Chapter 11

I change my outfit three times. It's stupid really. Who cares what I look like for Alistair. It's not like I have to look good just to impress him. He's seen everything anyway. I almost facepalm at the idea. If I'm honest, I've been trying not to think about any of it since last night. It's a little hard when he ate me out like nobody ever has and my body responded to him in such a way it blew my mind.

Nope. My conscience doesn"t want to hear that. My conscience tells me I need to go to church or get a fucking exorcism. My refusal to let the guilt swallow me up is all I have left. My backbone. I suppose it's the one thing that I did get from my grandmother. The one skill that I managed to get right. Even if I do pretend half the time.

I even went all out and got my nails done. It's been almost a year —I'm not even gonna pretend I don't deserve it.

I also ended up going to Liberty and bought some Chloe perfume, then stopped by Harrod's to buy myself a cute handbag and two for my besties back in Seattle. I also bought some Lululemon leggings and a couple of tops to work out in. I've never bought Lululemon new before, only second hand on eBay. The entire time I was shopping, I felt on cloud nine. I really do love pretty things, and knowing that it was to do with Alistair gave me a fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Next, I bought some Yeezy sneakers because what the hell. If I'm going to burn in Hell, I may as well look my best doing it. If it weren"t Sunday, I would've booked in to get my hair done as well, but nothing is open at this time of the afternoon.

Still. I've enjoyed myself and I fucking love spending money.

By the time dinner time rolls around, I'm dressed in patent leggings, my new Yeezy's and fuck it, I pull on Alistair's jumper. I don't care that he wants it back; he can get fucked.

I like it, and I'm sure he can afford to buy another one. Plus, I think it suits me better anyway.

I smile, applying lip gloss in the mirror as I mentally prepare myself for whatever claptrap is going to come out of his mouth tonight.

I'm sure he'll apologise again. Tell me how wrong it was. How he'll never do it again. He'll probably offer to buy me off — like he didn't already. As if I'm some kind of gold digger who's going to extort money from him. Clearly, I'm not the girl he once remembers.

I may have come from a high falutin' family on paper, but that's all it was. Appearances.

My grandmother was very good at keeping those appearances up. I should be grateful she even had the dough to cover the rest of my university fees. Lord knows why she did. Maybe she felt guilty. The more I've thought about it over the years, the less I believe it.

If she cared that much, she wouldn't have made my life hell and made me feel less than something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. I often wonder why she fought so hard with Alistair at the time, and the only thing I can come up with is money. She was in charge of my mother's estate, not Alistair.

Don't think about any of that,I tell myself. Tonight is about you and about getting answers from that dipshit. A dipshit that I let rail me with his tongue.

I clear my throat. Now isn't the time to go into panic mode.

I finish curling my hair and when I'm satisfied, I blow myself a kiss in the mirror.

I've never been shy. I'm also not backwards in going forwards; I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. Sometimes— more often than not — that gets me into serious trouble, but I can never be accused of being a liar.

Sure enough, at five minutes to eight, a black Mercedes rolls up outside my townhouse.

Chelsea was happy when I gave her the rent money as well as utilities. And even after my shopping spree today, I still have half left. I'm going to put that away into my savings account for a trip. It may not be a lot — in fact, I'd be lucky to get a night or two in a decent hotel in Paris. But nonetheless, I'm doing it without excuses. Just like I promised myself a year ago when I was about to set off on this embarkment. Maybe I was having my mid-life crisis early, I'm not sure, but whatever this was, I'd be wise to get it out of my system now.

I close the door behind me and the driver greets me formally, calling me ‘Miss Prescott.'

I climb in and we take off. The boondocks of London slowly disappear as we move closer to the city.

I've always loved London. Ever since I was a little girl. Even though I chose to stay in Seattle after college, starting a new life with my two best friends Ariana and Imogen, England always has a special place in my heart.

I love the sounds, the bright city lights, the shopping, the nightlife. Everything about London envelopes you into its warm cocoon so you never want to leave.

When Imogen visited last month with her beau, Khristian, I was so happy to see her after several months of missing her and Ari, and while Ariana didn't come on this trip, I know we'll have a girl's trip soon. I feel it in my waters.

It takes about forty minutes to get to the restaurant called Cruz. Immediately I regret wearing Yeezy's and patent leggings, but whatever. I'm not here to impress Alistair. I couldn't care less what he thinks of me. I can't wait, however, for him to see me in his jumper.

Maybe I am acting like a brat, but can one blame me? It's like the guy brings it out in me with absolutely no effort whatsoever.

Once inside, I tell the ma?tre de who I'm with and he immediately asks me to follow him. He leads me through the nicest restaurant I've ever been in. The tables are all covered with plush tablecloths and have brass cutlery that gleams under the sparkling lights.

I feel out of place. The people seated around me are very put together in their finest attire. Nevertheless, I feel confident in what I have on.

I ignore the curious looks I get that tell me I don't fit in. It's the story of my life.

I strut behind him, my shades still on even though it's night time — it's like armour.

When Alistair comes into view, I suck in a breath when I see his attire; a smart suit jacket with a white button up and jeans. My mouth instantly waters.

His beard is neatly trimmed and he looks hot as fuck. As far as hot ex-stepfathers go, that is.

