The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Thirty

My best friend knew exactly how to spoil me.

Two days later, Nina, Caitlyn, Cherie, Skylar, and I had crossed the Atlantic to good old London town, where we were pampered at a spa in Kensington, lounge-hopped around Notting Hill, went sightseeing and flea market shopping, before pub-crawling in Camden. Skylar rented a big townhouse in Notting Hill for our home base. We were constantly on the move, and I had three full days of bliss with my best friends doing all the things I loved.

It would have been great, if not for one thing.

Caitlyn freaking Calvert.

The girl would. Not. Stop. Complaining.

First, it was the house— “Oh, honey, if you’d just told me this was all you could get, I would have borrowed my aunt’s flat. It’s a penthouse right on Hyde Park, you know.”

Then it was the spa— “Were we unable to get in at Madame Ducos’s? If I’d known, I could have made a call. You really have to know someone to get in.”

And then it was the food. The drinks. The shops. The streets. Too salty. Too weak. Too cheap. Too dirty. For every idea Skylar had, Caitlyn had a better one that she would mention, but only after there was nothing to be done about it. The girl was the “should have” queen.

But more than that, considering how everything Skylar chose was so acutely tailored to my personal tastes (I happened to like pub food, cheap beer, and thrift shopping, thank you very fucking much), Caitlyn’s passive-aggressive comments really seemed to be geared toward me.

By the time we settled into the third pub in Camden and I had put down my third Guinness, I was done putting up with the woman, done with the Upper East Side, done with doubting whether or not every move I planned to make was wrong. And I was really done with questioning why Eric—who had left with those three little words I always wanted to hear so much more than I let on—would want someone like me to begin with.

Done.

And so, more out of spite than anything else, after Caitlyn’s final jibe about Camden—“if you’d only told me, I could have gotten us West End theatre tickets instead of winging it around these types”—I grabbed the first mohawked Brit in the bar and asked him where the best place was to go that night for a really great time. Which was how we found ourselves at the end of a particularly “dodgy” (in the words of Mr. Mohawk) part of Brixton, going to see the best Clash cover band I had ever heard. And that was saying something—I had a minor obsession with The Clash. The look on Caitlyn’s face as we walked into a club full of punked-out Brits was worth every other second.

“I swear to God,” Skylar muttered as we both watched Caitlyn tiptoe cautiously through the bar, as if she was trying to keep its inhabitants from sullying her cream-colored, Donna Karan sweater set. “If Miss Priss doesn’t shut the hell up, I’m going to duct-tape those injected lips of hers shut.”

I snickered. “I’ll help you out, sis. Daisy Duck needs to be quiet.”

Skylar laid her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I said she could come. I just knew you wanted to make good with your in-laws, and Nina really seemed to want her along. I think she’s a little intimidated by you.”

I considered Eric’s cousin as she joined Caitlyn by the bar. I still hadn’t gotten a good read on Nina despite the countless breakfasts, luncheons, or other little meetings we’d shared with her grandmother over the months. She mostly just treated me with indifference. She was polite, of course. Never rude. I also knew that she and Eric never talked unless they were at some of the few family events we’d attended through his grandmother. But I knew nothing of what kind of relationship they had, even before Eric had left his family.

Nina’s pearl necklace glowed in the dark light of the club, and I couldn’t help feeling a little satisfaction with how out of place she and Caitlyn looked. While Skylar, Cheri, and I were dressed for dirty dive bars in ripped jeans, greasy hair, loud mod makeup, and in my case, big combat boots, Nina and Caitlyn looked like they’d walked right off a Madewell catalog shoot. For the first time in months, I wasn’t the odd one out. It felt…good.

The opening band kicked in as the crowd began to cheer. Nina and Caitlyn turned, clutching the rims of their vodka sodas like they had never held plastic cups in their lives. Skylar gestured toward the top of the club, where a number of tables were open. I nodded. Yes, that was a good idea. Nina and Caitlyn would probably enjoy looking down at everyone and cackling while Skylar, Cherie, and I danced below. Good for everyone.

On the balcony, we rounded into a booth. Nina examined the tabletop distastefully, and sat back as far as she could from its edge.

“This place is…an interesting choice,” Caitlyn remarked as she looked around. “I wonder whether they have ever cleaned the floors.”

“Here we go,” Skylar muttered, though I elbowed her in the side.

“It’s fun,” I said. “This band is supposed to be great.”

“I bet they’ll be awesome,” Skylar said. “Remember the band that played the night you and Eric became…you and Eric?”

I snorted. “Of course! How could I forget? That night was such a disaster.”

