Page 4 of Dancing With Distraction

“I’m hungover. I can’t deal with his overbearing big brother act.” I sigh in exasperation. I know she’s right, and if I don’t go, I’ll be paying the consequences.

Marcus refers to himself as my older brother, but I don’t see him as such. My parents fostered him, so he isn’t a blood relative, and quite honestly, he’s an overbearing prick. We’ve never seen eye to eye, yet he still followed me here to London, with the intention to ‘keep a close eye on me’. More like suck the life out of me and control my entire world.

“He’s only doing it because he cares. Now, get your arse in the shower. I’ll get the kettle on and make you a coffee to help you sober up.” Bless my poor, deluded friend, thinking he’s a saint. If only she knew.

I rise off the bed, rolling my eyes. “Make it a strong one,” I throw over my shoulder as I disappear into my tiny bathroom.

Turning up the temperature of the shower, I step in and let the hot water wash away my hangover, making sure to stay under for a good ten minutes, until the water runs cold. I leave my bathroom wrapped in a fluffy towel and find Phoebe sitting on my bed, legs crossed, coffee in hand.

“Better?” she asks while blowing over the top of her coffee cup. Nodding, I take my own cup and have a sip. “Do you remember last night’s antics?”

I give her a wary look, wondering what the hell that could mean. “Yep,” I mutter before adding, “some of it.” I know I had far too much to drink, I always do, but I’ve got no broken bones, scrapes, or bruises, so that’s a good sign. Right?

“So, you don’t remember scratching up the shiny, posh Range Rover outside Kat’s with your heel?”

I grimace, knowing this is going to cost me and hoping to hell she’s winding me up. “Tell me I didn’t?” I groan and rub my face with my hand.

“Oh, you did, and you’ll never guess who it belonged to.” She almost sounds gleeful.

I vaguely remember standing outside Kat’s, running my mouth off to the Adonis from the VIP section. “The rude bastard from the VIP section? If it was, he had it coming to him.”

“That ‘rude bastard’, as you so eloquently put it,” she uses air quotes to emphasise my words, “was the owner of Kat’s.” I groan louder, screwing my eyes closed and wishing I could erase the night. “When his bodyguard brought us home last night, I did some googling to find out who he was. If you remember, he was hot, and I just knew he’d be someone important.”

“Oh, shit. This means we’re going to have to find a new bar to drink in. Wait, his bodyguard brought us home?” As usual, the end of my night is missing from my memory. I seem to have a habit of ‘forgetting’ after I’ve fucked up.

“Yes, and they have your details to pay for the damage.”

“Great,” I say sarcastically. “But let’s focus on one problem at a time. I’ve got to get the dress to the dry cleaners so I can get it back on the rack for Monday. And then I’ve got to deal with that nightmare brother of mine.”

After I’ve dropped the dress to be cleaned, I take a slow walk to meet Marcus at The Ivy. The autumn sun’s beating down on me, and I’m already overheating from my choice of clothes. I’d tossed on some jeans and an oversized jumper because he would have a fit if he saw me in anything that showcased my figure. And I’m sure my eyes will reveal last night’s inebriated state, so my sunglasses are firmly in place to avoid a lecture from him.

Not only is Marcus controlling and annoying, but he likes to portray that he comes from money—hence breakfast in a flashy place—when in reality, my parents only took him on to claim the extra money the government offered for fostering. They did anything they could to make extra cash. It wasn’t as if they actually cared what happened to any of us.

When he moved here from Milton Keynes, he insisted we meet once a week to ‘catch up’. And he always gets his own way, making it near impossible for me to get out these things.

As I walk into the restaurant, Marcus is already sitting at the table closest to the window. I’m silently relieved because at least I can keep my sunglasses on. When I get near, he stands and kisses me on the cheek. My skin crawls at the contact, and I inwardly shudder while forcing myself to smile as I rush to take a seat opposite him.

“Good night?” he asks, referring to my sunglasses.

“Yep.”

“Behaving?” There’s an undertone to his voice which has me on edge.

I pick up the menu in an attempt to divert his piercing eyes. “Always. What are we ordering?” I hardly recognise my own voice, it’s quiet and not like me.

His scowl fixes on me from across the table, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “When have you ever behaved yourself?” His tone is low and menacing, but I know he won’t cause a scene here. He continues, “If you can’t stick to my rules here in London, Victoria, I’ll drag you back home kicking and screaming.” He uses my full name as a way to get under my skin. He knows I hate it, which delights him.

I peer overtop my menu, meeting his glare. Rage vibrates through every fibre of my being as I nod. I’m biting my tongue so hard, I taste a metallic tinge of blood. I have no doubt he’ll follow through with his promise, just so he can take the power I’m slowly trying to claw back.

My gaze is drawn to the window as I catch a glimpse of a car pulling up on the street outside. The nasty scratch in the shiny paintwork is a stark reminder of what I did. This day really can’t get any worse.

I almost stop breathing when he steps out the car, holding the door open. He then takes the hand of the woman stepping out behind him. She’s stunning with her slim, tall frame and cascading black ringlets. She radiates power, just like him, and I find myself captivated, staring out the window as they make their way into The Ivy.

As they approach the door, he places his hand on the small of her back. It’s such a simple move but sexy and protective, and I almost wish it was me he was dining with.

I look away as they enter and hide behind my menu, hoping to God he doesn’t recognise me. Marcus focuses his attention to where mine just left, and he laughs in a sinister manner, the way he does when he’s about to pull rank. He shakes his head in annoyance and narrows his eyes. “I hope you aren’t eyeing up men, Victoria?” He leans over the table, and I can feel his breath on my face. “Don’t test me.”

I glance down and swallow the lump forming in my throat. His behaviour has always reminded me of the sort you’d expect from an overprotective father. Pah. I inwardly laugh. My father never protected me, even when I was too small to fend for myself, and he sure as hell wouldn’t now I’m not funding his gambling problem.

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