Page 12 of Dancing With Distraction

He grabs my wrist tightly, and it’s so quick, I don’t have time to react. He snatches the glass from my hand and throws it across the room. It’s been a while since he got like this and it’s a stark reminder of how he can switch so easily. I visibly shrink back, trying to put more space between us. My small bedsit begins to feel even smaller as my breathing becomes tighter with panic.

“I always did like your feisty side, Victoria, but don’t push my buttons,” he warns, releasing my wrist and grabbing my face in a vice-like grip, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Why don’t we go see our little sister, Poppy? Some time away is just what you need.” It’s a veiled threat, one he often uses when he feels his control is slipping. Poppy is my younger sister, and he knows I’ll do anything to protect her.

Marcus laughs, releasing his grasp. He has me exactly where he wants me, back in my box like the scared little girl he prefers. I feel bile at the back of my throat and sickness swirling in my stomach. Tears that I’ve held at bay throughout our exchange begin to flow freely, and I hate he can see them.

The moment is broken when Phoebe comes rushing into my bedsit. She must have heard the commotion, as the building is old and the walls are paper thin. She stops when she sees the scene before her and glances at my tear-stained face in confusion. She wouldn’t understand the depth of my situation with Marcus because she sees the good in everyone, and I could never taint her mind with the shit he’s capable of.

I inhale sharply, breaking the silence, and slide off the kitchen worktop. Marcus steps to the side, allowing me to squeeze past him, and I go to the bathroom to compose myself. I hate they were witness to my weakness, especially because I’m always so carefree in front of Phoebe.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, disgusted with the person staring back. Slamming my fist through my reflection, the glass shatters and falls into the sink. I stare at the sharp edges, the glint of the glass mocking me, then I shake my head. “Pull yourself together, Tori,” I whisper to my broken reflection.

When I go back into the living room, Marcus is laughing with my best friend like nothing happened. What a narcissistic prick.

“I was just telling Phoebe how you had a rough day at work and lost your temper with the wine glass.” He glares at me, waiting for me to agree to his lie. If I don’t, this whole situation will spiral out of control and Phoebe will be exposed to more of the shitshow that is my life. So, I nod and turn my back, busying myself with straightening my bedsheets.

Phoebe comes up behind me and places her hand on my shoulder. I give her a weak smile. “I’m okay,” I almost whisper, and she returns the smile.

“Phoebe, I think we should leave her to calm down. Want me to walk you out?” asks Marcus, already pulling the door open. I know exactly what he’s doing—he doesn’t want her to stay here for me to spill my guts while I’m upset. He likes to isolate me, painting me to be some sort of control freak or crazy bitch.

I give her a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

Much to my relief, they both leave, chatting away as if nothing happened. I stare longingly at the broken wine glass, feeling the overwhelming need to distract myself from the aftermath of Marcus’s erratic behaviour.

The following day, I wait on the kerbside for Phoebe to pick me up. She’d texted me earlier saying she’d give me a ride home. It was a nice surprise and means I don’t have to make the journey home on a stuffy bus. I’m always subjected to someone’s life story for the duration of my journey while I stare blankly out the steamed-up windows, dreaming of cracking open that cold bottle of wine waiting for me in the fridge. I hate the work commute.

Phoebe pulls up, and I get in the passenger seat. She looks at me curiously, more than likely assessing my mental state after Marcus would have led her to believe I was some deranged lunatic.

I give her the biggest smile, wanting her to forget everything from last night. “Thanks, Phoebe, you’re a bloody legend,” I say as I buckle my seatbelt.

“You okay?” she asks cautiously.

“Yep,” I pop the P for good measure, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Pulling out onto the road, she takes her attention from me and focuses on the busy traffic. “No reason,” she eventually says, “but your brother’s concerned about you, Tori.”

I roll my eyes. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?” Not only is he using my own family against me, but he’s now twisting my friends. She looks sheepish but doesn’t reply, meaning it’s exactly as I suspected. I decide to change the subject. “Seeing as I have you here, could we take a detour?” I pull out my purse, where I’d carefully placed Dmitry’s business card after he handed it over while purchasing his suits. I couldn’t help myself—the pull to learn more about this mysterious man who gets me flustered every time I see him is becoming too hard to ignore, especially after his stern warning for me to stay away. “Just a little recon mission,” I add while wiggling my eyebrows and flashing his shiny embossed business card under her nose.

“No way,” she says firmly, shaking her head but laughing at my little antics.

“You fucking owe me,” I push. “You’re spying on me for my brother,” I remind her. “You have to come because you’ll make sure I stay out of trouble. And besides, don’t you want to know more about him?”

She blushes, and I can see that she’s going to give in. “Fine, but only a drive-by, Tori. And only because I’m curious too.”

I give a triumphant smile before telling her in a more serious tone, “Be careful around Marcus, Phoebs.” I leave that sentence hanging between us before adding, “Dmitry turned up at Harrods yesterday.”

Her head whips in my direction and she arches her brow. “And?” she presses.

I laugh, noting she’s definitely interested now, and the tension surrounding any talk of Marcus dissipates. “He requested for me personally and ordered Giorgio Armani suits, one in every colour. Phoebe, they’re almost five grand each.” I glance out the window, remembering how he switched so quickly. “Then he got really weird and became an arrogant wanker again.” I close my eyes and recall his body touching mine and the reaction it provoked inside me. That never happens . . . ever.

She slows on a street lined with huge houses and the whole area screams rich. She pulls up outside a huge manor with cast iron gates adorning the front and a high wall which looks as if it circles the entire property. A line of trees conceals part of the view from the road, so I get out the car.

“Tori, get back in the car,” Phoebe hisses out the window. I look back over my shoulder with a mischievous grin as I approach the gates. She looks ready to combust. “Tori, I’m serious.”

I laugh at the panic in her voice. “So am I. Relax, I just want to see what’s behind the big gates.”

Gripping the cold metal in my hands, I peer through. The house is set far back with a long, winding driveway. I smile to myself as an idea creeps into my mind, and before I know it, I’m trying to haul myself up to scale the gates. Suddenly, the shrieking of an alarm sounds. Who the hell alarms a gate in one of the most prestigious areas of London?

I try to step back but realise my foot is stuck between the iron detailing. I glance up to see men in suits running towards the gate.

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