Page 22 of Forbidden Until Midnight

‘Let me go,’ she spat.

‘You’re just playing hard to get,’ he accused, his breath hot against her already feverish skin.

Eleanor twisted in his embrace and slapped him hard, and for a second what she saw in his eyes made her blood freeze. And then, before she could feel scared, she was hit by a wave of nausea and she retched. Tony’s expression turned from fury to disgust as he pushed her away and all Eleanor could think was that she needed to get to the bathroom before she threw up.

She pushed people out of the way as she lurched awkwardly away from the ballroom and towards the bathrooms she had seen in the corridor. Shoving open the door, she went straight to the sink and ran the cold water tap. Drinking straight from the stream of water, she swallowed, hoping that it would soothe her churning stomach.

After an eternity the feeling passed and she thrust her hand in the water before pressing the cool dampness against her face and skin, no longer caring about her make-up or anything other than making it stop.

She just wanted it all to stop.

Struck by a wave of loneliness, she sobbed and careened into the cubicle, flicking the lock on the door and sinking to the cool tiles of the thankfully clean floor.

‘You’re just playing hard to get.’

‘No one can know.’

‘I let a bastard into my family.’

‘You’ll never see Frederick ever again.’

Round and round the words went, spinning in waves of nausea and the sickly-sweet concoction of alcohol in her stomach. She just wanted to go to sleep. Perhaps then she might never wake up.

Santo stalked towards the bathroom.

‘She’s fine, Santo. Leave her.’

Santo didn’t spare Marie-Laure a backward glance. Anyone in their right mind would have been able to see that Eleanor Carson was as far from fine as was humanly possible.

He’d let his own ego get in the way of what he was supposed to do, which was to keep an eye on her. Self-recrimination was a familiar stick to beat himself with, but he’d never thought he’d have to feel it with regard to her.

He went to knock on the door when a woman emerged from the bathrooms, just able to stop herself in time before she’d walked smack-bang into him.

‘Is there anyone other than Eleanor Carson in there?’ he demanded.

The woman shook her head quickly and ducked away from him to scurry off down the corridor.

Santo pushed the door open and found the bathroom empty. Decked out in the style of the late eighteen-hundreds, five sinks in front of five mirrors lined one side of the room and five bathroom stalls the other. Powder pink, pastel blue and gold mouldings around the room suited the pavilion’s overall design but did nothing but irritate Santo’s alert senses.

‘Eleanor,’ he growled.

No response.

‘I know you’re in here, I saw you come in.’

Still no response.

‘If you don’t let me know that you’re okay I’ll have to assume that you’ve drunk yourself into such a stupor, you’ve passed out and I will start kicking down doors,’ he warned.

‘Gowwaay...’finally came a rather slurred reply.

‘No can do, Princess.’

‘Jussst leave me alooone...’

Merda. How could her friends let her get like this? And then he remembered what kind of friends they were and felt the resentment build in him again.

‘Open the door, Eleanor,’ he commanded. ‘Now,’ he warned, pulse pounding until he heard the click of the lock.

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