Blazed(48)

Esme strode across the dance-floor between us, wanting me to answer the question I knew her eyes were screaming. Did she accept the ring? She fist-pumped the air when I made my barely discernible nod, and closed the distance between us, complimenting Emmeline on how beautiful she looked.

"Mind if I pull her away, Blaze?" I might have objected if Emmeline hadn't look so pleased to see her. As her only female friend, Esme was the only person who could really relate and enjoy our engagement in the typical girlish-giggling way. The gay couple might have had their fair share of opinions on the big day, but Esme could enjoy the hype that lead up to it, something that would last for a while yet.



WHEN they left, I was inundated with questions from clucking women who'd seen us dancing, asking who my partner was, how serious we were and what had been so wrong with the daughters they'd been trying to pimp out for years. More annoyingly, I was collared by Helen Rosen, a notoriously conceited and self-obsessed woman who knew my mother. She rambled incessantly about her son, who I'd never met but got the impression that he was as big-headed and pig-ignorant as his parents. They'd found wealth like Henry— because of Henry— and weren't even slightly modest about it. It was hard to guess which parts of Helen were still real.

I didn't want to know about her son's wedding. I didn't want to know about all the things his fiancée did that mine didn't. And no, I didn't want to see the photographs, but she showed me anyway. The wholesome copper haired boy next door standing with a long, raven haired stick figure of diluted Asian origin, painted on smiles all round. Yeah, I liked to think that Emmeline and I looked a little more edgy and a lot happier. In fact, I knew we did.

"Excuse me, lady and gent," the huge red mask that was Esme sashayed to us and positioned herself in the middle of the unwanted conversation. Again, thank god for the cavalry. "I hate to interrupt, but Ivy would like to test her third eye on you and your lovely new fiancée." Shit. Ivy Tudor had a gift for spotting soul mates and poor matches. What the hell would I do if she gave us the death sentence? Would Emmeline take it to heart and give up, and would I let her?

But they were standing together, and I wanted to be near my girl. I was confident that she'd see in us what she'd seen in all the other couples I'd watch grow closer and more blissful. I wanted that thumbs up.

"Blaze, darling!" Looking outlandishly youthful, Ivy Tudor peered at me from behind her bright pink mask. How had her oldest daughter gone so wrong when she looked so magnificent for her age, topped in blonde curls with an almost embarrassingly impressive figure? It made me wonder what the other Tudor daughter looked like.

"Ivy." I kissed the back of her hand and turned my attention to the beauty pressed up against me. I'd wrapped my arm around her without even realising. "You look wonderful. And you appear to have met the only other woman in the room who comes close enough to compare." You had to give me my dues, I knew how to handle rich, important women.

Ivy smiled to herself, then directed it up to me. "I have indeed, young man. Let me look at you both without those silly masks."

My fingers pulled at the strands of ribbon attached to Emmeline's mask. My god, I'd almost forgotten how divine she was. It damn near took my breath away. She seemed to go through the same motions when I removed my own mask, and something shifted and click into place. This woman was mine, and would be forever. I'd do anything— anything, to make sure of it.

"Oh yes," Ivy gushed, "yes, you're perfect together. I'll be on tenterhooks waiting for news of your engagement." And approval from the Child of Cupid. We couldn't fail. My complications would have to be resolved, and quickly. I couldn't risk leaving anything to time or chance.

I took Emmeline's left hand in mine and kissed the emerald on her finger, then kissed her soft, pink lips. "Actually Ivy, I concreted my intentions to keep the lovely Emmeline just this afternoon."

"Oh!" Ivy snatched her hand from my grip to critique the ring. "Beautiful, simply beautiful. Like the lady herself. "Masks back on, my loves! We must celebrate!"





AND BOY DID we celebrate. From that day, my life would become about celebrating every day I had with that girl. As hungover as we were, we made love through the night, slept only briefly and started again in the morning. It didn't matter to me that she jumped up to be sick because we both laughed about it, and laughter was something my life had seen too little of. Love like ours came around once in a lifetime, as did women like Emmeline. And yes, I had to celebrate that.

