A Very Dirty Wedding (16 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Katherine

Yellow sunlight streams through the balcony door, and the cool morning air hits my skin.  I look over to the empty space in my bed that Caulter occupied last night, then out through the open balcony door. 
He’s not there.

Not that I would expect him to be after what happened last night.  I’m mortified.  I’m going to be too embarrassed to look him in the face, after the things I said, how I threw myself at him -- and the fact that he, the guy who sleeps with anyone, turned me down.

I slink down the hallway, grateful to remain unnoticed.  After I brush my teeth and shower, I feel considerably better.  But
not
about the thing with Caulter.  One of the unfortunate downsides of last night is that I remember the whole thing clearly.

I’m dressed and back in my room when Caulter shows up on my side of the balcony, coffee in hand.  “How are you feeling?”

“Completely humiliated.”

Caulter’s face is expressionless, which makes my heart skip a beat. 
He probably hates me.
  “Here,” he says, handing me the coffee.  “Are you hung-over?”

I shake my head.  “No.  The pill she gave me just made me pretty out of it, I guess.”

Caulter laughs.  “Fucking amateurs.”

“Shut up.  I’d never taken anything like that before.”

He smiles.  “Well, you might not want to, ever again.”

“I’m not exactly planning to.”  I pause, sipping the coffee.  “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Caulter shrugs, leaning against the wall.  He’s wearing this blue t-shirt that looks soft and weathered.  It makes me want to touch it, but I just sit there.  “Not a big deal.”

“It kind of is,” I say.  “Sorry for...um...acting like an ass and stuff.”

Caulter walks over and stands in front of me.  His crotch is at eye level, and I want to rip off his jeans, but I don’t, because I’m a chickenshit.  But he slips his finger under my chin and pulls my face up.  “As I recall, you took off your clothes and threw yourself at me.”

My face flushes.  “I was drunk.  Or high.  Whatever it was.  Sorry.”

“Are you sorry?” he asks.  “I’d be very disappointed if you were.”

I bristle at his words, even as he takes his thumb and slides it along my lower lip.  I want to wrap my lips around his finger, but I don’t.  “
You’re
the one who blew me off last night.  I throw myself at you and tell you I want to suck your cock, and you say no.”

He groans.  “You were drunk, Kate.”

“So?”  I ask.  I’m angry but I don’t move his hand, don’t tell him to stop it when his thumb catches on my lower lip, pulling it down.  I want his lips on mine.  I ache to feel his touch, the desire is even more amplified by the fact that I spent last night pressed up against him.

“Is that what you want, Kate?” he asks, leaning down and placing his hands on the sides of the chair I’m sitting in.  His face is close to mine, our lips nearly touching, and I’m immediately holding my breath, my heart racing.  “You want me to fuck you when you’re so drunk you don’t know what you’re doing?  Or do you just want me to fuck you at your beck and call, whenever you're feeling horny?

“No,” I protest.  “That’s not what was happening.”

I arch up and touch my lips to his, the movement gentle, but Caulter grabs my jaw, squeezing my face as his mouth crashes into mine.  The act is so hard it’s painful, somewhere between exquisite pleasure and absolute agony.

He yanks me up to a standing position, unbuttons my jeans, and shoves his hand down the front of my pants.  With one hand, he yanks my jeans down over my ass and buries the fingers of his other hand inside me, the movement rough, but aided by my wetness.

“Is this what you want?”  He breathes the words into my ear.  “You want my fingers in you, my cock inside you whenever you’re horny?”

Waves of pleasure rush over me, my body’s automatic response to his touch.  I’ve missed his touch.  I’ve longed for his touch.  “No,” I whisper, shaking my head.  “
Yes.
  I’m not sure.  That’s not it.”

He looks at me, his face screwed up in anger.  “That’s exactly it, Kate.”  Then he slides his fingers out and pushes me away, the void between my legs excruciating.

“You’re mad because
you
wouldn’t fuck me last night?” I ask.  I don’t understand.

“Yeah, Kate,” he says.  “That’s it.  Or maybe it’s because you got all dressed up so you could go pick up other guys and then when no one put out, you came home and thought you'd screw your dear ol' step-brother."

