The Only Choice (The Choices Trilogy #3) (18 page)

I have fixed a pitcher of Virgin Mojito but add the rum to everyone’s drink but mine, with the brown sugar and strong mint flavour I can hide the fact I’m not actually drinking alcohol. Besides the way we have all been laughing and messing around you would never know I wasn’t three sheets to the wind. I have filled everyone in on the basic information and as if I would anticipate any different everyone is rightly outraged at Angel’s unreasonable demands and are incredulous at Daniels unreserved acceptance. They all ignore my attempt to give a balanced view and agree that at the very least, I should have been part of the decision making process. I can’t argue that. Gaby is trawling the internet for information about Angel and her hubby just to give us some visuals to vent our outrage. I feel all fired up but no actual plan has formed. I grab a pen and pad, determined to get something tangible out of this rapidly deteriorating drunken evening.

“Guys, come on now focus, what is my actual plan?” They all cough and frown trying to look serious and pensive. Sam slides in behind Gaby and watches the screen over her shoulder. Sofia sits tightly next to me looking expectantly at the blank note pad and Saskia just looks at me with an encouraging smile. “Right, so bottom line, I want my man back, to myself and I would quite like Angel to show her true colours to Daniel, that is. Yes?” I am faced with a flurry of excited nodding so I continue. “Right, so how do I do that?” And like a conductor silencing the orchestra with a skilful stroke of his baton; all movement ceases; all nods stop and smiles are replaced with frowns.

“You need evidence!” Saskia shouts and puts her hand up at the same time which makes us all laugh but it’s a start.

“Yes, good, Daniel won’t, for whatever twisted fucked up reason entertain that Angel has anything other than the most innocent of intentions, so I need to prove otherwise.” I tap my pen on the pad, which is still blank but maybe not for long. “What evidence would prove she’s a lying, manipulative—”

“You could ask her?” Sofia offers but clarifies when I just raise a brow. “No I mean she might just tell you, like gloat . . . some people are
that
stupid. I have a friend who’s a cop and sometimes, he told me, they have little evidence but the criminal or whatever, will just confess after just a few questions. It’s like they can’t help themselves.” She shrugs. “But you could tape her if she did. That would be proof.” She sits back with a satisfied smile and chinks her glass with Saskia.

“I don’t actually relish getting that close but I could ask her uncle Mr Wilson about the actual fertility issues. Get some details on the genetic likelihood that she can even have children, that might be a start.” I nod and write that down as number one.

“I don’t know Bets, however you put that it’s either going to sound super creepy or mean and insensitive.” Sofia knows my fear of being the villain and I nod because she has a point.

“I know but there might be a way of asking without really asking, I don’t know . . .” My voice trails off because it doesn’t sit well and I feel hideously uncomfortable delving into what could be just a terribly sad scenario if it turns out I’m wrong. But then Angel had no qualms letting Daniel blame himself all this time and manipulated that guilt to her advantage. I think I have some leeway here.

“You could ask her husband?” Sam offers and I look over to see a sneaky smile creep across her face.

“I don’t know her husband.” I reply.

“No, but
I
do.” She turns the laptop round and there is a picture of Angel beside a dark haired man with dark features and a permanent tan. He is only slight taller than her and stocky. He is dressed in a tux and she is in a long red silk evening gown. The picture isn’t recent because her hair is much shorter in the photo. Sam closes the lid of the laptop and coolly swirls her drink. We have all fallen silent waiting for her to elaborate and she does. His name is Sebastian, he is a member of the same club Daniel belongs to or belonged to. I have no idea if he is still a member and Sebastian or Seb always visits when he is in town and always asks for Sam, well always asks for Selena. She has known him for five years, three of which he has been married to Angel. Sam doesn’t knows the specifics of their relationship but as far as she knew Angel had never been to the club so Sam would assume she either doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know or doesn’t care.

“Why would he tell me anything?” I am intrigued enough to ask.

