The Trophy Wife by Evie Baxter
Six
Bloody hell!
I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I balanced on one foot. The formerly sleek hair was a godawful mess. My makeup was smudged under my eyes. The lipstick was all but gone. No loss there. I looked a wreck. I’d left my purse in the sitting room so there was no fixing this. Deciding to cut my losses and be done with it, I turned on the tap and sluiced water onto my face. Unwrapping the bar of hotel soap, I cleansed my face of every last bit of makeup.
I was done. Done with pretending I was someone who I wasn’t, and wouldn’t ever be again. Done with the stupidly tight bun my hair was in that was giving me a headache. Done with the paparazzi crap. They wouldn’t be seeing hide nor hair of me again, so what did I care what I looked like. Hopefully, I’d never see Robert again, and if I did, I certainly wasn’t going to care if I conformed to his ideas of impeccable grooming. I only made this ridiculous effort so I could hide behind the façade of the person I once was.
I yanked out the pins and elastic bobbles that held my hair in place and dropped them to the side of the sink. Running my hands through the long strands, I gave a sigh of relief. I was so glad I was done with everything. Tomorrow my real life would continue, and all this would soon be a vague memory.
I turned to the door and pulled it open to find Bastian waiting on the other side, leaning back casually with his arms crossed over a broad chest that was so much more pronounced in the soft grey t-shirt he now sported.
But if I was doing a double take at his appearance, he was doing much the same to me. Even as he held out his arm to assist me back to the sitting room, his eyes travelled over my face again and again.
“Why?” he asked.
I looked up at him with puckered eyebrows, incapable of following his train of thought.
“Why would you wear all that make up and hide such a naturally beautiful face behind it?”
I lowered myself back onto the sofa, busying myself to avoid eye contact. I didn’t need him to find me attractive. I didn’t want him to find me attractive. It was bad enough that I found him so compelling. I did not want to know he was drawn to me in the same way. I hadn’t looked twice at a man in too many years to count. Now was not the time to start.
“I don’t hide behind makeup,” I informed him, focusing on placing the ice pack on my ankle just so, still refusing to meet his gaze.
“Oh please,” he snapped, “you had so much eye makeup on I barely noticed what colour your eyes were. And that’s a travesty. You’ve got the most beautiful pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”
I looked up at him then, startled by the compliment. It had been years since I had received one such as that. I kept myself out of any situations that had me meeting new people. In reality, I avoided them like the plague. I liked my life just the way it was and saw absolutely no need for the presence of a man in it. So why did this compliment, if you could even call it that, cause butterflies to stir in my belly?
“I don’t wear makeup,” I reiterated softly. “I don’t wear high heels. I don’t dress like this. All of this,” I waved my hand over my body indicating the severe black dress I still wore, “is how I had to dress when I was married to Robert. I just found it easier to face him wearing it. I couldn’t face his derision if I came otherwise.”
Bastian sank into the seat opposite me, leaning forward, elbows upon his denim clad knees.
“I don’t understand.”
How much could I, or would I, tell him? Very little. Next to nothing. But maybe just enough so one other person in this world, other than those I was closest to, knew that I wasn’t the bitch of an ex-wife that everyone thought I was.
“I’m afraid of Robert,” I told him. “These clothes, the makeup, all of it, it’s like a shield. It’s the person who can stand up to him. Punish him for what he did to me.”
“What did he do? It’s public knowledge that he cheated on you, Victoria. But I sense that there is more to it than that.” Bastian raked his fingers through his thick hair, the ends lighter than the roots where the sun had lightened it.
“It’s a long story and one I’m not going to be telling you tonight. I don’t know you. You aren’t part of my life. It’s enough that you know Robert scares me more than anyone could ever imagine.” I looked at him intently before I continued, “And he deserves what I did to him. He deserves that and more. I hate him,” I said, a wobble in my voice.
I reached out for the glass of whiskey that sat unfinished on the coffee table before me and slugged back the remains. Memories crashed over me. Memories that made my whole body shudder, though I hoped Bastian put that down to the rather large mouthful of whiskey I had just imbibed.
