbbing at my temples and inducing a dull ache.
It was time to go home.
Even though I had only sipped delicately from a solitary glass of champagne throughout the night, I craved instantaneous relief.
As soon as I crossed the threshold of our secluded cliff house, I made a beeline for the kitchen, fumbling for two paracetamol tablets, desperate for some respite.
I set about ironing clean laundry, each garment hanging on the rack, ready to be packed for his impending week in the big city. When I got to the master bedroom, I was a careful juggler, balancing suits on hangers and neatly folded pyjamas and boxer briefs in my arms.
Daniel stood by the window, his sinewy body gleaming with droplets from his recent shower. A fluffy white towel was knotted around his waist, its fabric contrasting with the bronzed skin of his hips and thighs. He was engrossed in a text message conversation on his phone, his lips curved into a faint smile.
A fleeting curiosity stirred within me, prompting me to wonder who might be on the receiving end of his text messages. However, my pride held me back from inquiring. I unzipped his travel case and methodically placed his belongings inside.
With his luggage packed and ready for the forthcoming trip, I entered the bathroom for a quick, soothing wash before retiring for the night. I deserved a bath, but a shower would suffice.
Skin too hot to touch and smelling like roses, I wrapped a towel around my body, flung the ensuite door open, billowing steamy and soapy footprints lingering in my wake, and espied my husband relaxing on the bed.
In low-hanging pyjama shorts, he was bare-chested, his muscular arms tucked behind his head, his long, lean legs extending languidly before him. His face was a shroud of barely contained fury, with his lips twisted into a cruel smile. His eyes were dark and ominous, and his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his neck stood out.
"What is it?" I asked, towel-drying my hair whilst arranging a set of comfy pyjamas onto the vanity chair. "You looked happy before I went for a shower."
"Kieth called." He moved his arms over his chest, his fingers drumming against his biceps as he stared down his nose at me. "He is worried about Hannah. He asked if you both had a nice night on Friday. Apparently, she has not been herself."
"That's odd," I replied, keeping my expression neutral. "Hannah had a wonderful evening and seemed to be in good spirits when Keith picked her up the following morning."
Daniel rasped a low hum, his expression contemplative. I detected a hint of scepticism in his eyes. He is not completely suspicious of my wrongdoing (sneaking out to meet Drew and the others), but he entertained the possibility that I might be lying to him to protect his friend's wife, that she might be distressed about something, and that I am keeping it from him.
"So, if I understand correctly, everything transpired uneventfully during her stay?" He looked at me with cold, calculating eyes. "No unusual occurrences?"
"That is correct," I said, trying to sound confident. "We simply watched a film, enjoyed some refreshments and engaged in a bit of overdue skincare."
Daniel is unconvinced. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and subjected me to penetrating scrutiny. "I acknowledge your close relationship with Hannah," he conceded, his expression inscrutable. "Nevertheless, I ask nicely that you be candid with me, Oli. Keith's anxiety is not unfounded. What am I missing?"
"Nothing," I asserted, inwardly praying that my deception would remain undetected. "Keith is being overly paranoid. Our evening was nothing more than a typical girls' night."
There was a moment of silence as Daniel continued to study me, his gaze probing mine for any sign of deceit. "I trust your words," he intoned gravely. "However, I sincerely hope that your account is accurate, for any deviation from the truth would significantly complicate matters for everyone involved."
"I assure you, I am being honest," I replied, exhaling a nervous breath. "Keith's apprehensions are groundless." When he chose not to respond, I seized the opportunity to broach another subject. "You do realise that he is just fishing for information, right? He is not the man we think he is. He is Jekyll and Hyde, a street angel and a house devil. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?"
Daniel held my eyes for a fraction of a second. "Oli, what on earth are you talking about?"
"I think Keith is an abusive husband," I imparted the news to him, and he erupted into laughter. "Do not make me the object of your amusement."
"An abusive husband?" He was so overwhelmed by his self-obsessed hilarity that he had tears in his eyes. "Olivia, sweetheart, I cannot take you seriously. Keith is a gentleman of the highest calibre. He is the kindest man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing."
"We have been misinformed about him. Hannah is not happy. It is painfully clear that she is living in fear. Do you want to grasp just how persistent he was with his calls and texts on Friday night? It was an incessant barrage, so numerous that I lost track. He demanded to know her every move, her every action. These are classic signs of a controlling husband."
