Battle Royal by Lucy Parker

Chapter Sixteen

Sugar Fair

The bell gavea homey little tinkle as Dominic held open the door to Sugar Fair, and Sylvie slipped past him, looking grim. Pet—also in an unusually subdued incarnation—had headed straight across the street to De Vere’s.

Inside, he absently noted the number of customers milling around and was satisfied for Sylvie’s sake. Less thrilled about the people trying to take photos of them, and failing in any semblance of subtlety or manners.

He stared directly at a few of them. Cheeks immediately flushed, phones were flung into bags, and one person hid behind the sugar ice castle.

Sylvie’s assistant—“You can call me Mabel”; subtext: You total dickhead—was sitting at her central table, humming classic rock against the background splash of the chocolate waterfall. The diamantés on her skull bracelet glittered under the overhead lights. She looked up briefly from the amezaiku flamingo she was painting a vivid fuchsia pink, surveyed Dominic with cold dislike from head to foot, and ignored them both.

If it wouldn’t result in Sylvie castrating him with a pastry cutter, he’d offer Mabel a signing incentive to join his staff on the spot.

“I’ll just be in the office for a while,” Sylvie said, and Mabel grunted.

As she opened the bookcase of chocolate boxes, which he would vote as hands down the best part of her entire aesthetic here, the other woman spoke without looking away from her rapidly flickering brush. “Don’t do it on the desk. The front left leg is wobbling again. Should the entire thing collapse, I will make sure your headstone says DEAD GIVING HEAD, SHOULD HAVE USED A BED.”

Sylvie closed the door behind them with a thud. For the first time in hours, humor was a momentary flicker in her eyes. “If you still want her, I may be prepared to negotiate.”

In the cramped office space, which was really too small for one desk, let alone two, she put her bag down. The room was overheated, and he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair.

Sylvie was still holding her phone, on which were several photos of Johnny and his mystery companion, attached at the lips in every frame.

While they’d been standing there, Pet had whipped out her own phone and taken some rapid-fire shots. His baby sister would make a frighteningly efficient private investigator. And if he’d vocalized that opinion, she would already be heading out to the shops in search of a trilby and trench coat.

She’d AirDropped them to Sylvie, leaving it to them to decide what to do.

“The sculpture was beautiful.” Sylvie’s voice was very flat. Dominic could see exactly what Kathleen had meant about the light dimming in a very bright person, and the sight of her unhappiness was like steel wool on his nerve endings. “I can finish my cake proposal,” she went on in those low tones. “I know the right design now.” She looked at him. “You?”

“Yes. I’ve got mine, as well.” Usually, he’d already be back in his office, getting it down on paper before his business meeting this evening, but he wasn’t leaving her while she was blatantly upset. Leaning back against the wall, he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. Exhaustion was creeping into his bones. He needed a decent night’s sleep or four. “Sylvie—”

“Materially, socially, in almost every way, Rosie’s an incredibly privileged person,” she said suddenly, pushing up to sit on the edge of her desk as if she, too, felt drained. “She admits as much. But mentally, I think she has very little respite. Johnny isn’t just her lover, her best friend—he’s her sanctuary. She obviously feels completely and utterly safe with him.”

“With good reason. He would literally take a bullet for her, and there’s no way that was what it looked like. That man doesn’t have an unfaithful bone in his body.”

Sylvie looked down at a photo of the kiss; exhaling in a noisy gust, she brought the phone to her forehead, pressing the cool screen against her skin.

“Bone-deep, every instinct in me agrees with you,” she said at last. “But there’s something fucking dodgy going on. That was a private part of the palace, Rosie obviously has no idea he was meeting someone there, and you said it yourself at your flat—there was a shifty look in his eyes at that meeting. He’s not a good actor.” She lowered the phone to shoot it another narrowed look. “Am I right in thinking that woman—”

“Was last spotted having a massive tantrum outside the royals’ private office?” There was a reciprocally grim note in his response then. He’d strip naked and cartwheel into the Thames if Johnny had willingly partaken of that vicious snog this afternoon, but—yeah. Admittedly, with no pun intended, things were not looking all that rosy for the royal engagement. “I can’t be dead certain. Distance. Poor light.” And increasingly fucked eyes from years of intricate detail work. He was heading for a pair of glasses the next time he saw an optician. He’d casually mentioned that to Sylvie last night, a passing comment that had somehow led to a blow job. Apparently, she was strongly in favor of the specs. So was he, now. “But I think so. Her height, her boots, the ringlets. All a match.”