The Ma?tre d' goes to pull out my chair, but Alistair beats him to it.

"Good evening, Charlize," he says. Alistair has one of those British accents that sounds regal and authoritative. He went to bloody Eaton and boy does it show.

"Hello again, Alistair." The word Daddy is on my tongue again, but I definitely don't want to make him mad until after I've eaten. I've studied the menu here and they have lobster thermidor and crème br?lée. I plan on indulging like Mr. Devereaux wouldn't believe it tonight, so I hope he brought his chequebook with him.

He takes in my attire as he takes his seat and I smile pleasantly at him. "I see you've taken up residence in my Dior?" I clearly didn't dress to make him admire me, but I'm glad I got his attention.

"It's comfy." I shrug. "Figured you wouldn't mind me taking it out for dinner just this once."

A smirk permeates his perfect lips. "I guess not."

I grab the menu to avoid looking at him. I already know what I'm having, but I study it like I've never found anything so fascinating.

Movement catches my eye, and before I know it, a waiter in a fancy uniform is filling up my champagne flute.

"Thanks," I mutter as they move to fill up Alistair's.

He waits until they've moved away before his eyes meet mine. "A toast?"

I lift my glass. It won't be the cheap shit, I'm sure. Still, I'm dying to have a sip.

"To old times?" I tilt my head. I know I'm taunting him and I'm unsure how much he'll tolerate, but part of my therapy as a young adult involved why I antagonise people so much.

The only outcome I had for my therapist was this; I enjoyed it. It gave me the attention I so badly craved, and negative attention is still attention, after all.

"I was thinking more like: to new beginnings."

My eyes narrow as his glass clinks mine and he waits for me to take the first sip. I do so. Relishing in the cool, crisp flavour. It's delicious and has a hint of vanilla, or something.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" I blurt out, unable to hold it in any longer.

We really need to get this show on the road.

"I think it's good that we clear the air. In order for us both to move on, I think it's necessary."

"You mean, for you to move on?"

His eyes meet mine and I hold in my shudder. This man is impenetrable, that much is certain.

He has a cold exterior like no man I've ever met. Like he holds all his cards close to his chest and the chance of anyone getting close, are slim to none. He's always been an anomaly, but he's even more serious than I remember.

Broody Alistair isn't like anyone I've ever met, and I've no idea what lurks behind those grey eyes.

"I think I need to explain a few things. I sensed a little… hostility the other night." He glances around as if someone may overhear us. We're in the back, near the window and it's secluded. Something about his table choice tells me all I need to know.

He's embarrassed to be seen with me.

"You think?"

He leans forward. "Despite what you may think of me, we both know I was never father figure material. You probably know by now that the marriage to your mother wasn't conventional, but it's what we both wanted at the time."

"Why?" The words are simple, but I hate how needy I sound.

"Because your mother didn't love me and I didn't love her. She…" He runs a hand through his hair. "Shit, Charlize. Are you sure you're ready to hear all of this?"

I stare at him, unmoving. "I've waited a long time."

"What did your grandmother tell you about any of it?"

I roll my eyes. "She hated you. All that ever came out of her mouth was garbage where you were concerned. For the first time in my life, I want the truth, Alistair."

We stare at one another until he finally relents. "Your mother loved somebody else. Someone your grandmother wouldn't let her be with."

"Why not?"

He gives me a pointed look. "Your grandmother, being the strict woman that she was, wanted your mother on a pedestal, ever since she was a child. Getting pregnant so young didn't stack up well for the Prescott family, as you well know. She was a disgrace and brought shame on the family."

Oh, I know all about rejection. Some may say I'm an expert.

"Yeah, I got that part. What I want to know is who did my mum love?"

He takes another long sip from the flute, and I wait for him to shock me with the details.

Who was he?

If she loved another man, why did she marry Alistair?

What the hell is going on and why don't I know about it?

"Your mother was in love with another woman."

My eyes go round as I stare blankly at him. "Another woman?"

"Yes. The only reason we married was so she could get her inheritance, and I could get mine. There was nothing between us because it wasn't that kind of relationship."

"A business transaction," I murmur.

Why did I never hear this information before now? My grandmother never even hinted at such a thing, not that she would've been happy about any of it.

"Exactly."

The waiter suddenly appears and it gives me a few moments to collect myself.

"Are you ready to order?" he asks politely.

Alistair glances over at me as I finally meet his gaze. Clearing my throat, I look down at the menu. Not that I see anything.

"Charlize," Alistair says. "Would you like a few more minutes?"

I shake my head and order the entree of smoked bass, then the lobster thermidor for main course.

Alistair orders grilled asparagus, and a scotch fillet with truffle sauce for his main, along with a new bottle of wine to compliment the dishes.

Of course, Alistair knows a lot about wine and a lot about everything. Including family secrets that I had no clue about. I wonder what else he knows?

When the waiter leaves, I fiddle with the cutlery on the table and avoid Alistair's gaze.

I can feel his impenetrable stare and I have nowhere else to look… except right at him.

In those dark, grey eyes that seem to be able to see right into my soul. Of course, I know that's impossible, but he has this intenseness about him that can't be mistaken.

We haven't even gotten to the entrees yet and I feel as if the shocks are only just beginning.