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  ‘Rock star, my left tit.’ She snorts—the kind of snort unbecoming of a lady. ‘And I don’t give a flying fuck if he hates the label pop star because he’s not even that. Not that I’d find the label very flattering, either.’

  ‘He’s more folksy pop.’

  ‘He’s more the grandma crowd, as well as a complete arse wipe.’

  Both are sadly true. He does play the kind of music that appeals to families. Middle-of-the-road stuff. Though I would never have said it to him. His ego is . . . delicate. At least, I thought it was. Until I found him screwing Tamara, his assistant. Or his assistant’s assistant.

  ‘God, what had my life come to that I’d call Robin’s hangers-on my friends?’ I find myself asking.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So much I took for granted—so much I thought I knew. I thought I knew him. I thought his songs were about our love! Sung from his heart, standing on the stage with his guitar and his messy, roan hair.’

  ‘Roan,’ Chastity scoffs. ‘The man is ginger. An ugly carrot-top.’

  ‘With a fiery crotch to match.’ I snigger, covering my mouth with my hand.

  ‘The only thing outstanding about the area,’ she affirms with a quirk of her brow.

  So I might’ve told her about that over wine. Okay, crying angry tears and drunk off my ass. Let’s just say that average, as a description, is an overstatement.

  ‘You deserve better than is it in yet, so coming back to the topic of hard . . . You need hard loving, and that’s what you get from me. But you also need the other kind of hard. The kind I can’t give you.’

  ‘Is that some kind of riddle? Because I don’t really—’

  ‘Dick, darling,’ she says, cutting in. ‘You need a man with a hard dick. An alpha—the absolute opposite of the kind of man you fell for.’ While I might suggest she’s overstepping, I don’t. Because she already did that when she gifted me a dildo.

  Patting my hand, she rises from the bed and makes her way back to her dressing table mirror. ‘The reason we’re going tonight is that a wedding hookup is the perfect scenario. It’s practically a singles tradition.’

  ‘You have the weirdest ideas.’

  Turning her head over her shoulder with the poise of a debutant, she asks, ‘Like starting a porn company?’

  ‘Women-centric adult entertainment, thank you very much. And no, that seems to have been a fantastic idea.’ Financially, at least.

  ‘And I’m full of them,’ she replies, twirling to face me again. ‘And this one is much better than my first.’

  ‘The look on your face has me worried. Should I be worried?’

  ‘Well, my original plan was—and still possibly is, especially if you’re absolutely against tonight—that I could set you up with one of the boys.’

  ‘Boys?’ I repeat, frowning back at her. ‘You mean, with one of the p—adult actors?’ I ask, quickly catching my mistake.

  ‘The men who work for me all seem to know what they’re doing in that department. And I’ve seen the way one or two of them look at you.’ She shrugs lightly, as though this conversation is nothing. As though she was offering me a selection of bonbons and not men. ‘And why wouldn’t they?’ she asks the room at large. ‘You’re a total babe even if you have become a bit of a slob.’

  ‘A slob!’ I repeat, incredulous.

  ‘Did that hit a nerve?’ she asks with a slight wince.

  ‘Well, yes!’

  ‘Good,’ she adds in a firmer tone. ‘You are a bit of a mess. You used to be obsessed with makeup, and now you barely even moisturise.’

  ‘So you thought you’d ask a porn star to pity fuck me?’ I whisper-hiss. I might shout but for the fact that Max is downstairs, and I could do without his input.

  ‘How ridiculous,’ she retorts. ‘You’re being deliberately obtuse. You are gorgeous, makeup or not. I’m just worried you’ve lost a little joie de vivre. Your mojo.’

  ‘I know what joie de vivre means!’ Sort of. And I’m still not banging a porn star. ‘My God, this wedding is looking more and more attractive by the second.’

  ‘Good—perfect, in fact.’

  ‘Going to a wedding doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to anything else.’

  ‘Darling, think about it. If you visit a bad restaurant, it doesn’t put you off food forever. You just choose another.’ Jumping up from her stool, she pulls my reluctant form from the bed and leads me to the seat she just vacated. ‘What is it you Americans say? You need to get back on the horse that threw you?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, tonight, you’re getting a whole new ride.’