“He wouldn’t. But me on the other hand . . . Oh believe me honey. . . . he would tell me
anything
you want to know and I guarantee he wouldn’t lie.” She winks at me and I feel a flush of heat. She giggles, “I’m his Domme.” We all breathe out a knowing ‘oh’ but the looks flying between us are anything but knowledgeable. Her lips curl in a warm knowing smile. “Look, it’s simple, what I do, what he asks for . . . I could ask him for his pin number for his Swiss bank account number and for his first born and he would agree. All I’m saying is if you want truth, that is your plan A. Hell it should be your plan A through to Z.” She nods to the laptop. Images are flashing like a strobe across my mind, the club, those rooms, crosses, whips and chains and I know how successful Daniel was at getting my truth. I don’t doubt Sam for one minute but it’s not like I can confirm that I completely understand without revealing a little too much information to everyone else.

“Plan A?” I almost regret asking.

“Plan A; he is flying in this weekend and I’m seeing him Saturday. You can be my partner, I will still ask the questions. You can tape it all and voila!–Proof, evidence the whole shebang.” I heard Sofia’s sharp intake of breath, she asks.

“Partners?” Her voice is shaky on my behalf but Sam eases the subtle tension with a loud laugh.

“Relax would you, this is actually perfect. He rarely wants sex and well, you would be long gone if he did. It’s more of a show, a rather dramatic show of power, that type of shit. He is a masochist.” She hums a little in thought. “But you would have to get a second sponsor to get in the club in the first place.” She wiggles her fingers over her lips while she is weighing up some key information only she is privy to. “Seb can nominate you as my partner but you’d need another. It’s not like the Christmas party, this is a very very exclusive club. You need two sponsors; I don’t suppose Daniel?” I laugh out at this and she joins in. “No, I guess not . . . still the offers there honey and you know I’d keep you safe.” She leans over and wraps her arm protectively across my shoulder and I tip my head into her hold.

“I know that Sam but I’m not sure I’m that good an actress to pull off an act like that?” I squeeze her hand. “So I think I’ll go with
my
plan A.” I shuffle and stand looking down at the one and only plan on my pad. A visit to Mr Wilson it is then. I offer to get refills before we huddle on the sofa together to indulge in an ultimate girlie flick. Dirty Dancing; happy to ignore the obvious age differences between sixteen year old Baby and middle aged Jonny, we all succumb to the innocence of romance and a great soundtrack.

I wake up early the next day, pretty much the only benefit from a sober girls’ night in and it did mean I was able to fire off an email to Mr Wilson. There was a slim chance that he checked his emails and a slimmer chance that he would be in University at all in the holidays but I had to try. I wasn’t sure how successful my plan A was going to be but I did also have the matter of making sure my place at University hadn’t been jeopardised by Daniel’s misguided assistance in gaining a Patent on my behalf. I really wanted to speak to Mr Wilson about that before the next semester. I was surprised that after my shower I had a reply and not an out of office notification either. He was only briefly back, in fact could meet me this afternoon as he was flying back out in the morning. I called Joe and switched my shift to this morning and spent the next fifteen minutes doing my best impression of a headless chicken.

With my change of shift I found it was strange working without Daniels ever present striking form as a recent but permanent fixture in the booth. He may not engage with me while I work but I am so attuned to him that I feel his absence like a physical hole in my chest. Unsettling as these feelings are, they are the driving reason I feel compelled to attack this situation, seek out confirmation and proof, indisputable proof and hopefully not piss off the man I am trying to convince in the process. It’s a delicate balance and I can see that no one will benefit from an ‘I told you so’ situation. I just want this over so we can move forward, Angel and baggage free. I am making the huge assumption he is not going to freak at my ‘proof’ but if I’m honest I can’t even think about that right now, one drama at a time. The restaurant is unusually quiet and Joe lets me leave early so I don’t have to rush and can enjoy at least part of the walk to the campus. My phone rings just as I round the corner from the restaurant.

“You changed your shift?” His clipped tone sounds irritated and it matches mine now I’ve taken his call.

“Is there something you want Daniel?” My tone is equally irritable.

“I thought you didn’t mind the arrangement at the restaurant?” His voice softens clearly adjusting to my frosty response.

“I don’t mind.” My voice softens too and because I need to start making my intentions clear I decide to tell him a little more. “Honestly, I like you being there and this shift, I missed you.”