“You noticed her boots?” Sylvie was momentarily distracted. “Jesus. You and Pet should open a detective agency.” In a moment of lightness, she fluttered her lashes at him, and welcome laughter crinkled his eyes. “I’ll be the mysterious sexpot who seduces you on your desk.”

He nodded at the desk beneath her. “Practice makes perfect. If you’d like to demonstrate on your desk—”

She touched the wooden surface. “This one is Jay’s.”

“Ah.” Amidst the neatly arranged papers and pens was a framed photo of her and Fforde. It hadn’t been taken in England; looked like the south of France. They were on the beach, Sylvie’s arms wrapped around her knees as she beamed into the camera. Fforde sat at her side, turning to look at her, also smiling. Dominic rubbed his thumb over his jaw as he continued to study it, very thoughtfully, for an extended moment. “Maybe take a rain check until you’re in my office, then.”

Sighing, Sylvie dropped her phone on the desk and drummed her heels against the wood. “What do we do about it?” She inclined her head toward the screen. “We’re about to submit proposals for their wedding cake. Rosie’s already having doubts. I doubt they’d be alleviated if I texted her a photo of her fiancé tumbling around her massive garden with a temperamental blonde. This is both none of our business and also literally our business. Businesses,” she corrected belatedly, with a slight blink. She bit her lip and her tone abruptly changed. “It’s so bloody odd. I genuinely keep forgetting that we’re competing in this. I feel like I’m talking to my partner.”

In the beat of silence that followed, the air felt thick and heavy with unspoken words, and a flush of the palest pink swept through her cheeks.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “I know you care about those two in a way that has nothing to do with this contract—”

“So do you,” she murmured.

“Clearly, it’s going to play on your own peace of mind if you do nothing. The only thing I can suggest is that when we submit the proposals before the ball, one or both of us speaks to Johnny privately. Be honest about what we saw, and leave anything further to him.”

After a moment, she nodded. Her eyes were searching his. “Do you still have that business dinner tonight?”

He pushed his hand through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “Mm-hmm. And if I don’t want to turn up looking as if I’ve been dragged through a hedge, I need to get going.” Drinks and filet mignon with the CEO of Farquhar’s, one of his biggest clients. The networking would likely result in a high-five-figure contract, and if he only had his own income to worry about, he’d be very tempted to reschedule.

“Dom. When all the work is done,” she said so softly, a whisper on a breath, “we need to talk.” Her office window looked onto a brick wall, but the definition of the moss-covered bricks was fading with the light, and her features were cast into increasing shadow. “About . . . about this.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “About us. I always like to know where I stand, and where I’m going. But especially when I’m in a place I’ve never been before.”

From the moment their mouths had met in the Dark Forest, things had developed so insanely naturally between them, but the tension had wrapped around them now in ropes. Dominic vaguely heard a soft sound outside the closed door, but neither of them looked away.

In fiction, falling in love seemed to happen in soft focus, all cheerful montages of pop music and soulful glances. In reality, it was raw and confronting, powerful and passionate, shifting every goalpost.

The past few weeks had been so busy he’d barely had a moment of rest, and his head had been thrown into a total spiraling mindfuck where she was concerned. It was as if his usual, well-trodden path had begun to crumble beneath his feet, at first in pieces over a longer time than he’d ever admitted, and then he’d fallen so quickly he’d never had a chance to catch his breath. It was overwhelming, and it was disorientating.

And ultimately, he was thankful. He was incredibly grateful to know that he could feel like this about someone, and he was increasingly privileged that it was her.

But he also hadn’t known how it would feel giving someone the power to cause him hurt.

How difficult it would be to take the last step, to let go of the need for control.

To take the biggest leap of faith there was.

He nodded, and her teeth sank deeper into her lip. With a decisive movement, she pushed off the desk and came to stand before him. Without another word, she went up on her tiptoes, very lightly framed his jaw with her hands, and kissed him hard.

They continued to look into one another’s eyes as the kiss deepened, then softened, feeling each other’s mouths, darting the tips of tongues along the silky skin of inner lips, nipping and nuzzling. His hands were on the curves of her waist, feeling the warmth beneath her shirt, his thumbs gently stroking up and down.

When she breathed in deeply and carefully broke away, her cheeks were red, her pupils dilated, and his erection strained against his zipper.

He jumped when the old-fashioned clock on a shelf chimed, a small door opening in the dial and a cuckoo bird popping out once, twice, five times. Somebody—and he could guess who—had put a tiny pink baseball cap on its head. He couldn’t help smiling.