  I wonder if I was ever as brave as she is. Ever as sure about anything, I think, as I open my makeup bag when, leaning over my shoulder, Chas swipes the Charlotte Tilbury lipstick out of my hand.

  ‘Bond Girl,’ she murmurs, reading from the base of the golden tube. ‘There’s an idea. Let’s give you a pseudonym tonight . . . one with a Bond girl theme. You can be Holly Goodhead. That is, assuming you give good—’

  ‘Really?’ Through the mirror, I begin applying a perfectly winged stroke of liner. It’s strange how some women have problems applying the stuff, and others have problems keeping men.

  ‘If you’re not sure, I can call Sonia from today’s shoot. Did you see how she inhaled Nathan’s penis like a total champ?’

  ‘Nathan?’ I repeat. Chas nods. ‘The improbably named Nathan Cox?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Not that his name sounds anything like naked cocks or anything?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that. That’s rather clever.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m not sucking any cock, Nathan’s or otherwise.’

  ‘If you’re not happy being Holly Goodhead, you can always be Pussy Galore. Although that always makes me think of a woman with an overly large vagina.’

  ‘This is one of those times I wish you and I had a safe word,’ I reply, holding my head in my hands. ‘Boundaries, Chastity.’

  ‘Boundaries are meant to be tested,’ she replies, beginning to slick the berry shade of lipstick across her lips. ‘Or how else would we discover the true breadth of things we enjoy?’

  ‘Here, do it properly.’ I pass her the lip primer and brush, the tools of my old trade.

  ‘Ever the purist,’ Chas responds with a smile. ‘Is this the long-lasting stuff?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s really good,’ I begin, animated. The topic of makeup gets me a little excited—makeup is totally my spirit animal. ‘It doesn’t come off for hours.’

  ‘Unlike my aim for your knickers tonight.’

  My shoulders slump as I eye her through the mirror, a sudden thought adding to my torment. ‘But what happens if Robin does show up?’ I swear I’ve seen him a couple of times out on the street, not that I’d tell Chas. She already worries about me enough.

  ‘If he does, fuck him. Only don’t,’ she adds quickly. ‘Or I will junk punch you both. Of course, I’ll have to find his first,’ she adds with a sly wave of the pinkie finger on her right hand.

  I smile because, evil reasons. And she’s not exactly wrong.

  ‘But I don’t want to make a scene,’ I answer softly. Weddings might be an easy place to score, but not with your ex in the same room. I just couldn’t. And more to the point, I don’t really want to. ‘I don’t get why you’re so keen to go yourself.’

  She might have been born into the Chelsea set, but she so doesn’t ascribe to being seen in the right places or hanging out with the right crowd. Just the opposite—she’s the posh girl with the porn company!

  ‘I’m just a little excited, I suppose. It’s not every day you get invited to the wedding of someone famous; someone whose picture you had hanging on your bedroom wall.’

  ‘Yet Robin never impressed you.’

  ‘Ginger was never my thing.’ She scrunches up her nose. ‘Bust Out, however, was my favourite band, and Chad, their front man, was my high school secret crush.’

  ‘
Pity he’s getting married then, huh? You won’t get to kiss him for realz now.’ Chastity slides me a sly look, but she wouldn’t . . . would she?

  ‘I do think it’s acceptable, indeed appropriate, to kiss the groom congratulations.’

  ‘Depends on the use of tongues,’ I answer, askance.

  ‘I’ll keep it to a minimum,’ she teases. ‘Not too much depth unless you don’t do as you’re told, of course.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. A wedding hookup. I can do that.’ There isn’t a drop of sincerity in my tone. ‘Because I’m so responsive to blackmail. I could totally sue you for harassment in the workplace.’

  ‘I think you probably could, given what happened in Prague last week.’

  ‘I couldn’t sue you for that. Not for taking me to such a beautiful historic city. It’s not your fault that Sasha sneezed so hard she expelled a dildo from her body, and it nearly knocked me out.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ she says, taking a deep, shaky breath. ‘Don’t make me laugh. I’ll pee myself. I want you to know I risked life and limb and went into your room to find you a matching pair of shoes.’

