Page 50 of Crush

Nine

Amber

Once dinner had been announced, guests gradually filtered into the marquee to check the seating plan. I had arranged for a couple of waitresses to serve each guest a fresh drink for my father’s speech, and the crates of iced vintage champagne were soon emptied.

Once the starter was served, I allowed myself to relax. The waiting staff were so organised that it was like a military exercise. Each table was served quickly to ensure all guests could begin their dishes together while they were still hot.

I hadn’t worried about not having enough seats, as Martin held the guest list and had been placed on the door with strict instructions.

If your name’s not down, you’re not coming in.

At my eighteenth birthday party, a few gate-crashers had arrived and the caterers had struggled to accommodate them all. Friends of friends who hadn’t been invited turned up and it had beencompletechaos. Especially when Paul Cooper, a boy I used to go to school with started doing doughnuts around our yard in his father’s Maserati. He’d caused over five grand’s worth of damage to the fountain which used to sit in the middle of our driveway. That had also been the end of my wild child years.

I was sitting at a table with my father, my Uncle Richard (dad’s brother), some of their childhood friends and my three cousins, Susie, Piper, and Clark. Most of my family lived in the States and were unable to attend.

Daddy’s speech had gone well although I’d turned beetroot red as he had asked me to stand so everyone could applaud my efforts in organising the party.

The murmurs and laughter of delighted guests rose above the live music playing discreetly in the background.

My eyes scanned the sea of faces before me. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves. I had hired a George Michael tribute singer for the disco which would take place after coffee. His team had already set his equipment up and he would replace the string quartet who were currently playing softly on stage.

I felt a twinge of annoyance toward Mia for blowing me off as I smiled at the stranger sitting in her place beside me. She had switched her place card with one of my father’s associates. A man I had never met previously who had to be pushing ninety. He’d introduced himself as Monty Pritchard and boy could he talk.

Mia had manufactured her move to the table I had placed Max and his friend Luca on; the minx. From where I was, they appeared to be having a great time and were the loudest table in the tent. I felt a twinge of envy that she could adapt so easily to any situation she found herself in and was a natural crowd-pleaser.

My skin prickled as I watched Max chatting to Molly Singleton, his lazy grin grating on my last nerve. As his lips moved, I remembered how amazingly sinful they had felt on mine. Firm and greedy with just the right amount of pressure. The way his tongue had taken control, so strong and determined. Hot as fuck. Thank goodness I was sitting down as my legs started feeling weak at those lustful thoughts. I needed to have a serious talk with my body. I would not allow Max Hunter and his badass attitude to become the second biggest mistake of my life.

I inhaled deeply, dragging air in my lungs as I tried to establish why I was so jealous of the scene before me.Max and Molly, wow, that had a nice ring to it,unfortunately.

I suddenly lost my appetite as I watched the two guests flirting with each other. Molly was a model; tall and slim with stunning features which sat under a halo of golden hair that fell to her waist. Sitting next to Max, I could see that her height wasn’t far off his so she had to be well over six feet tall. What was Max,six four? Molly was also a sure thing and so Max wouldn’t have to work for it if he was planning on screwing someone in our house. Rumour had it that Molly’s vagina was so wide you could park a car in there. She was nice though as a person and not vain at all. She also came from a good family and had sadly lost a parent, something I could relate to.

I had only invited her so her mother had a plus one to come to the party. Andrea Singleton was also a widower and was one of the women I had tried to set my father up with over the past few months. He’d been on his own for too long now. It was annoying that Andrea now seemed to be enjoying the company of Simon Longwood, one of my father’s legal team. Simon was around ten years younger than Dad. He was also good-looking and in top shape. The man even had a dimple on his chin. My poor old dad didn’t stand a chance against a man who looked like that. My father was short and skinny and his weathered face an example of a man who had worked himself to the bone. In a nutshell, Jonny let himself go when his wife died.

My nerves shifted restlessly and before dear old Monty could start to tell me any more about his ingrowing toenail, I excused myself and went to check on the band.

Everything had gone to plan so why did I feel so edgy? It was almost like the build-up to the party had kept my nerves in check but now everything was done, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

As the band started to sound check to Careless Whisper and the guests cheered, I walked across the dance floor, out of the marquee and up towards the house. Caterers were in and out of the kitchen and the chefs still looked harassed even though coffee was being served. A few guests were back at the bar on the patio. The area was still full of action and on autopilot, I moved down the corridor and pushed the door to my father’s study open. I needed a breather from all those heavily scented bodies and a timeout to get a grip. The emotionsflowing through me were difficult to describe and I knew I needed to see the image of my mother. She always kept me grounded and calm.

Dad’s study was a large room and extremely masculine with oak panelling on the walls, a desk at one end and two leather Chesterfield chairs sitting in front of a large open fireplace. Books lined the walls and it always smelt musky in there and looked like it needed dusting.

I walked across the thick carpet and looked above the mantle of the unlit fireplace. In the winter, Daddy would have the thing roaring and we would sit and reminisce about Mummy.

The only feminine thing in the room was the painting of my mother. It was the same as the print which hung in the hallway of our house but this one was the original and painted with oils.

The painting had taken several sittings, I remember hiding behind the curtains in the stateroom when the artist was working. I found it fascinating how he had brought my mother’s stunning face to life on that canvas.

“She was beautiful,” Max’s voice suddenly sounded from behind me. I turned my head to the side to acknowledge his presence. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him being in there.

“Thank you,” I replied in a small voice. That thrum of pain which was always there stirred in my chest. If he said anything inappropriate with my mother looking down on us, I would probably have him escorted off the estate.

I could feel Max’s masculine aura and strength as he came closer and stood beside me. He filled the room without even saying much. From my periphery, I saw his focus was also on the grand painting.

“I bet she was a good mom,” he added softly, turning towards me.

I twisted my shoulders and pulled my gaze away from the painting.

“The best,” I replied, lifting my chin, and looking up into his perfect face. He must have followed me to make amends for earlier which surprised me. He’dnever attempted to apologise for his behaviour in the past. I took the olive branch like the bigger person I was.

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