“What happened?” Nina asked. She really hadn’t said much over the weekend, but right now, she looked legitimately curious exactly about how I had ended up with her cousin. Eric and I had been feeding his family very blasé lines about meeting in law school, never really going into detail about those first, explosive interactions.

“Well, Eric and I were tagging along with Skylar and her husband when they were first dating,” I began.

“Lord, I remember that mess,” Cherie snickered, earning an elbow from Skylar. “What? You clearly ended up all right.”

I giggled with her. “More than all right. They make everyone want to vomit. The man would run through fire for you without thinking twice.”

Skylar just preened, looking more than a little self-satisfied. “Like Eric would for you?”

I blushed. Caitlyn looked like she wanted to throw her drink in my face.

“So anyway,” I said, deflecting, “I had tickets to another Clash cover band in Boston and forced everyone to come with us,” I continued. “But back then, Eric and I didn’t really get along.”

“Really?” Nina asked. “But he’s so…well, everyone loves Eric.”

There was something in her voice that didn’t sound exactly happy about that.

“Everyone does love Desi,” Caitlyn agreed, disintegrating the mood. “How could you not? He’s an absolute doll.”

Nina’s expression turned blank. Not for the first time, I wondered how much of her and Caitlyn’s friendship was sustained based on Caitlyn’s fondness for Nina’s cousin rather than because of Nina herself.

“I think you can love Eric without thinking he’s perfect,” I said. “I certainly don’t. Actually, he’s kind of an uppity pain in the ass a lot of the time.”

“Poor Des. Must be hard to come home without anyone in his corner,” Caitlyn said in a teasing tone that still managed to cut.

“Or maybe it’s good for him,” Nina said, looking at me with something approximating warmth. “Sometimes it’s good to have someone in your life who humbles you.”

Again, I couldn’t help wondering why she thought so.

“Anyway…maybe it was the drinks,” I said. “Or the music…or maybe it was something in the air that night. But for whatever reason, we couldn’t stay away from each other. We kind of crashed. Or clashed, if you know what I mean.” I winked. Okay, so it wasn’t my best joke. But give me a break, it was my bachelorette party.

Nina offered a shy smile. Cherie giggled. Caitlyn looked disgusted.

“And it was meant to be,” Skylar said, looking pleased with herself for saying so. “You guys didn’t know it then, but you were so good for each other. Anyone could see it.”

“But tonight’s not about that,” Caitlyn interrupted once more.

We turned to her, a little confused. “What do you mean?” I said. “It’s my bachelorette party. We are literally celebrating my pending nuptials, right?”

“Silly me, I thought we were helping you bid farewell to this lifestyle. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? It’s not like you’ll be able to attend ‘soirées’ like this once you and Eric are married.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? Eric doesn’t care if I go out. Half the time he comes with me.”

Caitlyn snickered. “You’re joking. You realize that with Celeste’s health the way it is, Eric will officially take her place on the board of directors at DVS, and from what Nina says, they’ll vote him in as chairman on the spot. Isn’t that right, Nin?”

Looking like she had sucked on something sour, Nina nodded, but didn’t make eye contact with me.

“You can’t possibly think that the chairman of a multibillion-dollar company could ever be seen attending this kind of establishment,” Caitlyn continued. “For one, he’d be a major target of people like this.”

A look at Nina and Skylar told me they both thought Caitlyn’s assessment was correct.

“This family comes with a lot of…responsibilities,” Nina admitted. “But you do seem to be doing well with them.”

“Just keep the paint away from the kids, right, Jane?” Caitlyn jeered, earning a sharp look from Skylar that quieted her down. My best friend did have freaking daggers for eyes when she wanted to.

Cherie looked confused. “What?”

I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing.” I was too worried about Caitlyn’s thoughts to recount that terrible night.

“A game,” Skylar announced abruptly, clearly wanting to help. “Jane loves drinking games—shut up, you do. We haven’t played any yet, so let’s have some fun, huh? Let’s see, what’s a good game?”

“Yes!” Cherie rejoined. “Let’s do it!”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes.

“Relax, Sky, don’t hurt yourself. I got this.” I looked over my glasses around the table. “How about a little ‘Never Have I?’”

“No!” Skylar moaned. “You always win that.”

I just grinned. “Of course I do. But I’m the bride, and I get to choose.”

“Oooh, yes,” Cherie said, turning to Skylar. “I’m going to make you fess up, mama.”

“What’s ‘Never Have I’?” asked Nina.

“Oh, N, it’s that silly game where you say something you’ve ostensibly never done, and if other people have, they drink.” Caitlyn looked at me. “Did I get that right, J?”

