Page 35 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Excuse me, I need to wash my hands,” I tell Marvin and slip through the crowd toward the toilet. As I’m washing my hands, I realise that Clayton was no longer at the bar. No doubt he’s off somewhere growing his ego a little more.
This place is like a damn maze, and I must take a wrong turn on the way back to the dining room as I end up in a corridor I don’t recognise and is a dead end. I’ve just turned around to go back the way I came when a groan from the room behind me catches my attention.
I backtrack on tiptoes so my heels don’t click across the floor, but I have a feeling whoever groaned isn’t concerned about anything other than whatever is going on in the room.
The door is slightly open, and I peek through the hinge gap. A large male, his trousers round his ankles, is slamming into a woman from behind as she is pinned down over a desk, her dress hoisted up and over the back of her.
I recognise her, the rainbow-coloured sequin covered dress is a dead giveaway, but I don’t know who the…yes, I fucking do. Realisation dawns as he speaks.
“That’s it, bitch, take my cock like the whore you are,” Clayton snarls, ramming into the woman.
I’ve seen enough, and it’s not anything I didn’t already know about my future husband. Shame on me for feeling relieved it’s her and not me. I make it back to the dining hall, avoiding Marvin as his eyes follow me around the outskirts of the room while praying that once Clayton has finished screwing the woman in the sequin dress we can go home.
Five minutes later and after doing a second circuit of the room to avoid Marvin, Clayton strolls back in, smoothing back his hair and straightening his tie, shamelessly followed by the woman he just fucked. Several heads turn to look at them before turning their gazes on me, knowing exactly what’s just happened. The sympathetic and pitying stares ratchet up my foul mood.
Clayton’s eyes find me, and I can tell the look he must see on my face isn’t one of a happy fiancée. He raises his chin in pride as he marches toward me, swiping a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. By the time he reaches me the glass is empty, discarded on a nearby table, and he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me to him.
He leans in for a kiss, but I turn my head a fraction, enough he knows it was intentional.
“Do not kiss me. You smell like your whore,” I snarl, snapping my gaze to the woman in question as she rejoins her friends, smiling and laughing as though everything is just fucking perfect.
“You do not want to show me up, Veronica,” he warns through a fake smile. “Now, kiss me like a good fiancée and make it believable.”
His lips meet mine, and I squeeze my lips tight, adamant I’m not going to kiss him back, but he adjusts his hand around my waist, moving it up over my ribs, then he presses the heel of his hand into the bruise there. His knowledge of my injuries can only have come from my father himself. And my heart splinters a little at the thought of him gleefully boasting to Clayton.
My lips part on a cry, which he smothers with his mouth, thrusting his tongue inside. He maintains the painful pressure until he’s had his fill, then he breaks the kiss.
“Smile, my future wife. I’m sure you don’t want word to get back to your father that you were less than favourable to me in front of all his friends and business associates.”
I do as he says, forcing a half smile half grimace on my face as he turns us, keeping his arm around my waist, pressing me to his side. He keeps me stuck to his side like this through thirty minutes of bullshit chatter before finally announcing to Marvin it’s time for us to leave.
When we reach Clayton’s car, the woman in the sequin dress is there, leaning against the car.
You have got to be fucking joking!
My lip curls, nostrils flaring as she dismisses me completely and steps straight up to Clayton, running her nails down the front of his chest.
“I was hoping for a repeat performance, baby,” she drawls, grabbing his tie and pulling him down to meet her lips.
He doesn’t deny her, even pushing her back against the car to really make his point. And despite the fact I want nothing to do with the guy, she’d be welcome to him if I had any choice in the matter, I find myself furious at this blatant and disrespectful display.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got a handful of her hair and I’m dragging her sideways, away from Clayton. He releases her, but I don’t. Instead, I continue dragging her by her hair behind me as she screams. I finally let her go once I reach the steps of the Kerr’s house.
“Take your used up pussy back inside and find some other poor, desperate fool to fuck.” I spin and storm back to a smiling Clayton.
I shove him against the car, wiping the smile right off his face. “I don’t want to marry you, but if I have to put up with this sham of a marriage, then the least you can do is screw your whores without announcing it to the whole fucking city.”
He’s momentarily shocked by my actions, but he quickly loses the wide-eyed look, slipping into an amused laugh. “Oh, Veronica, I never realised just how funny you were. And while I appreciate your fiery spirit…” he reaches out a hand for me, but I back away from him. He tilts his head, questioning the move, so when he reaches for me a second time, I decide it would be in my interests—in the interest of not going home with any more bruises—to allow him to take a hold of my hand. He yanks me forward, twisting my wrist, which gives an audible crack, and causing me to wince. “Better. As I was saying, I like your fiery spirit, but I’m going to have to break it. How much depends on how quickly you learn not to piss me off.” He growls the last part, his lip curling up in a snarl.
I turn my face, avoiding looking at him, as he crowds me in against the car.
“I can get behind not flaunting my little extramarital affairs”—a spark of hope lights inside me only to be extinguished with Clayton’s next breath—“but what are you going to give me in return, huh? You know to sweeten the deal.” He lowers his head to the crease of my neck, kissing up to my jaw, as I shake my head.
“No, no fucking way, Clayton. I might have to marry you, and I can live with that, but I do not have to fuck you. No!”
He chuckles, releasing me. “Get in the fucking car, Veronica,” he demands, striding around to the driver’s side.
I open the passenger door and join him inside the car. He says nothing to me until we pull up outside my father’s house, and I exit the car.