"You are angry at him for caring about his wife." He rose from the bed and approached me slowly. "Is this how you feel about me when I check in to see if you are okay? Do you accuse me of having controlling tendencies during conversations with your friends?"
"This is not about you or us." My hand gripped the towel to prevent it from falling. "This is about him and domestic violence."
"Oh, now you are accusing him of physically abusing his wife." His eyes bugged out of his head. "Olivia, such an allegation is extremely serious. Rumours like that could damage the man's reputation."
My mouth fell agape. "Who cares about his reputation if he is hurting Hannah!"
"I care!" Daniel spat angrily, his face red, his neck muscle twitching. "Keith is my friend. I will not be the catalyst of his downfall." His chest heaved up and down as he wrestled for a breath of composure. "And neither will you. So, do us all a favour and keep those unsolicited opinions to yourself."
Stunned into wordless silence, I gripped the top of my towel so tight the bones in my knuckles ached. I watched in wide-eyed trepidation as he snatched his pillow off the bed. "What are you doing?"
"I need space," he barked, swinging open the bedroom door. "Perhaps while I rest in the guest bedroom, you can take the time to reflect on recent misbehaviours."
My face heated. "I am not a child, Daniel."
"Yet, she exhibits temperamental behaviour whenever she does not achieve her desired outcome," he finalised our argument with snark, the door slamming on its hinges as he made a forceful exit.
Consumed by righteous anger, I grasped his travel case with all my might and hurled it into the hallway, producing a resounding thud. I then firmly locked the door behind him, ensuring any potential reconciliation would be impossible.
I could not accept how he had exploded, silencing me in one fell swoop while staunchly defending Keith. His brashness compelled me to institute a communication embargo on my terms. This time, he would not make the call.
Satisfied with my recent efforts to regain some form of control in my marriage, I changed into comfortable pyjamas, dimmed the lights and settled into my favourite window seat, where the city's twinkling lights formed a mesmerising spectacle below.
My thoughts drifted to Connie as I watched the strip below. I pondered whether she was doing well and if she had found it in her heart to forgive me yet. I imagined her at Mac's Bar, likely with Drew, Chase, and Royce, that dynamic foursome living carefree lives without a care in the world.
Curious to learn more about their activities, I unlocked my phone to check their social media accounts.
To my surprise, governor_drew had finally accepted my friend request and followed me back. I scrolled through his Instagram photos, which depicted a lifestyle of luxury and adventure, with motorcycles, smoking, skateboarding, parties and friends.
Subsequent rows were filled with him and an array of beautiful women of different shapes and sizes, often dressed provocatively, or pictures from parties featuring endless alcohol and a buffet of drugs.
With a sinking feeling, I realised that the life Drew and his friends lived was the antithesis of the one I had strived to build for myself, not the drugs and alcohol but the carefree existence, which seemed to mock my inner turmoil. I am ashamed to admit I felt a pang of envy.
Perched on the cushioned seat of my window seat, I hesitated, my thumbs hovering over the phone screen.
Should I recheck Royce's account? I had already searched his name in the past, and to my dismay, the account never came off private.
"Bugger it," I muttered under my breath, pressing the button to send him a friend request. "Shit."
What had I done?
Royce hated me!
Dropping the phone between my legs, I buried my head in my hands, wishing I could have refrained from the impulsive act. I always did stupid things and then regretted them.
I should have just left it alone and respected his privacy. But no, I had to go and poke the bear. I had to give him another reason to be mad at me.
Now what? Was I going to have to wait for him to accept my request, knowing that he would probably reject it and then laugh at me? Or was I going to chicken out and cancel the request before he even saw it?
I groaned.
Why was I always making things so difficult for myself?
Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm down.
It is only a friend request. It would not be the end of the world if he rejected it.
I picked up my phone and stared at the screen. I may cancel the request.
Yes, that's the best solution. I went back to his profile to do precisely that...
Royce Milton declined my friend request.
My initial panic morphed into an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
Although I was aware that the chances of him accepting my friend request were slim, a small part of me had nurtured the hope that he would prove me wrong. After all, we had shared numerous social engagements: house parties, beach bonfires, and even a forced proximity on the super yacht.
What more could a girl do to earn his favour?
Reality is unyielding.
Wait.
I had a message in my inbox.
RoyceMilton: I should be the last person on your mind, especially at this time of night.