“You have to go,” she said quietly.

“I don’t know when it’ll wind up, and you need an early night, so—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the shoot.” Her fingers had drifted to his body again, plucking at his clothing, but she realized what she was doing and curled her hand into a fist.

He kissed her once more, very lightly, then went to the outside door in a swift movement, closing it quietly behind him as he stepped out into the rain.

God.

From pop songs to poems to personal experience, everyone knew how fun and dizzying and delightful it was to fall into infatuation.

Sylvie hadn’t known how disorientating and terrifying it could be to fall in love.

When just out of reach, teasingly stretching out to touch her hands, tugging her forward, was the prospect of something so unbelievably wonderful.

She ran her hand over her eyes, walked to the internal door, and pulled it open.

And almost ran straight into Penny, who was standing in the hallway, so close they could have bumped noses.

Her intern’s large eyes widened farther, but her usual vague smile made a rapid reappearance. She held up a stack of envelopes. “Mail. And just to let you know, I finished the bread rolls early and saw we were out of caramel truffles, so I made more.”

Good grief. She’d done the task she’d been assigned and showed initiative.

Light was breaking through the clouds at last.

“I couldn’t find the toffee crumbles, so I used the pretty crystals by the sink instead,” Penny added, looking very pleased with her own ingenuity.

Sylvie paused. “The crystals in the jar?”

The younger woman nodded happily.

“Um. How many truffles did you make?”

Penny gave an excited little hop. “Five dozen.”

Well, it could have been worse.

At least she’d only made sixty units of their exciting new variety of truffle.

Dark chocolate and crystallized oven cleaner.

Thank God Jay was out all day at meetings.

Before she could issue a tactful reminder that all edible ingredients and industrial cleaning products were meticulously labeled, Penny continued, “There’s another reporter out front. Asking the staff questions about the royal wedding cake. And Mabel’s out on her break.”

Joy upon joy.

“And your friend left his coat.”

At Penny’s blithe observation, Sylvie turned and saw Dominic’s beautiful wool coat hung over her chair. Damn. It was already cold outside, and it would be freezing by the time he left the restaurant tonight.

“If you need to take it to him,” Penny offered, “I’ll get rid of the reporter.”

“Oh, I don’t think . . .” Before the polite refusal was out, Sylvie reconsidered. It was impossible to either fluster or coerce any information out of Penny. She didn’t appear to retain any in the first place. Multiple people had just given up and noped out of a conversation with the intern, through the sheer frustration of talking to a wall of smiling indifference. “That would be great. Please do.”

As Penny floated over to her desk to drop the stack of mail into appropriate sorting boxes, Sylvie hastily tapped her phone to vanish the photo of Johnny and Aggressive Blonde. She grabbed Dominic’s coat and rushed out the side door into the alleyway.

He’d obviously hit rush-hour traffic, because he was only just heading into De Vere’s when she emerged onto the street.

In a small break between cars, Sylvie dashed across the street, her boots sending puddles splashing up her legs.

“Dominic!”

He turned with a frown, the wind blowing his hair back from his face, but his expression cleared as he saw the coat in her hand. “Thank—”

Looking at the sharply hewn, arrogant features, she couldn’t help herself. Her heart flooding with warmth, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

He stiffened for the most infinitesimal of moments—he obviously liked it when she kissed and cuddled him, but they were right outside their workplaces on a public street, and he was definitely never going to be a PDA sort of bloke to this extent—then his body relaxed. His mouth moved warmly over hers, his hand coming up to smooth her hair away from her cheek.

They drew back from each other. Rain was falling down his cheeks, over his shoulders. She was barely aware of the wetness of her own hair and clothing.

“Have a good dinner,” she murmured, and was rewarded with a flash of that rare, genuine smile before he took his coat, brushed his lips between her brows, and went inside.

Sylvie touched her lips and bit down lightly on her thumb as she swung around, smiling, to cross back to her own territory.

The rain was starting to fall in sheets, sending mist and spray rising from the sodden pavement, throwing the entire scene into a soft, unfocused gray.

But there was nothing to impede her vision as she looked over the roof of a newly arrived taxi, into Jay’s eyes as he stood, one hand tightly gripping the open door.

Clearly, he’d had an equally good view of her. And Dominic.

She wasn’t moving. Couldn’t move. She just stood there, getting more and more soaked, her chest rising more quickly with every breath.

His face.

Oh God, his face.

Suddenly, she knew exactly, finally, what Jay had wanted to talk to her about.

And that wobbling foundation stone in her life crumbled into dust.