I know I am glaring at her and although I don’t feel any anger towards her, I am really pissed off that she is planning on leaving and worse still is the fact that she has just referred to her flat as home.
“What?” she asks to my irritated expression.
“That was going to be my question. I thought you’d stay again tonight. We still need to discuss our bed.” I realise that I sound lame, more than I’d anticipated, making Olivia smile and me frown more, not to mention my inner voice mock me.
Her response is to cross the room and to settle herself straddling my lap. “I will see you tomorrow,” she replies as she lands the gentlest of kisses to my lips. “I love you, babe,” she whispers and attempts to get to her feet, but I grab her hips, holding her firmly in place.
“What dress fitting is it?” I know she’s not a haute couture girl.
“Bridesmaid dress,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “If I do not kill bridezilla before a week Saturday it will be a fucking miracle.”
“Sarah stressing?” I know she is texting or calling most days at the moment.
“Mmm. I know she wants everything to be perfect, but she actually text this morning to ask if I think she should have opted for a different colour for the bridesmaids!”
“What did you tell her?” I don’t really care what colour scheme Sarah has gone with but any opportunity to keep my girl with me a little longer will be seized.
“I told her not to be so fucking ridiculous! I have already used that colour scheme for the reception room.”
“How very empathetic you are.” I laugh, loving my girl’s blunt and direct approach.
“You bet. I have to go.” She suddenly remembers getting to her feet, but not before I pull her face back to mine for a final chaste kiss.
“I love you too, baby,” I tell her and feel a ridiculous grin spread across my face as I hear the words sounding around us. “I’ll call you later.”
Chapter 30
Olivia
Sarah is really considering a switch in the bridal colour scheme and I am staring at her agog at how unacceptable that is for everyone from the attendants, the reception venue and me as I have agreed to dress the aforementioned reception room.
“Why is this an issue now?” I ask. “You opted for black and white as your scheme even though Jed and I both suggested an injection of colour, so why now?”
“I saw a bridezilla programme last week and a wedding on it was black and white. I thought it would look classy, but it looked tacky and shit.”
I laugh at my friend’s words and expression as I shake my head at her. “It’s going to look fantastic, I promise. If it doesn’t then I will personally go around and change it on the day.”
“You think I’m being silly?” she asks me.
“No. I think you’re having a bout of the jitters, pre-wedding nerves, call it what you will, but not silly. You want this to be the perfect day and it will be, trust yourself and me,” I plead while reaching across the florists counter we are on opposite sides of to hug her.
She nods. “Thanks. How are you though? God I am such a selfish cow, all you’ve been faced with this weekend.”
I wave her concerns away. “I’m fine, really. I think it might be better that this is all out in the open, between me and Mase, if not the greater public. I could fucking scream when I think that he is still messing with my head and my life, just when it got good, really good.” I smile, thinking of Mason.
“Do you think your family will come out of the woodwork?” Sarah asks, making me face the question I have been mulling over for most of the weekend.
My reply is a simple shrug. “Who knows? I didn’t run too far, and my name is still my name.” I sigh, then opt to change the subject. “So, are you almost done here? Can we go and dress up like princesses?” I try to sound as excited as I know Sarah wants me to be.
The colour scheme crisis appears to have been averted I decide with a relieved smile as I arrive home a little after eight. I briefly pause to accept a letter from my neighbour that required a signature. She explains that it was delivered by hand, by courier after five and I immediately know it’s from Mason, my contract.
As I put the key in my door and turn it I am already opening the envelope and as I suspected it’s my copy of the contract with Peterson Michaels, for Mason’s office and his mother’s sun room which is now signed, and also a second contract from Mason Harding for a design and refit on his bedroom. The number of digits on the fee payable is ridiculous and I briefly wonder if we need to renegotiate, not that I anticipate any amount of negotiation making one iota of difference, so I might as well just file them.
I suddenly query why H.R. needed to be there at all, although they did chip in a few valid points. Maybe the contract with my former company has employment clauses, or because Mason is the majority shareholder there.
Having entered my flat in semi darkness I feel every hair on my body stand on end with a nervous fear that something isn’t right. Glancing around I immediately notice the state of my home; cushions split open, papers and letters strewn across the place and then I see bright red letters across the wall, but before I can decipher their meaning I feel a sharp pain and then nothing, just darkness.
I can hear my phone in the distance, almost as though I am in a dream or stuck in that space between consciousness and sleep and then it stops. Somehow, I have picked up the call and although I can hear Mason at the other end of the line I feel drunk, a little out of control and incapable.