“What the hell are you talking about?” I say, my voice going higher.  I button my jeans, furious at myself for letting my guard down with him at all. 
He’s insane,
I tell myself. 
He's hot and cold all the time.  I don’t need this shit.
  “Some guy was rubbing up on
me
at a party and now you’re jealous?  I'll wear what I want and go where I want.”

“Yeah, Kate,” he says.  “I'm totally jealous.  That must be why I didn’t screw you last night.”

“Why are you being such a jerk-off now?”  I ask.  “Last night, you were nice.  That’s the thing about you -- one minute you act like you give a shit, and the next minute you don’t.”

“Of course I give a shit, Katherine,” he says.  “You’re a nice piece of ass.”

It’s like he’s purposely trying to be a dick.  “That’s all it is, then?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.  “I’m just a nice piece of ass, then.  Nothing more.”

“Oh, right, did you think I was going to be your Prince Charming or something?” he laughs.  “We’re having a little fun, that’s all.”

“Get out,” I say.  I bite down on my lower lip, because I think I might cry.  It’s not like I’m in love with Caulter or anything remotely that stupid.  But does he have to be such a jerk all the time?  His mood swings, between nice guy and asshole, are exhausting.  “Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”  He turns and leaves through the balcony, the way he came in, and I hear his glass door on the other side slam shut.

I sink into my chair, unable to hold back the tears that spill down my cheeks.  I’m more angry than anything else.

It’s more than a few minutes later that I see my sketchpad lying on the desk, the one I usually keep carefully tucked under the mattress.  Except for last night.  Last night, I’d shoved it under the pillow when Jo had shown up in my room early.  How could I have forgotten?

I’m so mortified I just want to crawl into a hole and hide.  The thought of Caulter seeing the sketches of him...of his cock, holy shit, how many are there of his cock?  It makes me want to vomit.  He probably thinks I’m obsessed with him, some pathetic virgin who got laid and can't let go.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Caulter

“Oh, darling, you look so elegant.”  Ella says, her hand covering her mouth.  “It’s a wonderful tuxedo.  What do you think?”

“I think that it’s better than the leather pants I was forced to wear for the wedding with Nick, your tween lover,” I say, my voice bitter.  Her wedding to the former boy band member was ridiculous.

It’s not even Ella that I’m irritated with.  The thing with Kate has me so on edge.  I’m completely avoiding being in the same room with Kate, except at dinner, when I sit in sullen silence.  Ella thinks it’s because of the engagement party.

“You could see fit to muster up some kind of happiness for me,” she says.

“I’m thrilled that you’ve found someone to hitch your wagon to,” I say.  “Your dreams of finally being legitimate might come true.”

I’m shocked when she slaps me across the face.  Ella has done a lot of things, but she’s never actually slapped me.  The stylist doing the fitting quickly exits the room, making an excuse about taking a call.  “At some point, you have to grow up, Caulter, and stop acting like a spoiled little shit.”

“Well, you raised me, mother,” I say, rubbing my face.  “I’m your son, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

“I didn’t raise you to act like a complete ass.”

“No,” I say.  “You didn’t
raise
me at all.  You send me off to rehab and military school and then Brighton, so you could live out your teenage years all over again, partying with rock stars.  Now you’ve met someone who’s powerful and influential, whose arm you can hang on and pretend to be concerned about issues that matter.  So you need me back in your life to play the good son role.”

“That’s not true, Caulter,” she says.  “I didn’t know what I was doing with you -- I was a kid myself.”

I shrug.  “You made your choices,” I say.  “Just like I’m making mine, holding out for the trust fund.  I’ll play along, but after summer is over, I’m done.”

***

“Bourbon.”  The bartender looks at me, shaking his head.  “You’re the Senator’s kid, aren’t you?”

“I’m Ella Sterling’s kid.”  This goddamned tuxedo is practically cutting off my air supply, choking my neck.  It’s stifling, despite the fact that the evening air is cool.  “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “You’re in high school.  I can’t serve you.”