  ‘Are you trying to say I’m a mess?’ Of course, she is. My life at the moment is one big mess.

  ‘You’re messy, not a mess. And if you’re not going to sue me for damages to your mental or physical health, or for harassment in the workplace, there’s only one thing left to do.’ Chastity picks up her phone as it pings. ‘And that’s find you a nice young man tonight, one to fill the void in your life. And by that, I mean your—’

  ‘Thank you!’ I yell, covering my ears. ‘That will do!’

  Chapter 4

  PAISLEY

  ‘Well, that would’ve gone worse,’ Chastity murmurs, taking her seat at the table next to me.

  ‘Aside from the vows,’ I agree. The bride’s twenty-minute vow soliloquy was a little much. Twenty minutes of declarations of love and promises to let him sleep on the left side of the bed forever even though that’s her favourite side. And to honour her promise to let him “shag” Scarlett Johansson should the fantasy become a possible reality because “even celebrities are allowed a celebrity shag”. And that’s not the dance kind as I came to find out after moving to London.

  ‘Such sacrifices in the name of love,’ I say with a wry grin, sliding my fingers around the dainty stem of my champagne glass.

  ‘Love is—’

  ‘A battlefield?’

  ‘I was going to say like anal.’

  I almost spray champagne over the pristine white tablecloth. ‘Chas, what the hell!’

  ‘Love is like anal,’ Chastity replies, taking a graceful sip from her own glass. ‘At least, like shooting anal. A total pain in the arse.’

  ‘Oh, Lord. What a conversation to have on a day like this.’

  ‘What? You think those two haven’t had a little buttseggs.’

  ‘Really? Today, you want to talk about this?’ My gaze follows hers to the top table and the gorgeous blonde in the princess dress. Her groom is a little older and a little more relaxed in his demeanour. As the front man of a once-successful band, something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s been king for a day.

  ‘I’d put money on them both being familiar. She looks like the type to grin and bear it, literally. And he looks like someone completely au-fait with a little bum play.’

  ‘I say again . . . on a day like this? In a place like this?’

  ‘Okay,’ she replies with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Fine. But just because we’re in Claridge’s.’

  Because the venue is beautiful. Perfect, in fact, and Claridge’s is, well, the epitome of London swank. Chandeliers sparkle, marble floors gleam, and Art Deco mirrors reflect the candlelight splendour of the place. And the food? If the hors d’oeuvres are any indication, it’s divine. And even though I’d prefer to be at home in my sweats, or better still, my ratty robe, the champagne has taken the edge off the day.

  We eat, we drink, and I pretend to be merry as we chat with our tablemates. Fake it until you make it, right? Fake it until it no longer hurts to remember you paid a deposit to secure your own wedding here.

  ‘You feeling okay?’ Chastity asks.

  Folding my lips in, I nod. I didn’t tell her our wedding planner had brought me here. That I’d imagined myself in a white dress, dancing around this very room. I assume she’s asking if I’m okay about Robin being here. Because, yes, he showed up. Just as I knew he would. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him since our split, and though I’ve always managed to be civil, seeing him always makes my stomach twist with the most painful ache. He’s also the reason I no longer listen to the radio.

  Hypocrite. Fraud. Unfaithful fuck!

  I shudder, tears pricking my eyelids. Sad tears. Angry tears. And everything in between. For the first time since Chastity suggested it, I almost want to screw some random man just as a way of clawing a little something back.

  Only, as I look around the ballroom, I think how futile this idea is. These are all his types; the lovey-darling showbiz crowd. People whose fondness for vodka breakfasts I used to paint away for morning TV.

  God, they’re a shitty, shallow bunch. Maybe I should’ve stayed off the champagne.

  ‘Hey, where’d you go?’ Chas’s forehead creases in a frown.

  ‘It’s just so sad that they spoiled a fantastic meal by following it with a trio of fruit desserts.’ I frown down at the rectangular plate in front of me. ‘Seriously, what’s wrong with people? Where’s the chocolate? The caramel?’

  ‘You’re an odd one,’ Chas says, pulling me in to her side.

  ‘It almost makes me wish Robin was sitting at our table. I would’ve had somewhere to shove this dragon fruit.’