“Ah baby, you made my day.” I can hear his smile. “So where are you walking to?” His light casual question makes me stop in my tracks. I am quiet for some minutes as I scour my surroundings because there is no way he could know I’m walking. I can’t see his car and I can’t see him but I do now have an eerie feeling I am being watched. “Baby, you still there?” I don’t answer but decide to slowly walk back to the restaurant because if it isn’t Daniel, then whoever is reporting my whereabouts might still be there. I see the shadow move behind the darkened window and not that I see him but after several months of having him as my shadow I just know it’s Patrick skulking behind the wheel of the blacked out Audi. I stand directly beside the door, staring at my distorted reflection. It is either the curve of the glass or I do, in fact, look that pissed. “Bethany?” His voice is no longer playful but has an edge.

“Daniel.” I grit my teeth and I am sure he can hear the grind. “I don’t need to tell you where I’m walking Patrick can do that for you.” My voice is surprisingly calm.

“Ah.” He breathes out a heavy breath like I have caused him a minor irritation.

“Ah!” I snap at this major violation. “You just can’t help yourself can you! Christ Daniel I can’t believe I actually thought you trusted me and that you were giving me some space. Why the fuck is Patrick following me? God, I’m such a fucking idiot—” My breathless rant is interrupted by his stern voice, deep and serious.

“—Are you finished?” I’m not finished but there is something in his tone that wisely prevents my verbal vomit. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone Bethany. I wanted to tell you when I could be with you.” He pauses and my anger has flipped a one eighty to anxiety in a second.

“What is it Daniel? You’re scaring me.” He is silent for an unbearable moment as I hear him draw in a deep slow breath. What scares me more is that Daniel, above anything, cares about my safety and this tone I recognise and I kind of wish he was here too.

“Kit flew into Paris last week and I have had Patrick keep an eye on you since then. I didn’t want to tell you because you . . . well you were dealing with enough shit. I was hoping to wait until after the wedding, maybe take you away for a bit.” I hear him swallow and I mirror that but my throat is too dry, my legs don’t feel so stable and I lean against Patrick’s car. He has got out and is just looking at me with a small kind smile which I try to return. “But I was going to have to tell you tonight because although she hasn’t checked out she hasn’t been back to her hotel in four days.”

“But she’s in Paris?” My voice is barely a whisper, I feel sick and shaky. I hadn’t thought she would ever come back or maybe I just hoped she never would.

“It’s still too close.” He sounds frustrated. “A two hour train journey and difficult to trace.”

“You think she’s in London?” I can hear the panic in my voice and Patrick steps around the car and wraps his beefy heavy arm around my shoulder. He doesn’t look entirely comfortable with the position but I am grateful for the gesture. Daniel lets out a heavy sigh.

“Baby, I don’t know but I would really appreciate if you would let Patrick take you where you need to go.” I find myself dumbly nodding which he obviously can’t see. “Bethany?” His tone not really a question.

“Yes, of course, yes . . . that’s very kind.” I am mumbling, my head is a fuzzy daze and I would probably not make it to the end of the street without getting lost. So with absolutely no resistance I sit in the passenger seat when Patrick opens the door; my phone is still to my ear. “Thank you Daniel.”

“Don’t thank me baby, it’s my job.” His voice is firm and decisive and at times like this I love that he is so sure about us.

I tell Patrick where I need to be and try to process this new information. I think Kit would have to be pretty stupid to try anything, even coming anywhere near me and Kit is a lot of things but stupid isn’t one of them. I wonder if it’s me, that I am a magnet for crazy women and I shudder at the thought that Kit and Angel would ever cross paths. Regardless of my knowledge and experience of the crazy bitch genre I would never survive their combined evil force of nature. I persuade Patrick that I will be fine at the University and he agrees not to accompany me, on the condition that I let him take me home straight after my meeting, no deviations or detours. I walk the length of the corridor in the oldest part of the main building without seeing a soul. The polished wooden floor reflects like glass and is evidence of the lack of footfall during the holidays. I knock on Mr Wilson’s door but there is no answer, the door is locked but I am a little early so I turn, lean heavily against the wall and slide down to sit on the floor and wait. I close my eyes and drift off to the haunting sound of Ellie Goulding Halcyon Days, feeling a surge of emotional tingles of track six,
Figure 8.
I snap my eyes open blinking back the rise of water behind my lids only to see a pair of sage green corduroy trousers.