I Do (Hate You) by Sienna Blake

Shell

We had to knock three times before Aunt Tillie pulled open the door wearing only a red silk robe.

“Shell! And James? My darlings, come in!” she said, pulling the belt tighter on her robe before throwing her arms around me in a hug.

I hugged back out of instinct, dragging James’s hand along with mine, sending it snaking up Tillie’s silky back. She looked over her shoulder then slowly stepped back, staring at the metal handcuffs.

“Well, well, well,” she said, patting me on the cheek and giving James a wink. “It’s about time you took what you really wanted, my girl. And I can understand exactly why you would want…this.”

Logan had told me that James had had some type of schoolboy crush on Tillie since he was an actual schoolboy, and he blushed at her bawdy comment. Which was hilarious since not ten minutes ago, he had been telling me about King Kong Schlong Dongs or whatever brand name those man panties were. He didn’t blush then but now his cheeks had a rosy glow, and he was looking at the floor.

Idiot.

I thought about explaining but Tillie would just launch into a story about going for what you want or seizing the day, and I just didn’t have the time to hear it at that moment.

“Aunt Tillie, we need your help. Neither of us remember what happened last night at the nightclub. Can you tell us?”

Tillie stepped back and waved us in. We followed her to a kitchenette, and both nodded when she offered us coffee from a pot on the counter. She filled three mugs and passed two to us as we sat down on stools lining the bar along the countertop.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked, indicating a porcelain tray of both along with some spoons.

I nodded and doctored mine up while James drank his black.

“You know, I’m really quite pleased with myself,” Tillie said, stirring her own coffee. “Miguel and the girls told you they were taking you to a new spa that had set up next to the nightclub, but then they shoved you through the nightclub door and we all jumped out and screamed ‘Surprise!’”

“What happened then?” I prompted, thinking what a terrible idea it sounded like at that moment.

“You were hesitant at first, but once I told you everything we had planned, you seemed to loosen up and were happy to go along with the livelier version of hen’s night.”

“What had you planned?” James asked. “All I got with the guys was cigars and port. I mean, I think that’s all I got.”

Tillie gave him a quizzical look and continued. “First we had a mixologist invent various drinks especially for the event. We each got to tell him what ‘mood’ we were going for and he mixed up a drink to match, then we all got to name it. Claire wanted fizzy and happy, so he mixed a bunch of bubbly with some peach liqueur and a whole bunch of fruit and called it ‘Claire’s Happy Dance.’ She made up a little dance to go with it that involved a lot of gyrations.”

“I get the idea, Aunt Tillie. What happened next?”

“Well, I met this adorable drag queen makeup artist named Armand last year in Paris and we flew him in for the event. He set up in a well-lit corner of the ballroom and gave us all makeovers. He’s amazing!”

“That explains the pink wig and glitter,” James said.

“Didn’t she look magnificent?” Aunt Tillie asked him. “He was planning on just the glitter and false eyelashes and that gloss straight from Paris, but Shell suggested the wig and honestly, I think it made the entire look.”

“He gave you all a drag queen makeover. Vina and Claire and Talia all had glitter and hair extensions put in, but you had the only bouffant wig in the group.”

“I’m sure I loved it,” I assured her. “What happened after that?”

Tillie’s smile lost a little of its sparkle. “You were so pleased with everything until…”

She paused for so long that I prompted, “Until what?”

“Well…” She stretched the word out into two long syllables.

“I bet you got pissed when the stripper showed up,” James said.

Tillie looked up in surprise. “How did you know? Shell made us all promise not to tell.”

“We just came from the nightclub and we found breakaway Velcro police pants. Definitely not regulation. It was a dead giveaway, of course. That and the SchlongDong man thong.”

“You know the brand! Amazing, right?”

Before they could bond over scandalous men’s underpants, I interrupted, “What happened next, Aunt Tillie?”

She refilled her cup before she answered. “You asked to see me alone and we went off in a little back room to talk. I guess you had convinced all of your friends that you only wanted to get your toes painted or something, and they had planned exactly that. When Talia told me at lunch last week, I decided that I needed to step in.”

“That’s a good aunt,” James said approvingly.

“I thought so too, but Shell was pretty hot about the entire thing. I just couldn’t see my niece miss out on this rite of passage.”

“Like getting blitzed, wigged up and screaming at a gyrating naked guy?” I asked, my voice flat.

“Exactly!” Tillie agreed, apparently oblivious to sarcasm. “Anyway, as the party raged on, you told me how you had expressly asked for a calm, quiet night, not a rave. I accused you of not being yourself and I blamed Rupert.”

“Rupert? What did he have to do with it?”

“He’s taken all the fun out of you, dear. Before you got engaged, you used to be this amazing social butterfly who loved to dance and party and experience life, not a woman who thinks a facial is better than a party.”

I wanted to argue with her, but I silently reminded myself that we could argue about that after we found the keys and found out what the hell happened in the twelve hours or so that I couldn’t remember.

“What happened then?” James asked, sensing the tension and trying to get us back on task.

“That’s when you showed up!” she told him. “You said you wanted to talk to Shell in private, so I went back to the party.”

“Did I say anything else?” he asked.

“Not that I remember, but you were waving a manilla folder around and I noticed the word ‘COPY’ stamped across the front in all caps. I left you two to talk and went back to the party.”

James and I stared at each other for a long minute, neither one of us able to remember anything about the conversation.