We fooled around in the lift down to breakfast like we were already newly-weds, hands always on each other and nearly always lips. Dressed in our formal outfits from the mixer, we looked dishevelled but peaceful, focused only on each other. That lift ride might have been the single-most best moment in my life. It was the moment I knew our fates were inextricably juxtaposed. No matter what, we would always be connected.

It made me smile to watch Emmeline crane her neck to look around at the impressive structure of the hotel. I don't think she even realised she was doing it, and I'd been in enough expensive hotels, restaurants and venues to take it for granted, so I got a good view of her wide, awed eyes. They really were an amazing and unusual colour. I'd seen it elsewhere but just couldn't place it...

"So what do you hunger for, Miss White?" I shoved her gently when she gave me that look. I wanted that too, but she needed to refuel first. I had a week left before I had to resume caring duties and I had big plans to spend most of it admiring that starry-eyed look she got when I'd made her come so hard her head spun. "Something that doesn't involve one or both of us making sex noise."

"But where's the fun in that? I'm actually jonesing for black coffee and scrambled eggs." She had no idea how good it felt for me hear her talk about being hungry. The idea that she might go back down the road of anorexia someday put the fear of God in me. I wouldn't be able to watch her suffer— I'd suffer with her.

"After the pounding you just got, are they not already scrambled?" She tried to look affronted but failed. I hoped I hadn't accidentally touched a raw nerve.

"Look, see. Scrambled eggs on toast. Perfect. If I eat real quickly, we can get back up to that big ol' bed before check out time and you can bash my head against the headboard a few more times."

"Okay!" Now she was talking! "Chop chop, vixen. I have plans for us this afternoon."

"Oh?" Her face lit up like a kid at Christmas. The woman was bloody insatiable and I loved it. Her greed for me was a real turn on, just one on a long and extensive list.

"Not those plans. God woman, you'll kill me before the honeymoon."

All of a sudden, she turned away. Dread bubbled in my stomach. Had she changed her mind?

"So you know, I'm really in no rush to—"

"Me either." I was quick to reassure her. As eager as I was to make her my wife, and despite the wrongs I had to set right before that could happen, I wasn't going to push her harder than she wanted. Too many people had done that to her in the past. I knew she needed the control, that's why she looked so relieved. "I'm still not done terrorising you. It's been less than a day, there's no need to rush it all now when we have all the time in the world."



ESME caused a welcome distraction, walking in looking like Death himself. While the girls spoke, I took the opportunity to admire how amazing Emmeline looked even when hungover. She had come so far from the waif in baggy clothes and looked like she was, herself, expensive. Maybe even worth millions. Luxury suited her and she wore it well. It was like a kick in the nuts every time I saw her— I couldn't believe my luck.

Unable to keep our hands off each other when we weren't talking to someone, we stumbled out onto the open terrace attached to the dining room, barely keeping our coffees from spilling. My fast reactions saved the cups when she ground to a standstill right in front of me, face draining of colour like she'd seen a ghost.

"Emmeline?"

A hesitant croak left her mouth and she stepped back, gaze fixed on the other three guests sitting with Esme. "Oh, um... hello."

Henry and Ivy sat on either side of Tallulah, the daughter I'd been fortunate enough to avoid at the mixer, still dressed in their evening clothes sans masks. They'd been nice enough to put us in one of their suites when we stumbled across the street from The Roses with our female companions barely able to hold themselves straight.

And they were looking at Emmeline the same way she was looking at them. Stunned. Mortified. Maybe even confused.

"Henry," I took the coffee cup from Emmeline's hand before her white knuckle grip snapped the handle and urged her towards the table, "you know of my best girl?"

"I should say so, as your best girl is also my best girl."

Emmeline made the strangest noise of shame, guilt and woe. It took a moment to register why she looked so green around the gills, but when it did, I pulled her back into the dining room, completely dumbstruck. She was the missing Tudor— the daughter who wouldn't play house. No wonder she held herself so well around a high-end crowd. She was worth millions herself, even if she was living like a bum on bookshop wages.