  She starts to giggle. ‘But darling, they wouldn’t dare shove superstar Robin in the back of the room with us.’

  Yep, because we’re at that table. The one you see at every wedding with the mismatched inhabitants—distant relatives and oddballs.

  Her giggles stop abruptly, her gaze sliding over my shoulder. ‘I want to punch his pudding face so bad.’ In truth, it’s more of a glare than a look. ‘We need a whole barrel of dragon fruit because that skank is here now, too.’

  The champagne bubbles turn to acid on my tongue. Chas has met Tamara before, but she must be mistaken. ‘It must be someone else,’ I reply. ‘He’s an asshole, but he wouldn’t be so cruel . . . ’ Because this isn’t what grown-ups do.

  ‘If it’s not her,’ Chastity begins, ‘then Satan’s freed her doppelgänger dog from hell today. Doppelbanger, maybe. Ow, sweetie, I can’t feel my hand.’

  I release her fingers, and she shakes her hand repeatedly before snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waitress, swapping it for the empty one threatening to crack in my hand.

  ‘Don’t. Don’t you dare,’ she whispers fiercely. ‘If you cry, I’m going to really give you something to cry about.’

  ‘Okay, Mom.’ My words come out on a smiling half-sob as she repeats something every mother everywhere has said. Though for me, it would be something my grandma, long since passed, would’ve said. Don’t let them see you’re upset. Hold that head high. But these aren’t sad tears now. These are angry motherfuckers. Tears of fire and temper. ‘That absolute . . . lowlife, lying, stinking . . . bastard.’

  ‘Come on, you can do better than that,’ Chas says.

  ‘He’s a needle-dick butt fucker,’ I almost yell, causing the grandmotherly type on the other side of the table to mutter, ‘Well, really.’ Only in a much fancier accent. Well, riiiley! Thankfully, but for her and the even older gentleman sitting by her side—who appears to have nodded off—our other tablemates have vacated the space.

  ‘That was a good one, but I think I’ll still go and throat punch a bitch.’

  ‘No.’ I put my hand on her arm. ‘Not here.’ The bride and groom don’t need that kind of reminder of their day. I can’t help but glance behind me, and this time, I see the bitch’s smug-ugly face. And Robin’s arm looped
around the back of her chair.

  ‘That bitch,’ I breathe. ‘Taking my man is one thing, but she’s wearing my fucking dress!’

  ‘What?’ Chastity’s head whips around. ‘But she’s—oh my God!’ Her eyes sparkle with malicious glee as she sees what I mean. Tamara is wearing the exact same gown as I am. ‘Did you tell her what you were wearing?’

  ‘When? Before I found her vagina inhaling Robin? No, of course not. But his stylist did. She chose the thing and paid for it with Robin’s credit card.’

  I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. I’m here wearing a dress he paid for. In fact, during our relationship, he paid for most things. But we were partners—we shared a life. Sure, I was sharing less than him in the monetary stakes, but that was because I had less. I mean, he took care of the bills, but I still paid my way. We were getting married—it was supposed to be a partnership. And if he’d wanted to borrow my Shishido illuminator or my Chanel bronzer, I’d have no problem with that. I would’ve given him anything.

  Like my heart.

  And look how careless he was with that.

  ‘So little Miss Opens-Her-Legs was so jealous, she stole not only your man but also your dress. That is so low.’

  I shrug because that’s all I’ve got. What the hell am I doing? Two months ago, I was looking at honeymoons in Bora-fucking-Bora, and now I’m more annoyed that she’s stolen my dress? It just doesn’t make sense.

  ‘She can keep them—both of them. My only regret is that we’re in Claridge’s. If we were anywhere else, I’d be tempted to whip off the tablecloth to wear like a toga and stuff this piece of designer loveliness in the trash.’

  ‘How about some perfect payback instead?’

  ‘I could go for payback. As long as it’s not going to land us in jail for the night.’

  ‘I didn’t have anything illegal in mind. Immoral, maybe.’ She places her glass down. ‘And I wasn’t planning on doing anything. Well, other than molesting the best man.’

  ‘I thought the groom was your not-so-secret crush?’

  ‘My recently married crush. The best man, however, is single still.’

  ‘And a decade older than you are, at least.’