Again with the letters. It’s the same number of syllables. Did she just not like pronouncing more than one consonant at a time?

“Yes,” I said. “That’s right. But let’s make it more interesting. If you have done it, I want the stories. Sound good?”

Everyone around nodded their assent.

“Okay, I’ll start,” I said. “Never have I…been on a yacht.”

Next to me, Cherie scoffed. “Girl, please.”

But Nina, Caitlyn, and Skylar (with a dirty look at me) all took sips of their cocktails.

“One of Brandon’s friends at the Cape,” Skylar muttered. She clearly didn’t like being grouped in with the other wealthy women at the table, regardless of her and Brandon’s money.

“Gosh, which time?” Caitlyn supplied, looking at Nina. “Both our families own them, right, Nin?”

Nina just nodded. “Our uncle took it down to St. Thomas last year, Jane. Otherwise I’m sure you would have seen it by now.”

I nodded. Okay, so I hadn’t planned on feeling like the loser on that one.

“My turn,” Skylar stepped in again with a sly look my way. “Never have I…had a one-night stand.”

I rolled my eyes and took a long drink of my beer. “You bitch. That’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Skylar just smiled smugly, and Cherie laughed.

“Caitlyn! Really?” Nina stared at Caitlyn, dumbfounded as her friend took a long sip of her drink.

“What?” Caitlyn said when she finished. “I can’t have a little fun?”

“When was it?” Nina pressed.

I sat forward. I had to admit, I was kind of interested in hearing about Ms. Priss’s escapade.

“It was…oh, I don’t know, four or five years ago. Right after Grayson and I split. My second husband,” she told those of us not familiar with her entire marital history. “Nina, it was when we went up to the Cape to stay with Kevin McCartney and his parents, do you remember?”

Nina nodded. “But…you were with me that whole week. When could you have had a one-night stand?”

“I went into Boston for the weekend, do you remember? I wanted to do some shopping on Newbury and meet up with a few friends. Little did I know, I’d do just a bit more than that.”

“Who was it with?” I asked curiously.

Caitlyn smiled, looking very much like a cat who ate the canary. But before she could answer, the Clash band started to play below—beginning with a fan favorite that’s pretty much guaranteed to get anyone to dance, “London Calling.”

I jumped out of my seat. “Dance time, bitches. Come on, we’re going. No excuses.”

Nina and Caitlyn demurred, choosing instead to remain in the booth and watch while the rest of us piled downstairs as the crowd began to cheer.

“Oh, I’m going to miss this!” I shouted as Skylar, Cherie, and I started to get completely and totally down. I didn’t have the best moves, but I had never cared about that when it came to The Clash.

“Janey, don’t believe those bitches up there,” Skylar called over the noise. “Eric knows who you are. He wouldn’t want to marry you otherwise.”

I shrugged, already getting lost in the music. I didn’t want to think about that right now. I just wanted to have some fun.

“Wanna dance, love?” A hand slid around my waist, and I turned to find a cute, hipster-looking guy with thick glasses and ironic suspenders, grinning at me. “You got some moves,” he said in the thickest Cockney accent I had ever heard. And this one wasn’t fake.

“I don’t think so,” said a familiar voice. “She has a date. Doesn’t she?”

I turned around to find the very last person I expected to see. Eric, glaring at the guy with a face like thunder, stood behind him, with Brandon and the other groomsmen flanking his sides like the cast of Reservoir Dogs.

“What are you doing here?” I shouted even as I threw my arms around him. He squeezed me tight, then kissed me, hard.

He looked tired and uncharacteristically rumpled in a wrinkled chambray shirt and black pants, his blond stubble having grown out over the last few days, and his normally combed hair a wreck.

Brandon shook his head as he greeted Skylar.

“Most desperate motherfucker I ever met.” He picked up his diminutive wife for a kiss. “One game of craps, in and out of a strip club, moaning and groaning about Jane the whole fuckin’ time until finally I chartered a plane just to shut him up.”

She just smirked up at him. “I’m sorry, but how many times did I find you waiting for me in random places when we first met?”

Brandon just ignored her comment. “He was a mess. I’ve never seen him like this. Did you know Springsteen was playing at the Grand? I got us all front-row tickets!”

I couldn’t hear what happened next, though I guessed it was some kind of snarky comment about Brandon’s love of the Boss from Skylar the music snob. I was also too wrapped up in my own husband-to-be to worry about it.

“You came for me?” I couldn’t quite keep the squeal out of my voice. This was supposed to be our last hurrah, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that I had missed my man. A lot.