“I’m not in high school,” I say.  “But fine.  Whatever.”  Turning around, I lean against the bar, looking out over the crowd gathered in the backyard.  The party planners have been at this for two days, and Ella has gone all out for the engagement party.  The yard has been transformed into something that looks like white lights and flowers have been vomited everywhere.

But minimalism isn’t Ella’s style, despite her prior weddings.  The marriage to the rock star involved a tiger, so at least that one was more entertaining.

This one is just...
blah
.  That is, until I see
her
.  We’ve been in a state of deep freeze since the argument in her room. 

She should have at least made an attempt to hide the sketches of me.  I was lying in bed, trying to will away my boner that night, when my hand touched the notebook.

Page after fucking page of pictures of me.  Me, leaning on the balcony smoking.  Me, shirtless, my pants unbuttoned at the top.  My face.  My chest.  My dick.  Drawings of me, staring me right in the face.

I mentally chastise myself for ever being stupid enough to screw a virgin.  I got caught up in the pursuit, but this goes no further.  Owning her pussy is one thing, but she's obviously infatuated with me.  I never expected that.

Kate is talking to a guy I recognize from school, a lacrosse player I think she dated before.  Those fucking lacrosse players and that Brighton Bingo game piss me off.  I clench my hands into fists, considering smashing his face in, when she makes eye contact with me.

She's wearing this white dress, one of the ones Ella's stylist sent.  I regret giving her the dresses now that the guy she's next to is leering at her the way he is.  The dress is short, barely touching the top of her thigh, and covered in this gold floral pattern that catches the light when she moves.  She's wearing white sandals and gold earrings, her hair piled on top of her head, little pieces falling from the up do, across her forehead and down the sides of her face.  The whole effect makes her look like a Greek goddess.  She has no idea that she catches the eye of everyone around here.

Kate laughs at something he says, and touches his arm, and that’s it.  It’s fucking enough.  At least if she’s going to flirt with some other guy, I don't have to watch it happen right in front of me.

I storm through the backyard, weaving through the crowd of people.  Ella says something to me, but I shrug her off, escaping into the house, through the kitchen.

“Is everything all right out there, Caulter?” Rose asks as I pass.

“I’m just taking a break.”  I don’t pause, but she stops me, with one hand on my arm.

“The library is closed off,” she says.  “It’ll be quiet, if you want someplace where you won’t be bothered.”

I cover her palm with mine.  “Thanks, Rose.”

She smiled and waves me off.  “No harm in taking a break,” she says.  “You kids don’t need to be on display all the time.  You want me to make you a sandwich?  All those little appetizers don’t amount to much of anything.  You’re probably starving.”

“I’m okay,” I say. I just want to get out of here.

“Scoot, then, before someone finds you,” she says.  “I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re an angel.”

Rose chortles.  “You’re delusional.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Closing the library door, I shut everything out. 
Kate should be flirting with someone else,
I tell myself. 
It’s better this way.
  The thing between us was just supposed to be sex.  Nothing more.  She isn't supposed to be drawing page after page of pictures of me.  I’m not supposed to be thinking about her, dropping everything to rescue her at parties, turning down sex when she throws herself at me because I don’t want to hurt her.

It’s like I don’t even know who I fucking am anymore.

I’m sure as hell not whatever Kate thinks I am.  I’m
not
a good guy.

There’s a liquor cabinet in the library, and I pour myself two fingers of bourbon.  Sinking into the reading nook, I try to ignore the party below, but find myself looking out over the lawn anyway.

I wonder if that disgusting lacrosse player is dancing with her, sliding his hands over her ass, whispering into her ear the things he wants to do to her.  The thought makes me want to kill him.

Instead, I swallow the rest of the liquor in one gulp, letting the warmth settle down my throat into my belly, and lay back with my head against the wall and my eyes closed.

When the door opens, I look up.

A redhead closes the door behind her, saunters across the room, and unzips the back of her black dress, letting it fall to a pool around her feet.  A natural redhead, by the looks of things.

Well, hell.  Generally the only thing better than a redhead is twins.  She looks at me expectantly, her hands on her hips, clad only in black heels.  "Well?" she asks.

