Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All #1) - Alexis Hall Page 0,114

happened.”

“I was there.”

Now a pause. Followed by Alain’s most reasonable tone, “Clearly this evening hasn’t gone the way any of us intended. Why don’t you come downstairs and we’ll try again?”

“By ‘try again,’ you mean try to get me into bed with Liv again, don’t you?”

“I mean, try to enjoy each other’s company and see what happens. You’re many things, Rosaline-um-Palmer, but you’re not a prude.”

It was very much the wrong moment for him to “Rosaline-um-Palmer” her. Cute and, now she thought about it, slightly demeaning nicknames did not go down well when you’d freaked someone out enough that they were hiding from you in your bathroom. Because actually she hadn’t got herself into this situation. Alain had put her in this situation. Deliberately. “What the absolute fuck? Are you seriously trying to convince me that I should prove that I’m not sexually repressed by screwing your straight ex?”

“Liv isn’t certain she’s straight and I think it’s important to respect that.”

“Oh my God. You never stop, do you?”

He rattled the door handle, slightly harder now. “I don’t understand what’s got into you tonight. You’ve been very open about the fact you’re attracted to women, you’ve obviously lived rather recklessly, and we’ve done nothing to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not telling me you were inviting your ex made me uncomfortable. Plying us both with alcohol made me uncomfortable. All your shitty little comments made me uncomfortable.” She was running out of breath quicker than she was running out of grievances. “Talking about my body with your friend made me uncomfortable. Watching me get assaulted like it was a late-night film on Channel 5 made me uncomfortable. And standing outside the bathroom where I have locked myself for good reasons acting like you’re the one who’s been hurt doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It makes me fucking furious.”

There was a long silence.

“Self-righteousness doesn’t suit you, Rosaline,” he said finally.

It was really important that she stayed angry so she didn’t cry. “I’d like to say this . . . this . . . entitled predator deal you’ve got going on doesn’t suit you either. But actually, I’m starting to think it’s just who you are.”

“I’m going to give you some space now,” he told her through the door. His voice wasn’t cold exactly, but it was calm—the kind of calm she tried when Amelie was throwing a tantrum and refusing to eat her peas or do her homework. “Perhaps when you’ve settled down we can have a proper conversation.”

This was pointless. This was completely pointless. Worse, it was beginning to feel like arguing with her father. There was that same refusal to acknowledge any reality outside of his own narrow perceptions. “I want to go home,” she said.

“That’s all very well, but none of us are in a fit state to drive and the trains have stopped running so—when you’re ready—you might as well come out of the bathroom, apologise to Liv, and make the best of things.”

The idea that he thought Rosaline was the one who should be apologising was enough to make her want to strangle him with the hand towel. But she knew this game. She’d been playing it for years. If she stayed quiet, it meant she was admitting defeat; if she got angry, it meant she was being irrational. All she could do was hang on to what she knew and stop trying to talk to somebody who had clearly never been listening. “I don’t trust you. I’m not coming out of the bathroom.”

“You can’t stay in there the whole night.”

“Watch me.”

“Fine.” Another sigh. “I’ll be downstairs with Liv when you come to your senses.”

What Alain was missing here was that she’d already come to her senses. Unfortunately, that had left her stuck in a bathroom, in the Venice of the Fucking Cotswolds, three walls and a flight of stairs away from a bicurious drunk woman and an arsehole.

Now Alain had gone, there was nobody for Rosaline to be angry at, and that left a lot more space to be scared. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t force her to do anything—not in the directly physical sense—but she was also well aware that alcohol, isolation, and social pressure could get you a long way. Especially when you were convinced you were a good person who was doing nothing wrong.

Which left her with one option and that was to get the fuck out of there. Except when the person you spent most of your time with was eight it really shortened your