Eric grinned, that curiously potent smile of his lighting up the dim club. He grabbed my waist and pulled me to him, his lips meeting mine in a haze of vodka and joy.

“What do you think, pretty girl?” he said, his voice scratchy from the effects of alcohol and lack of sleep.

“How many have you had?” I wondered as I traced his stubbly jaw with one finger.

“Enough to stop worrying about it.”

I stepped back and looked him over. He did look a bit of a mess, but his eyes were sharp enough, and his smile was wicked. I sucked on the edge of my beer bottle meditatively. Yum.

“Jane, don’t do that.”

I sucked harder. Eric’s eyes flashed.

He yanked me to him again. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to dump that beer on you all over again. I can’t believe you went out looking like this. Without me.” Eric’s eyes roved hungrily over my body, taking in the short black skirt, combat boots, and admittedly low-cut shirt I had worn for the night. Okay, so I wasn’t exactly the picture of a prim and proper bride-to-be.

I pushed up my glasses and swallowed. Jesus, his gaze practically melted, it was so hot. How did he do that?

“Jane.” Eric’s hungry expression burned. Everything else seemed blurry. He didn’t have to say anything else—his desire was palpable.

I grabbed the lapels of his shirt. “Come with me.”

Eric followed me doggedly through the crowd, upstairs, and past the few remaining people still in their seats. We ignored Caitlyn and Nina’s curious glances, and when Caitlyn shouted, “Hi, Des!” far too loudly, it was like she didn’t exist.

Instead, we tumbled down a dark hallway, eclipsed by shadows as I tore at Eric’s shirt and he ripped at my clothes. In less than five seconds, he had my skirt over my hips, I had his pants shoved down, and the man was inside me, pinning me against the wall while he rutted like an animal.

“Fuck, Jane,” he choked into my neck as he sank in. “Fucking hell!”

“Shhh!” I admonished, even while my head was banging against the wall like a drum. “Oh my God, ohmyGod, Eric!”

His hands gripped my thighs like vises, spreading me wider, forcing me to take him as deep as he could go. And that was pretty damn deep. Like, to my limit. Eric wasn’t a small man, if you catch my drift.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered as he drilled into me. “Make yourself come, gorgeous. I’m not going to last long, but I can wait for you.”

“Uhahhhh!” I moaned as my fingers found my clit and started to rub. Eric hissed as he sensed their presence. It was my gift, I supposed, that my pleasure seemed to intensify his.

“Do it,” he gritted out. “Let me feel it. Come, pretty girl. Squeeze my dick as hard as you fucking can.”

To other people, his orders might have sounded ridiculous. Cheesy. Completely unrealistic. But something about the vulgar words coming out of Eric’s generally composed mouth undid me. Every. Fucking. Time.

“ERIC!” I shouted as a lightning-quick orgasm streaked through me, arching my body against the wall

One hand left my thigh, and before I could register it, Eric delivered a quick, sharp slap across my cheek. I shook that much harder, then moaned into his mouth when he kissed me, grunting, groaning, and shaking as he came too.

“Jane.” The word was a shudder, barely anything more. My limbs turned to noodles as he ground out the rest of his release. There was nothing holding me up but him. His arms. His cock. His body.

And yet, in the back of a crowded club, in the darkness of this grimy corner, I had never felt more sated or more safe.

“That,” Eric said as he finally released my legs to the floor, “was for going out in that getup without me. It’s been too long. Not fucking fair, Lefferts.”

I looked down as I pulled my clothes back into place. “This? You miss this?” I wasn’t exactly the picture of beauty right now. More like a punk girl in mourning. Considering Caitlyn and Nina’s comments earlier, it was more apt than I’d realized.

Eric tipped my chin up so I looked into his eyes, then delivered a soft kiss to my lips.

“This was who I fell in love with, Jane,” he reminded me. He reached behind my head and pulled on a few strands of the new red streak. “Don’t forget that, will you?”

It took me a second to regain my breath. I hadn’t realized how much I needed him to say that until now. “Okay,” I said. “I won’t.”

That grin reemerged—the one I was starting to think was now reserved only for me. Hmmm, maybe we could do round two right now.

“Come on,” Eric said, grabbing my hand. “I hear our song. I want to dance with the hottest girl in the club.”

“‘Rock the Casbah’ is our song?” I asked incredulously as I recognized the familiar keyboard licks. “Why? I know we were at another Clash cover show when we hooked up, but why this one? It’s not exactly romantic.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed amiably. “But it was the song that was playing when I realized how I truly felt.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t argue with that. “Well, then, sir. By all means. Lead on.”