Rage (12 page)

she’d never get married. She doesn’t believe in marriage. Not at all. Did you know that? Nope. And why is that? ‘Cause you never bothered to take my advice and actually talk to her about it.”

His face must have betrayed his surprise, because Chey-

enne’s sour expression transformed to one of sympathy. She said

nothing for a minute, but she seemed to be having some sort of

internal debate.

“Steph’s different now, Phillip. She’s a lot healthier in

many ways. I think she’s finally found some happiness. She de-

serves some. What’s done is done.” She turned from him and

swam toward the far edge of the pool where Scot and David

were doing a drunken strip tease before simultaneously cannon-

balling into the water. Phillip shielded himself from the splash as he made his way to the steps. Emotionally exhausted from all the painful memories and awkward conversations, he was ready to

go back to his bungalow for a second nap.

73

As Stephanie slipped into her heels, she watched dusk settle

over the Sueste Bay. She’d slept through the legendary sunset

and was pissed at herself for it. She’d had to take a prophylactic dose of migraine medicine before lying down. Speaking to Phillip had taken the wind out of her sails, and the two-day journey to get to the island had finally caught up with her.

The orange and amber glow from the bungalows below

caught her eye. She wondered which one of them was Phillip’s

and wondered what the sheets felt like. One such thought led to

another, and seconds later she wanted to slap herself in the face.

The palm trees swayed gently to the strains of samba music

wafting up from the patio below. She knew she needed to get

down to the restaurant; Cedric would arrive soon for the dinner

and cocktail welcome reception. But she had to call Christopher

first.

It was eight p.m. local time, so it was midnight in London.

Feeling sheepish for the late-night call, she decided the need to hear his voice outweighed her fear of being rude. She winced as

she pressed the call button on her cell. He picked it up after one ring.

“Hello, beautiful.” He sounded wide awake as his highbrow

Oxford accent popped through the phone as if he were next door

and not on the diagonal side of the globe.

“Hey. Did I wake you?” She imagined him kicked back on

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his leather sofa with his laptop, wearing his favorite football jer-sey. It still took some getting used to, seeing him out of a three piece suit. Not that she’d seen him “completely out” of the suit.

Not yet. Steph blushed at her train of thought. “I was going to

Skype you, but I overslept. I figured you’re in bed, and that

would be just plain
mean
.”

His deep voice rumbled with a throaty laugh. “So what are

you saying? It’d be cruel to see me in bed, or that I look unfortunate with bed head?”

Steph smiled coyly and bit down lightly on her thumb. They

hadn’t slept together yet, but things were rapidly moving in that direction. She’d warned him when they started seeing one another that she needed to take her time. She was still bruised from a break-up, and she wanted to get to know him. Steph was done

with impulsivity and relationships. After a series of sexual

hookups- turned-boyfriends, she was ready for a more thoughtful

approach toward her and Christopher’s serendipitous romance.

“I imagine bed head suits
you
just fine.” She’d been incredibly gun-shy after agreeing to date him at Ricky Gervais’s New

Year’s party. He promised to let her dictate the terms, and she

finally relented. She figured it would rapidly unravel anyhow.

He had three strikes against him right from the start. He was

British, blonde, and in “the business.” She was not looking for a Phillip clone or a rebound guy, so she figured it would die on the vine, and she’d have to go look for a new agent.

Three months of marathon dates with Christopher had

yielded an unexpected result. She’d found she really liked him.

He was so kind and thoughtful. Plus, he had an epic romantic

streak; their first date alone topped most people’s honeymoons.

He’d flown to Paris and stayed in her guest room. They’d spent

two days and three nights together. They’d driven out to Ver-

sailles, and she’d photographed it from top to bottom. They’d

dined at outdoor cafés, and looked at fine art at the Louvre hand in hand. His fluent French and laid-back temperament made it a

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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

relaxing experience, and she found herself mildly disappointed

when he didn’t try to sneak into her room on the second night.

He did kiss her goodbye, and it was surprisingly nice.

They took turns flying to see each other every other week-

end. Her to London, him alternating between Milan and Paris.

When she happened to be in London, they got together daily.

She doubted it was a coincidence that he hadn’t booked her a gig in the U.S. since he’d taken over as her agent, but found she

didn’t miss the transatlantic hop in the least.

They drank buckets of coffee and discussed articles in the

New York Times and Huffington Post. He was athletic, avidly

playing both soccer and rugby. He dragged her out on bike rides

and meandering walks. He even encouraged her to try yoga for

her nerves. She was shocked to discover she loved it, and now

she was addicted. But Steph’s yoga instructor had tailored the

soundtracks for her, replacing the Mercury Max music for The

Red Hot Chili Peppers.

From date one, Christopher pressed her for answers in a

way no one
ever
had. When she tried to kill conversations with cheeky quips, he sternly looked her in the eye and redirected the question. Real questions about her parents, her past, and her

views. As a result, she felt like she knew herself better than ev-er—which was both a blessing and a curse. Steph often worried

he was way too nice for her. She didn’t exactly deserve someone

like him, after slamming around the world the past few years like a long-horned bull window shopping for china patterns.

It seemed unimaginable that Christopher had started a brawl

with Phillip. He was usually so smooth and unflappable. Plus

Phillip was a monster of a man and obviously outmatched him.

But Christopher was definitely a man’s man, no doubt about it.