Taking the glass from my hand he went to refill it, pouring one for himself in the process. I felt the alcohol burning in my empty stomach, its potency seeping into my veins, and I welcomed it. I had spent so many years working up to Robert’s downfall that it was still rather unbelievable that I had accomplished what I set out to do. It had taken those years, and David’s encouragement, to convince myself that I could face him once again and come out unscathed emotionally. I was doing better than I thought I might, albeit slandered in the press and with a sprained ankle for my efforts.
There was a knock at the door and Bastian let room service in. Numerous covered plates were transferred to the dining table, but Bastian instructed me to stay where I was. After they had left, he called out the dishes as he lifted the silver cloches off, “Bruschetta, calamari, guacamole with tortilla ships, satay chicken skewers, scallops wrapped in bacon – what would you like?”
“Some of everything, please. There’s nothing there I don’t like, thank you.” Moments later he presented me with a plate heaped with more food than I could ever eat in one sitting. I could tell my eyes almost bugged out of my head.
“You need feeding,” he informed me.
“I’ll admit I might have lost weight from stress,” I told him, “But you honestly have to believe me, I have a perfectly normal appetite. Normal. This,” I pointed at the plate before me, “is not a normal portion of food though.”
That elicited a smile from him. It was the first one I had seen cross his face. A handsome man already, it transformed him. His eyes crinkled at the edges, testament to the fact that smiling was in fact something he did with frequency. Dimples – uh yeah, dimples on a man who I’d guess was easily into his thirties – springing forth on his five o’clock shadowed face. Just when I didn’t think he could look any better than he already did, he proved me wrong. My heart skipped a few beats in reaction.
“Eat what you can,” he shrugged, as he sat beside me with his own plate of food, “but leave room for dessert.” Then he winked at me. Was he flirting with me? Would I know what flirting was if I tripped over it and fell at its feet? Probably not. I’d been a teenager the last time I had contemplated flirtation, and a rather shy and awkward teenager at that. I mentally slapped myself. Of course he wasn’t flirting. I’d seen the way he looked at me the last few days, and mostly it was with puzzled disdain, like I was an alien creature he couldn’t fathom at all.
What followed was actually a relaxed conversation while we grazed on the various foods upon our plates. It turned out he had just returned from a climbing holiday in Scotland, a place I loved dearly. It gave us a common ground to build upon.
Before I knew it, I was on my third glass of whiskey, having just polished off one of the crème brulèes that had been part of the trio of desserts Bastian had ordered. He reached over and took the small glass dish from my hands and placed it upon the coffee table, then lifting my feet up he swung them over into his lap.
“Let me have a look at your ankle.”
I squirmed uncomfortably, his large hands encompassing my foot while he inspected that state of the swelling. He did a very gentle ankle rotation, asking me how it felt.
“Bastian …”
“I love the sound of my name on your lips.”
I flushed as he made eye contact with me, all too aware of his left hand that was now cradling my calf, his long fingers sweeping over my skin in a whisper soft caress.
“Um, Bastian,” I nodded towards his hands on my leg. “My leg is fine. And I’m Tori to everyone who actually knows me. It was Robert who insisted that Victoria be used. He told me Tori was childish.”
“Pompous ass. That’s what he gets for marrying someone who was barely an adult. Tell me to shut up if I’m being too intrusive, but what on earth compelled you to marry a man old enough to be your father?”
“Shut up.” I withdrew my feet from his lap and hugged my knees to my chest. He had just crossed over into forbidden territory.
“What?” I got a raised eyebrow before I saw him realise that I was following his instructions. “Oh, my apologies. Obviously, he went out of his way to woo you and a young girl can be swept off her feet.”
I almost choked on the sip of whiskey I had just taken. “Yeah, um, something like that.” It felt like a lifetime ago when Robert had told me I had to marry him. So much had happened from the very first night I met that man. An involuntary shudder overtook my body just thinking about what my life used to be like.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry or assume. You’re so damn beautiful, I can see your appeal to him certainly.”