I don't move.  "Well, what?"

"I expected a better reaction than that.  Well, I heard you were a dick."  She stands there motionless, proudly displaying her nakedness like some kind of peacock.  Not that she shouldn't.  Her body is flawless.  Except for the tits.  I can't help but think about Katherine's perfect pair.  These are...
less than
.

"That's what they say."

"So, what?" she asks.  "You don't like what you see?  Or you get so much pussy that a woman walking in and dropping her dress on the floor is old news?"

Her voice repulses me.  I can't stand it.  I rise, picking up the dress that lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, and hand it to her.  "I'm not interested."

But she reaches for the collar of my shirt and presses her body against me.  "Come on," she says.  "Caulter Sterling not interested?  I've heard you're always up for a good -- "

"I said, not interested.  Do you have a hearing problem?"  I push her away, and look up to see the library door swing open.

Kate stands there, unmoving, her eyes going back and forth between me and the naked redhead standing not more than two feet away from me.  She blinks a few times, and for a minute I think she might cry.  But she just shakes her head and turns.

"Kate!"  I toss a dark look at the redhead, who seems to have no shame about standing there naked in the library with the door wide open.  "Put your fucking clothes on and have some self-respect."

Rushing out the door, I head after Kate, but she's already outside.  I'm cutting through the back, the same way I came in, through the kitchen, but I stop short.  A few of the catering staff wander through to refill trays with hors d'oeuvers and disappear outside again, while Rose comes in through the swinging door that adjoins the dining room.

Rose gives me a look.  "You're upset."

"Don't you know that I'm Ella's sullen child?" I ask.  "I'm always upset."

She puts her hand on her ample waist.  "I didn't say angry," she says.  "I said upset."

"Is there a difference?"  I'm irritated and I don't want to discuss word choices with her.

"There's a difference between angry and hurt."

I force a laugh.  "I'm certainly not hurt," I say.

"Sure you're not," she says, wiping her hand on her skirt.  "But in case you're looking for her, she went running past the dining room.  I assume she was headed back out to the party."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," she says.  "Now get out of here.  There's too many people in my kitchen, with the staff running around like this.  I need to make sure things stay in order."

Exhaling heavily, I step back outside, walking zombie-like through the partygoers, the Senator's political buddies with their suits and tuxedos and protruding stomachs.  Their middle-aged wives have faces frozen in semi-permanent looks of surprise, the result of overzealous plastic surgeons.  My mother's invites, the stars and starlets, are sprinkled through the crowd.

"Caulter!"  The Senator gestures to me, my mother draped over his arm.  She has that too-happy look that says she's well into several glasses of champagne.  "I'd like to introduce you to Congressman Hill and his wife, Barbara.  Caulter has been accepted to Yale for the fall semester."

I stop, staring at him.  That's news to me, since I've not applied
anywhere
.  In fact, the guidance counselor at school practically insisted on sending my applications in himself, but I refused to let it happen.  Why go to college, when I already have a trust fund?

Besides, there's no point in school for people like me.  We're meant to live off the dividends from our trust funds; smile and have photos taken at social events; and eventually meet a girl who will attempt to stave off the inevitable decline of age by spending the equivalent of a mortgage on plastic surgery.

My mother looks at me meaningfully.  "You
are
planning to attend Yale in the Fall, aren’t you, Caulter?”

Smiling, I nod my head.  “Looking forward to it,” I say.  What I’m really looking forward to is getting the hell out of this party.  I came outside chasing after Katherine, but why?  It’s better to let her think the worst of me.

But that's until I see her beside that Neanderthal lacrosse player.  I watch as she grabs two champagne flutes from a tray as a server walks by, and downs them, one right after the other.  She makes fleeting eye contact with me, and turns back to the guy, obviously ignoring me.

My mother says something to me, and the Congressman's wife puts her hand on my arm, but I can't hear what either of them are saying.  Everything fades as I watch Katherine lean forward, with her hand on his arm, then tuck her hair behind her ear, tilting her head down as she bites her lip and smiles.

That smile is what does it for me.  That smile is what kills me.  It pushes me beyond the pale, and I’m done.