“What was in that manilla folder?” James asked me.

“And how did we end up handcuffed together?” I asked him.

Our exchange was interrupted by the sound of a toilet flushing. An Adonis walked out from the bathroom wrapped only in a towel. James made a strange noise next to me which I think was him blowing hot coffee out his nose in surprise followed by a whimper of pain.

“I just wish I knew where my pants were,” the well-muscled man said to Tillie before he noticed the two of us.

“I think we can help you out there, mate,” James offered, gingerly patting at his scalded nostrils with a paper napkin.

“Well, hello there,” the man said, obviously recognizing me. “You know where my pants are? Awesome!”

My aunt had hooked up with the stripper from my hen’s party. Of course she had. I face palmed in embarrassment, bringing our handcuffed hands into view.

“That’s where they went!” he yelled, and I pulled my head back up.

“Where what went?” James and I asked in unison.

“My handcuffs!”

“Where are the keys?” I shouted as James shoved our arms out as if hot stripper guy would have them tucked in the towel around his waist.

“Oh, I lost that too,” he said, and James flopped our hands back down in defeat. “But I think I know where it is.”

“Tell us already!” James demanded.

“I think my booty ate it.”

What the…?

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, James and I were walking a German shepherd on a leash on a secluded beach. It turned out the stripper’s booty didn’t eat the key; the stripper’s dog named Booty ate the key. At least that what he thought. He couldn’t be sure.

And since what goes in must come out, we had to follow Booty around with a doggie bag waiting for him to poop out the key.

Good lord, how is this my life?

“Ugh, I need something to distract me from how shitty things are right now,” I said to James. “Why are you laughing? Oh, wait. Shitty. You’re hilarious. But seriously, talk to me about your normal stupid stuff so I don’t have to think about how much this whole thing sucks.”

“You want me to talk? I’ll talk. Why are you marrying Rupert?”

We stopped and stared at each other while Booty pawed at a lump in the sand. “You know what? Never mind. Silence is good. I like silence.”

“Come on, coward. It’s a simple question. Why are you marrying Rupert?” he pressed. “Your friends and your aunt all seem to think you’re not yourself around him. Are you going to spend your entire married life pretending?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I snapped at him, then was pulled forward as Booty caught a scent and started walking again. James, of course, came with me but at least I could look ahead instead of into James’s eyes.

“Try me,” he said. “Pretend I’m not an asshole.”

“That’s a pretty big leap but okay. You want to know why I’m marrying Rupert? I’m tired of the dating scene, of players and flings,” I spit out the last word to remind him that’s how he had described us.

He chose to ignore the barb. “That’s everything you don’t want. What do you want?”

“Commitment,” I said without hesitation. I had never put it in a word like that, but I realized that it was true. “I want to build a life with someone. To share something meaningful.” When James didn’t say anything, I added, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I want something more out of life than to be an heiress and tabloid party girl.”

“And you think marriage is it?”

“It’s not just marriage I want…”

“What else is?”

I suddenly felt like running away. “Why is this important? There is no reason in the world for me to open up to an asshole like you.”

“We’re pretending I’m not an asshole, remember?”

I was silent for the longest time. I hadn’t admitted this to anyone, not even my girlfriends, so it took me a minute. “I want to start my own fashion label, okay?”

I had blurted it out so loudly that it scared the dog. He sat down on the sand and gave a little whimper. James leaned down and scratched his head until the dog licked his hand in happiness.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” James said. “Tell me more about this fashion label.”

“I have no idea why I’m telling you this. I haven’t even told Rupert yet.”

“You might as well go ahead since we’re waiting for Booty to find the perfect spot to poop out a key.”

So I did.

I told him all about my ideas and how I designed and sewed most of my own clothes. I showed him details of the outfit I was wearing and how I’d put reinforced thread where the straps met and how I’d cut the top and connected the sides so that it would be adjustable and flattering to women of all sizes. I waited for a boob joke, but James just kept on listening.

“Not all of it is wash and wear stuff like this. I have about a dozen dresses that I think would sell really well, like that silk dress I wore yesterday that I’m sure you don’t remember. I have everything from high-fashion beaded evening gowns and even some cotton sundresses. My favorite is probably a cream-colored silk and lace number with an open back. I haven’t found the perfect spot to wear that one yet.”

I had shown Rupert one of my designs. Once. He had told me that he understood why poor people made their clothes but didn’t know why a hotel heiress would. That was the last time we ever talked about it. Now whenever he complimented what I was wearing, I just smiled and told him thank you.

“I’d like to invest,” James said, standing up as Booty stuck his nose to the sand and tracked another scent.

I was stunned. “In what?” I asked, assuming I had misunderstood.

“In you.”

I still didn’t get it. “Huh?”

“If you start a fashion line, then I will be one of your primary investors. I’ll give you start-up money and connect you with other investors, plus I should be able to hook you up with some manufacturers and retailers. You’ll have to sell them on it, but I can make the introductions.”

I went from stunned to flabbergasted. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s what I do. I find smart people with smart ideas, give them some money, make a few phone calls, then I start raking in the dividends,” he said, back in businessman mode.

“But I mean…why?”

James knew what I meant. Why would he put his money and reputation on the line for me? I could front the money—I mean, come on, wealthy heiress and all—but I definitely didn’t have the connections he had. I wasn’t sure Rupert would be that supportive.

James thought for a long minute, then looked me in the eye. Then we both froze.

Booty was pooping.