Jethro didn’t say a word. He stayed statuesque and proud in the evening darkness.
With every step I took, I expected him to call out or find some way to stop me. He didn’t seem like a man who accepted no for an answer. But only silence followed, pushing me faster toward the door.
The moment I stepped through the polished entry and into the hive of heat and voices, I plucked my phone from my cleavage. There was one person in particular I wanted to speak to. A stranger I’d never heard or seen. My father had allowed me one night of freedom. I didn’t want it with Jethro, but I did want it with someone else. I felt like Cinderella waiting for the clock to strike midnight.
Maybe Kite lived close by? His number prefix said he dwelled in the United Kingdom. Like me. It wasn’t a long flight to get back home.
I’d lived in London all my life, moving from the outskirts to downtown five years ago. The Weaver empire had always been based in London—right from conception. And probably always would be—if business continued to boom.
I opened a message to Kite007.
Needle&Thread: Sorry I didn’t reply before, I was busy cementing my career and ensuring I have a lifetime of servitude and sewing.
I sighed, staring at the words. They sounded whiny and ungrateful, which I wasn’t. Plus, the unsaid rule between us was no personal information. I didn’t know what he did for a living or his real name or favourite food. Sex messaging was a void with no depth.
Which shows how lonely you are.
I scowled, deleting what I’d typed. I wasn’t lonely. I had the best family and support in the world. I was just…tired. Maybe I should book a holiday somewhere hot? Somewhere where I can’t sew or design or get sucked back into work. It sounded great—but one problem. I didn’t want to be the loner around a pool on some tropical island. I didn’t want to eat on my own by candlelight on the beach.
Take Vaughn.
I smiled. People already whispered that our relationship was too close. Going on an island getaway? That would definitely get the gossip columns buzzing.
My heart panged for the only relationship I had and how shallow it was. There was so much I wanted to say:
I want to meet you.
Please, can we skip the innuendoes and just talk?
I’m at the Nila Coal and Fire Exclusive in the heart of Milan. I want to go for a drink with you.
I want to get to know you.
I couldn’t type any of that as it was against the rules. The unsaid rules hinted at by Kite. No personal details. No over-sharing. No information of any kind but sex. Damn rules. Damn life. Damn men.
The sharp smell of champagne and lull of laughter cocooned me; my fingers flew over the screen.
Needle&Thread: All I can think about is you and your wandering hand. I’m mad at you for coming without me, but not mad because you came while thinking of me. I’ve had a long night and plan on releasing my tension the moment I’m alone.
A cynical smile twitched my lips. Kite would think I meant self-pleasuring. I really meant hitting the treadmill and running until my legs turned to jelly.
My phone came alive in my hands, jolting my attention to the glowing screen.
Kite007: Me and my wandering hand missed you. By a long night I’ll take it you mean on your knees servicing God in prayer. (let a man indulge in the dirty thought) Message me when you’re alone. I can help with your tension.
I looked up. Couples mingled; groups gathered. Fashion was the celebrated highlight of the evening with guests dressing in their absolute best. But it was smiles and genuine happiness that made the evening glow. I missed being happy. I hadn’t laughed or smiled properly since Mum left. I could never understand how she could love us as much as she claimed, then switch off her heart…just like that.
When she’d returned from her disappearance to file for divorce from my father, she’d ruined him. Completely and utterly stole his heart and shot it to pieces on the lobby floor.
I remembered that day. I remembered thinking she’d returned with such a pretty necklace. So sparkly, it’d blinded me when she blew kisses as she walked out the door the final time.
Ever since that day, I’d been afraid of love. Afraid of the pain it could cause and how easily something so pure could turn into something so filthy.
Anger filled me. Anger I rarely let myself indulge in. I would never admit the pain my mother caused, but it was the driving force behind my workaholic nature. It was the catalyst of my life that turned me into the woman I was.
Alone. Afraid. Angry. So damn angry.
Sliding my fingers across the keypad, I sent an impulsive message.