He could square off with the best of them. When she brought up

the wedding and Phillip’s attendance, she could see the rugby

player in him itching to come out and rumble. He’d tried every-

thing he could think of to be able to come along, but in the end, 76

RAGE

his work demands prevented it.

“How’s the island? Any run-ins with Phillip?” Not Christo-

pher’s most suave transition of topics, but she’d anticipated this line of questioning since before she left the U.K.

“Yep. It’s cool. We agreed to avoid one another,” she re-

plied as Kara exited the bathroom looking like Aphrodite incar-

nate with her blonde ringlets and gauzy white dress. She flashed a toothy, wide-eyed grin at Steph, who violently suppressed an

eye roll. She didn’t envy Cheyenne having to live with all her

exuberant enthusiasm.

“Good. I mean…I’m sure that’s for the best.” Christopher

replied. “I’m sorry I can’t be there, love.”

She tried not to flinch every time he called her “love”.

“Chris, I have to go. Cedric’s waiting for me. I’ll Skype you

tomorrow, okay?”

“Sounds good. Steph?”

“I’m still here.”

“I love you.” His declaration was so unexpected that Steph

thought she had hallucinated it. She paused awkwardly and

looked at the phone as if there might be an instant replay waiting for her on the screen. Her mouth went dry, and she didn’t seem

to have the muscle control to form words.

“Bye!” She hit end and dropped her phone on the bed. She

slapped her palms over her eyes and stomped her foot. “Fuck,

fuck, fuck!”

Kara poked her head out from the closet where she’d been

trying on shoes. “Is everything alright, mate?”

“No!” Steph flopped on the bed in a decidedly unladylike

manner, considering she was wearing a dress.

“Want to talk about it?” Kara offered, crossing to her while

putting in dangling earrings.

“No thanks. I just need booze.” Without a thought about her

carefully styled up-do, she buried her head under her pillow with a loud groan. Just when she thought things were shaping up nice-77

TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

ly with Christopher, he had gone and thrown a wrench into the

gears.

Kara stuck her hand out to her. “Come on. They have a

great selection of beers at the bar. Cheyenne said beer’s your

favorite.”

Steph thought maybe she’d misjudged Kara when she dis-

missed her as a dizzy blonde. Perhaps she was some sort of sa-

vant or Rhodes Scholar. She took Kara’s hand and allowed her to

pull her to her feet.

When they arrived, a party was in full swing. Several cou-

ples were dancing to the samba band, and Stephanie was amused

when she saw two Victoria’s Secret models flanking her brother

at their table like he was P.Diddy.

“Olá!” Cedric greeted her. Her eyebrow and the corners of

her mouth twitched as she looked at both of his companions.

“Hey there, Padre.” Steph nodded, taking in his causal, col-

lar-free attire.

“Steph, I’d like to introduce you to Antonella and Yasmin.

Esta é minha irmã, Stephanie.” Steph recognized the two women

as two of the bridesmaids. She smiled at them slyly. They smiled back as if she had her camera out.

“Show off,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

She sat and ate her dinner in silence as her three table mates

spoke to each other in rapid Portuguese. She wanted to shake

both of the girls like castanets and say “he’s a man of God, you little whores!”, but she suppressed her instincts. She searched the crowd for someone to talk to, but Cheyenne and Scot had been

dancing together for 45 minutes straight, and they appeared to be in the middle of an intense conversation. She heard the familiar sound of Phillip’s laugh and instinctively turned toward it. He

looked comfortable and dashing in a light grey suit coat with the top three buttons of his white silk shirt unbuttoned. His short hair drew extra attention to his rugged, square jaw. Little Liam was

dragging him around the patio by his arm. As Phillip scooped the 78

RAGE

toddler up in him arms and tossed him high into the air, Steph

realized she’d never seen him interact with a child. He seemed to be enjoying the experience, and frankly, he looked like a natural.

She frowned and blinked wearily. She really needed another

beer.

Nathan appeared at her side while she waited for the bar-

tender. “Stephanie bloody Brier, it’s about damn time you

showed your face!”

“Nate! Hey!” She gave him a hug and went to ruffle his

short hair. “You chopped it off!”

“Don’t mess with perfection.” He dodged her hand and

turned to the statuesque blonde at his side. “I’d like you to meet Saffron.”

“Hello.” Steph looked up at the rail thin woman who tow-

ered over Nathan in 4 inch heels.

“I’ve heard so much about you.” Saffron’s smile implied

that she’d heard quite a lot more than Steph was comfortable

with. With her severe platinum bob and long false eyelashes,

Saffron looked like someone straight out of an Austin Powers

movie. Steph shook her hand.

“I can imagine.” Steph replied sardonically, sipping her

fresh beer. It was perfectly chilled and tasted like ambrosia.

“We heard we missed your reunion with Phillip. I’m so dis-

appointed.” Nathan’s droll tone caused Steph to smile in spite of the context. “Glad to see everyone still has all their limbs.”

“Yes. Too bad someone misbehaved on the plane ride here.

That needed to be taken care of promptly. And it took much

longer than I thought.” Saffron concurred. Nathan grinned from

ear to ear, and Steph slowly turned her head to look at Saffron to see if she was joking. It appeared she wasn’t.

“OOOOOkie dokie.” Steph murmured, taking a much long-

er drink of her beer.

“Well, we kept getting interrupted. Nothing’s quite the

mood killer like Cheyenne and Scot having a screaming match.”

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Steph shot Nathan a disbelieving look, and he laughed. “No,