It felt like someone had punched me in the throat. I could barely breathe.
Olivia_Bakes_Cakes: I only wanted to extend an olive branch.
Message read.
Instantly.
Oh, God. He waited for me to reply.
Why am I freaking out?
RoyceMilton: Apology declined.
Olivia_Bakes_Cakes: I did not apologise. I made an offer of peace and friendship.
RoyceMilton: I've got enough friends.
Olivia_Bakes_Cakes: And what's one more?
RoyceMilton: A pain in my ass.
Against my better judgment, I smiled at the phone screen like an idiot.
RoyceMilton: Where are the cakes?
Olivia_Bakes_Cakes: What?
RoyceMilton: Your username? I don't see anything sweet on your profile.
I'm pretty sure that last comment was an insult.
I did not know how to interpret him looking through my photo grid, but I was tempted to delete any unattractive ones of myself.
Speaking of cakes, I changed my username.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Happy?
RoyceMilton: About what?
Olivia_Hates_Cake: My username.
RoyceMilton: Why the fuck should I care?
Why is this man so impossible?!
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Are you going to take the olive branch or not?
RoyceMilton: Why?
My eyes squinted at the phone screen.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: What's the question?
RoyceMilton: Why do I need to accept an olive branch? We are not friends. We are never going to be friends.
Overhearing footsteps in the hallway, I peered up from the phone and glared at the doorknob with bated breath. I half-expected it to rattle, for Daniel to try his luck to reenter the master bedroom, but neither event transpired.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Then why did you bother to message me?
Message read.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
RoyceMilton: Just trying to wrap my head around it.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Around what?
RoyceMilton: The fact I have a stalker.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: I am not monitoring your movements and activities without your knowledge or permission!
RoyceMilton: Your presence at my workplace, home and social media accounts definitely constitutes a clear pattern of stalking behaviour.
Well, when he puts it like that...
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Listen, I like hanging out with Drew, but he comes with baggage. That is not my fault.
RoyceMilton: Baggage?
Olivia_Hates_Cake: You and Chase.
RoyceMilton: Chase is considered baggage?
Olivia_Hates_Cake: He is the worst.
RoyceMilton: And I thought I was special.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: You are unrivalled.
RoyceMilton: Thanks.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: That was not a compliment.
Gazing at the twinkling streetlights beneath me, I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach when I realised that he never bothered to reply to my last message.
Although it was past midnight, and I had to be up early for my shift at The Mystic Willow, I found it exhilarating to be sitting on the edge of my seat, conversing with someone until the early hours, instead of lying in bed, dreading sleep and the water nymph as I listened to my husband's snoring.
My phone vibrated.
RoyceMilton: How can I be your friend if I don't trust you?
My excitement resurfaced. I quickly typed out a quirky response.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: What's not to trust? I am as ditzy as they come.
RoyceMilton: I'm serious, Liv.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Is this about the time I got lost in your bedroom?
RoyceMilton: The night you were looking for the bathroom underneath my bed? Yeah, that sounds accurate.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: I never lied.
RoyceMilton: I don't believe you.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Royce, even if I was up to something that night, which I was not, I am hardly a threat to you.
RoyceMilton: I don't see it that way.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Then, how do you see it? Be honest.
RoyceMilton: You want brutal honesty? I think you are an opportunist. You never befriended Connie for shits and giggles. You used her to get a ticket into my house, and I want to know why.
Paranoid?
Guilty conscience?
Olivia_Hates_Cake: You could not be further from the truth. I did not use Connie to my advantage. She approached me at the bar, not the other way round.
RoyceMilton: You're full of shit.
Olivia_Hates_Cake: Oh, that's right. Please get back to insulting me. It's the only thing you seem to be good at!
My inner turmoil erupted into a silent scream as I logged out of Instagram and flung my phone across the room. It landed with a muffled thud on the bed, and I slumped back against the window seat, my shoulders sagging in defeat. I glared at the ceiling, took a deep breath and counted to fifty in my head.
That man is going to be the death of me.
———————————————-
I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Olivia?
—Daniel?
—Keith?
—Hannah?
—Walter?
—Virginia?
—Davina?
—Darlene?
—Hunter?
—Jeremiah?
—Harriet?
—Henry?
—Drew?
—Royce?
—Chase?
—Connie?
—have I missed anyone?
Thank you for reading. ❤️
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️