Page 31 of Hollywood Games
‘Yourwife, Mr Bauer?’ asked Barbara.
‘Yeah, at least twice. When I saw her on Instagram, I knew it. And I think Zoe knew it too. That’s why she used the hashtag Braveheart 2. She was calling to me. The connection is just...’ Brad brought his fists together, then broke them apart. ‘It’s cosmic, baby. That’s why Kirsten is going to look exactly like her in B2. Zoe and I have been married across multiple lives.’
‘Well, in this life she’s marrying me,’ said Rory.
Crystal clapped with excitement and Brad raised a glass. ‘Congrats, man, that’s awesome! When’s the big day?’
‘This August. We’re going for a summer wedding,’ replied Rory. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoe grab her knife. It appeared murder was going to happen, but Brad was not going to be the victim. This time Rory had quicker reflexes than she did. He reached his right arm around her, effortlessly removed the knife, and locked her hand to the tablecloth, whilst simultaneously securing her other one so she couldn’t move a muscle. To Brad and Crystal, it must have seemed as though she was held in a loving embrace.
‘We should have a toast!’ said Brad excitedly, raising his glass. ‘To Lord Kinloch and Zoe.’
For Rory, the rest of the meal was easier. Crystal and Brad were happily drunk, flying high courtesy of aristocratic air, not noticing both engines had failed and the wings had fallen off. His mother was still outwardly the same but had lost her naturalness and good humour. Zoe was silent. At half eight, Bentley leaned in to tell Brad that Barry was ready to take him and Crystal back to Inverness. Brad thanked Barbara profusely and she led them to the front courtyard where Barry was waiting with the car. Brad kissed her hand and Crystal curtsied again. Rory stood with his left arm around Zoe, his right extended towards Brad, his body language informing Brad in no uncertain terms that no physical contact with his fia— girlfriend was going to take place.
Rory, Zoe and Barbara stood at the top of the steps, waving goodbye until the car turned onto the street, at which point Zoe shrugged off Rory.
‘I’ll see myself out the back,’ she said, venom in her voice, before looking at his mother. ‘Barbara,’ she said curtly. She walked towards the castle and Rory went to follow. She spun on her heel and jabbed him in the chest. ‘Do not follow me.’ She opened her mouth as if to say more, then glanced towards his mother and walked off without another word, slamming the front door.
‘You know,’ said Barbara thoughtfully. ‘I think I might have been wrong.’
‘About what exactly?’ Rory asked, frustration firing through him.
‘You don’t need any of my help to get rid of her. You’re doing a splendid job all on your own.’
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16
Rory followed Zoe back through the castle, icy feelings of dread and guilt in his veins. Now Brad had left, the primeval fog of bestial anger was clearing from his limbic system, revealing the scorched landscape he’d created. He passed through the great hall and paused in the semi-darkness, looking up at the portraits of his parents, his mother beautiful and regal, his father powerful and arrogant, sneering down at him in the half-light. A chill of self-realisation shot through him and he came to a stop, his legs no longer wanting to move. He’d spent most of his life running away from his father, hating him, vowing never to be like him. But now the portrait on the wall was a mirror. He’d behaved exactly like his dad, creating a picture in his mind of how his world should look, then bullying and forcing everyone around him into the frame, with no regard for their opinions, thoughts or feelings.
In his mind, he was already married to Zoe. It was a fact as immutable as day following night. But he realised with an audible groan that he had taken his marriage proposal so far back in time it predated the dinosaurs. His ancestors would have treated marriage as an alliance between families, the discussion and decision made between men. He hadn’t even bothered with that. He thought back to his proposal to Lucy. She’d practically written a step-by-step guide. It involved flowers, champagne, a sunset (no cloud cover), the day (Saturday), what he would wear (full Highland dress and no work boots), a ring she had already picked out, and of course being down on one knee. Zoe hadn’t asked for anything and he’d presented her with a fait accompli. In front of people she hardly knew, and his mother who openly despised her. He felt sick to his stomach. What had he done? How was he ever going to fix this catastrophic fuckup? He owed her everything, and he’d behaved like a complete dick. Again.
He let out a yell of frustration that echoed around the room, the sounds coming back to him like eerie taunting. He had to do something, and quickly. He walked out of the hall. Maybe he could catch her before she left, talk to her, apologise, then try for an actual proposal. As he pushed open the door to the back courtyard, he saw she’d gone. He hung his head. He’d do as she asked and leave her for the night. Maybe in the morning she might have calmed down a bit.
By the next morning,Zoe’s anger had reached biblical proportions. She’d slept like the dead but then woke in confusion, with something hunky, hot and horny missing from the bed. As her brain reassembled itself, the events of the night before dripped into her consciousness like molten lead, coalescing into heavy lumps in her heart and stomach. She’d had many fantasies about being married to Rory, yet not a single one of them had involved an arrogant non-proposal in front of his mother. If this was what marriage to him promised, she wanted no part of it. She lay looking at the inside of the roof, flipping between rage, hurt and confusion. Where had her loving, thoughtful, romantic boyfriend gone? She didn’t recognise or want to be with the man from yesterday. And as for his bloody mother… She let out a cry of fury and sat up in bed. He hadn’t come after her even though she’d wanted him to. She needed to talk to someone. Someone who understood Rory and would also unquestioningly take her side. She needed to see Fiona.
She found her at the small house she lived in with Duncan when he wasn’t working offshore on the oil rigs. Fiona took one look at her, put Liam into his buggy and called her husband to take him out. She then ushered Zoe into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘Okay, what’s the stupid big bastard done now then?’
‘How do you know it’s to do with him?’ asked Zoe.
‘It’s either him or his mum, and you don’t care enough about her to be this upset.’
Zoe let out a sigh and put her elbows on the kitchen table, sinking her head into her hands. ‘Oh, Fi, you’re not going to believe this. Brad showed up yesterday to see the work we’ve been doing, and Rory started acting like a bloody ape. He dressed like the lord of the manor, snogged my face off in front of him, then told him we’re getting married in August.’
Zoe filled her friend in on everything that had happened, and Fiona laughed incredulously. ‘Oh my god, Zo! I take it he didn’t actually propose to you beforehand?’ Zoe gave her friend a pointed look. ‘Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with him? Love, I’m so sorry, that’s a really shitty thing to do.’
‘I’ve been thinking the exact same thing.’
The kettle came to the boil and Fiona made her a cup of tea, putting it down in front of her with a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘Well, at least you know his intentions. What did you say?’
‘As soon as Brad left, I told him not to follow me and stormed off,’ she replied, taking a biscuit. ‘The thing is, I love him, Fi, and I’ve imagined us being together forever. But what if I don’t really know him? What if this is what marriage would be like? And having to live with his mother? I can’t do it, I just can’t.’
Fiona gave Zoe’s hand a squeeze. ‘Listen, right now he is beating himself up good and proper and trying to think of a way to fix this. He’s acting like this because he’s scared stiff you’ll decide Brad Bauer’s a better bet than him.’
‘But I’m not interested in Brad!’
Fiona sighed. ‘I know, love, but deep down, Rory can’t believe you’d pick him over Brad. Lucy left him for less and I bet she wasn’t a patch on you. If you left, he’d lose his mind.’
‘At least his mother liked Lucy. She looks at me as if I’m something the cat’s just sicked up.’
